Snow came before Valentines Day to the foothills. Photo by Joe Kitchens.

Snow comes only occassionally to Tate, Georgia, though it is more common to see it lace the mountain ridge near us that includes Mount Oglethorpe, said to be the second tallest mountain in Georgia. Atop our mile post and beneath the snow is a birdhouse Karen painted nearly twenty years ago. Beautiful as it is, the Blue Birds had never made it their nesting home, that is until last year. They made up for lost time by hatching three separate clutches of eggs, much to our delight.

Blue Birds are bulllies at the bird feeder, often chasing other birds away. They are back now, early I think for nesting, but hard at work refreshing the lining of their love nest and glowering at the Nuthatches and pesky Rufus Finches and Gold Finches. I was oblivious about this until I finally noticed that the male Finches take on a brighter hue in mating season.

Because the squirrels were eating us out of house and home, we began buying the bird seed laced with hot pepper year before last. It worked at first, but there seems to have been a revolution in squirrel cuisine. one favoring spicy seeds. It seems to be the younger-and more adventurous- squirrels who eat it with gusto, and the same youngsters ignore the corn we put out for their parents. One of these-he has an orange tuft of fur on his tail-seems to be the ring leader. Only the Red Headed Woodpeckers are capable of chasing him away from the feeder.

In part because of the seemingly endless rain this winter, we have become addicted to watching the BBC series “Escape to the Country.” Would-be home buyers, having shed kids and the need for big-city jobs are ready to move to the country. Well coiffed real esate agents show them three properties from which they choose a favorite. Most seakers want “character” in the architecture (a ceiling held up by three-hundred year old sticks, or a thatched roof that can only be repaired by restorationsists from the National Trust for Historic Preservation), “property” for a garden and their soon to be acquired horses, a garage tht can be converted into a stable (or vice versa), a nearby pub and an opportunity to become volunteers. Some want acreage so they can finally own horses-although most look as if it might be next to impossible to climb into a saddle worn by anything larger than a German Shepherd. There is always a “mystery property” thrown in for added interest, often a remodeled village church or a converted grist mill.

This is kind of what we have done, except it did not require moving or buying a different house. Our house was already “different” enough and possessed of enough character to elicit compaints from the local hosing authroity. Besides, in the TV programs, I never see a lawn mower or hear one grinding away in the background. Nor is their mention that internet speeds are measured in minutes ouside of big cities, that TV cable service comes in the form of an unsightly dish, and the voluteer job they hoped would involve touring people through a lordly palace is more likely to be in the communal pea-shelling shed.

Like the Blue Birds, we can be grumpy neighbors, especially during leaf gathering season. This lasts abouts six months where we live in an oak and hickory forest. But there are things to be thankful for as well. With caller ID we can screen the vounteer offers, just as we screen the noontime calls from Thailand, India and Stagnant Pond, Minnesota. That is, we make a face and ignore the calls. Then, after a nap, its back to tormenting the squirrels and filling the feeders. With the door bell broken, we are the “Mystery Property.” Even the postal delivery person can’t seem to remember where we live.