Cedar waxwings hold a special place in my heart.
We live on the top floor of an apartment building on a hill, and when we first moved in 15 years ago, the waxwings gathered in a tall tree just outside our kitchen window every winter. I could watch them socializing only a few feet away, all of us sharing an expansive view.
About five years ago, the tree fell ill, and the neighbors had to cut it down. The waxwings still came back, finding perches in a mammoth city tree and a serpentine, three-story cypress. Later, severe storms took the city tree down, but the birds returned to the cypress' slender limbs. One day, I came home to find that the neighbors had hacked the cypress way down to below their roofline, a stumpy remnant of its former shape. I’m sure they had a valid reason, but to me they’d killed off the last of the waxwing haunts.
Since then, the birds have been fleeting — maybe two sightings around the holidays from a block away, a distant flittering of grayish specks with little pops of red or yellow to catch the eye. They still seem as gregarious as ever, but I wonder if they miss visiting their old, lofty trees like I miss having them nearby.
Cedar waxwings hold a special place in my heart.
We live on the top floor of an apartment building on a hill, and when we first moved in 15 years ago, the waxwings gathered in a tall tree just outside our kitchen window every winter. I could watch them socializing only a few feet away, all of us sharing an expansive view.
About five years ago, the tree fell ill, and the neighbors had to cut it down. The waxwings still came back, finding perches in a mammoth city tree and a serpentine, three-story cypress. Later, severe storms took the city tree down, but the birds returned to the cypress' slender limbs. One day, I came home to find that the neighbors had hacked the cypress way down to below their roofline, a stumpy remnant of its former shape. I’m sure they had a valid reason, but to me they’d killed off the last of the waxwing haunts.
Since then, the birds have been fleeting — maybe two sightings around the holidays from a block away, a distant flittering of grayish specks with little pops of red or yellow to catch the eye. They still seem as gregarious as ever, but I wonder if they miss visiting their old, lofty trees like I miss having them nearby.
