Remember "The African Queen" ?

Our back yard, just out the kitchen window, is noisier than the sound effects from that wonderful 1951 movie.

We have an abundance of newly-fledged Rose-Breasted Grosbeaks whose screaming and begging would rival the SFX and Bogie for the Oscar, let me tell you.

We had no idea such tiny creatures could create so much racket.

There must be 15 or 20 of them because we have at least five families nesting here, with an average production of about 3.5 babies per family.  The population explosion is a result of our having decided to leave the suet feeder out all summer, rather than taking it in as we usually do.  Hence, the colourful birds have stayed with us rather than moving off into the Grove to raise their young.

Bonus for us!

Except these guys scream from dawn to dusk.  Enough to wake the dead I tell you. Sometimes, their crying drowns out the television in the next room.

It's really something to watch the performance the young ones put on too.

If they are on the ledge alone, they'll feed themselves.  But as soon as an adult bird shows up, they become incapable of feeding, and the crying starts.  (Sometimes, they're eating and crying at the same time.)

Usually, it's the male that gives in and feeds them, probably because he can't stand the racket any longer (much like the human race?).  Mom -- like Moms everywhere -- can ignore the whining.  She likely figures it's time the young started earning their own way.  Which, in this environment, isn't too difficult since we're spending a king's ransom keeping them in feed.  I recently observed an adult male trying to ignore the cries of the young bird.  And the young'un actually charged at the adult, insisting that he feed him! 

We often wonder if these birds might have difficulty when it's time to leave for the south -- they'll truly need better survival skills than are required around here.  At least they'll have good fat reserves!

The Pileated Woodpeckers are interesting to watch too.  They come several times a day to entertain us at the suet feeder (they are the reason the feeder stays filled all summer).  Often, they announce their arrival from the distance (almost like they're saying, "Clear the way, here I come.").  And they always say goodbye when they leave.  (I like to think they're saying, "Thanks for the great meal.")

Combine grosbeak screams with the hyena laugh of the Pileated Woodpeckers, shrieking jays, moaning doves, rattle-chattering Wood Frogs, and the haunting songs of the Hermit Thrush, Virio, Oriole, Crested Flycatcher -- and you'd have a fabulous sound track to embellish the scariest jungle movie.

Not to mention the Sapsucker pounding on the eaves of our steel roof (you'd think he'd have realized by now that he's not making any progress).

Or the Barred Owl that, from time to time, does his "who, who, who-whooooo are you?" about 2:00am just yards from the bedroom window.

Friends like to come by for sundowners on our porch because it's so peaceful and quiet.

Yeh, right!

It's like a trip on The African Queen.