Alright, let’s talk about these diamondbacks and cardinals. It’s not like I suddenly decided to become some kind of nature guru. Far from it. Truth is, I just found myself with a whole lot of time stuck at home, staring at the same four walls and the same patch of dusty yard. You know how it was a few years back. Suddenly, that backyard was my entire universe, pretty much.
The cardinals were the obvious ones first. Loud, bright red, flitting all over. You couldn’t miss ’em even if you tried. I threw out some cheap birdseed – nothing special, just whatever was on sale – mostly to give myself something to look at besides the fence. And yeah, they came. Started to think I could tell a few apart. One had this little tuft on his head that was always sticking up funny. He was my main guy for a bit.
Now, the diamondbacks. That was a whole other story. Wasn’t exactly putting out a welcome mat for them. But if you’re in this part of the country, well, they’re part of the package deal, like it or not. The first one I saw properly, not just a blur disappearing, was coiled up tight under a scraggly bush right at the edge of my property line. My heart pretty much leaped into my throat. Stood there like a statue. It just stared, you know, with those dead-looking eyes. Then it just… oozed away into the shadows. Took me a good while to get my breathing back to normal after that one.
Funny thing is, instead of wanting to concrete the whole damn yard, it made me… well, more aware. Still scared of ’em, don’t get me wrong. I’m not an idiot. But I started actually looking. Learning to see the little things. A weird squiggle in the dirt. A sound that wasn’t just the wind. You get an ear for that dry, rustling sound they make. You have to, really.
My “Research Station”
Sounds fancy, doesn’t it? It was just my beat-up patio chair. I’d drag it to a spot where I could see the bird feeder and the rough bit of yard where things liked to hide. Most mornings, I’d be out there with a mug of coffee. That was the extent of my “practice.” Just sitting. Watching. Trying not to think too much about other stuff.
And what I saw was, well, life. The cardinals were like feathered drama queens – always squawking, chasing, showing off. Life in Technicolor. The diamondbacks? Total opposite. Silent. Hidden. You’d hardly know they were there unless you really looked, or they wanted you to. It was a strange setup, these two completely different vibes sharing my little patch of dirt.
- Cardinals: Non-stop action. Fighting over scraps. Singing like they’re trying to win a contest.
- Diamondbacks: Mostly ghosts. If I was lucky, I’d spot one warming up in the sun real early, or find a shed skin tucked away. Just enough to remind me they were around.
There was this one time, got a bit hairy. A young cardinal, barely out of the nest, hopped down right near that bush. The snake bush. My stomach just clenched. Too far to shoo it, not that it would’ve listened. Just had to watch. Little bird pecking around, not a care in the world. And I’m thinking, any second now… But nothing happened. Bird flew off. Still, it hammered home the point: this isn’t some cutesy garden show. It’s real.
Look, I didn’t turn into some expert. Didn’t write a book or anything. But all that time, just watching… it did something. Taught me to sit still, for one. And it gave me a bit of respect for how things work, for creatures just trying to make it, same as the rest of us. Even the creepy ones that can ruin your day real fast.
So, diamondbacks and cardinals. They were my unexpected companions for a season or two. No grand plan. Just me, my yard, and whatever decided to show up. Sometimes, that’s all it takes to see things a little differently, I guess.
