August 8

Gold finches are mating this month, which is atypical of our dooryard birds. We’re accustomed to the flurry of birdsong in the early mornings of April and May, and it is odd to see such activity in August. Our tube feeders remind me of busy airports, with constant occupation at all openings and a half dozen finches either perched on the shepherd’s pole crook or flitting nearby a feed opening in hope of dislodging a companion.

The finches time their mating season with the coming of the thistle seed, and the correlation this year seems right; there are thistles and burdock in abundance in the undisturbed fields that border the college and the farm.

We have none here at the house yard, so our finches resort to the purple cone flower and echinops, both which have seeds that in some respects resemble thistle, though without the downy tufts.

Our front knot garden has dozens of plants for them, and a small depression nearby in the driveway asphalt holds left over rainwater enough that the birds can whet their thirst after eating. They are pretty little things, the gold finches, perched at the edge of the small puddle, brilliant yellow cast in sharp relief against the dark of the asphalt, bending down tentatively to drink.

As I write this, sitting in the afternoon sun on the back porch, I count 18 finches around the two feeders – 12 female and 6 male.