I stop by my neighbor Crandall’s shanty.

His pickup refuses to start and I am going to drive him to town for his annual haircut.

He, of course, is not out of bed yet.

I wait in the kitchen while Crandall does his morning ablutions.

I read the back of a raisin bran cereal box indicating that its best used by date was June 16, 1997.

While pausing to watch a tarantula-sized spider crawl across the floor, I notice a bowl of peanuts on the kitchen table.

The kitchen table features stains from as far back as three owners ago, but the bowl and the peanuts appear to be exceptionally clean.

I grab a few of the peanuts and they are plenty good.

Crandall is notoriously slow and I figure that eating the peanuts will give me something to do while I wait.

It is hard to eat just a few peanuts.

I eat them all.

Crandall finally emerges from his bedroom.

He is wearing his best overalls and a Pioneer Seed Corn gimme cap.

His shoes almost match.

“Say,” I confess, “I started nibbling on your peanuts and before I knew it, I had eaten them all.”

“That’s OK,” says my neighbor.

“I never cared that much for

chocolate-covered peanuts anyway.”

“They were just peanuts.

I didn’t see any chocolate-colored peanuts,” I say.

“That’s because I sucked all of the chocolate off them.”

Spring’s here

I hear the whistle the minute I walk out of my house.

“Spring’s here!” declares the chickadee.

It is cold and blustery; the tiny bird obviously is much more of an optimist than I am. I try to remember that there is no such thing as bad weather, only the wrong clothes.

I walk into my yard.

I like snow.

I like to see the tracks of animals that show the history of the night.

I like walking in the snow.

The crunch under my boots soothes me.

I like leaving tracks and seeing where I have been.

Without winter, it would be impossible to truly enjoy a fireplace. That said, I cannot help but long for the warm, sunny days of last summer.

The chickadee knows better.

It sings of days to come, not of days past.

Winter is both a beginning and an end.

It is not just a time of cold.

Winter is a gift. Each day is unlike any we have ever had before.

I stop to listen to the chickadee’s call.

“Spring’s here!”

If this tiny bird can sing on such a miserable day, imagine what we are capable of doing.

The friendly nuthatch

A friend named Earl Jacobsen introduced me to the bird.

It was a White-breasted Nuthatch.

I didn’t catch its name.

The nuthatch lived at Myre-Big Island State Park.

Earl and I were walking in the park one day when he told me that he had something to show me.

As we came to a bend in the trail, Earl reached into his pocket and came out with a handful of peanuts. He held them out in the palm of his hand while he whistled a few notes.

On cue, a little nuthatch magically appeared upon Earl’s hand.

The tiny bundle of feathers grabbed a peanut and then flew away. Earl told me that he had stumbled upon the bird and had no idea who had trained it.

Perhaps Earl was being modest or a camper had instructed the bird or maybe the bird was self-taught.

For several years, I would make sure the birding walks that I lead at the park would pass that bend in the trail where the nuthatch hung out.

Just as Earl had done, I would stop, reach into my pocket, pull out a handful of peanuts and offer it to the unseen bird with an accompanying whistle.

The oohs and aahs of the assembled audience as they watched the clownish little bird climb over my hand were addictive.

People were amazed and astonished by the performances of the hungry bird.

The nuthatch had a definite stage presence.

Whether it was fueled by a weakness for peanuts or a love of people, I do not know, but I suspect it was the former.

Then one day as I led my charges to that bend in the road, I followed my old routine.

I reached into my pocket, gathered the peanuts in my hand and offered the peanuts to the sky.

I whistled until I was puckerless, but no bird came that day.

It didn’t come the next day either.

The little nuthatch never graced the palm of my hand again.

There were no more acrobatic antics of a bird with a peanut jones.

I still lead a lot of bird hikes down that trail. Each time I walk that trail, I make an offering of peanuts.

There is always hope. I miss that little nuthatch.

Etcetera

Please join me on a trip I will be leading to Alaska on Aug. 13 as we visit Fairbanks, Denali, Palmer, Anchorage and Seward. Call 373-4705 or 1-800-328-4298 for more information on this incredible trip.

My thanks to the following reporters for letting me know what is going on in Nature’s World.

Nadine Spellman, Lynn Wasmoen, Maggie Mau, Judy Hall, Audrey Shepard, Buzz Knudsen, Jim Peterson, Bob and Joyce Street, Pat Jensen, Les Schroader, Ann Troska, Vern and Jackie Muller, Dale and Jo Golbuff, Harold and Pat Wayne, Terry and Pat Lemer, Bob and Bernice Moreau, Neal and Shirlie Brownlow, Arlo and Maryann Blumer, Clarence and Janice Ayers, Joann Goede, Pat and Bob DeWenter, Tom and Dot Kiner, John McGaughey, Walt Spindler, Clayton Stoa, Dorothy Peterson, Doug and Julie Morrison and Sue Levy who reported such things as a Snowy Owl, White-throated Sparrows, Harris’s Sparrows, Cooper’s Hawks, Purple Finches, American Robins, a Brown Creeper, Red-bellied Woodpeckers, Downy and Hairy Woodpeckers drumming on resonant trees, Cardinals singing “what cheer” and a chickadee whistling its “spring’s here” song.

My thanks to all those in attendance at the NCIS Annual Meeting at Jackpot Junction, the Western Fraternal Life Association Lodge of Owatonna, the Martin County West Schools employees, those who participated in the Minnesota Association of Townships Legal Seminar in St. Paul, all the listeners of KOWZ Radio, those who attended the Annual Banquet of the Swift County Corn and

Soybean Producers, all the listeners of KRFO Radio and the Noon Kiwanis from Mankato for being such wonderful audiences for my stories.

Please join me for “Birding with Batt” each Tuesday morning after the 10 o’clock news on KMSU Radio, 89.7 or 91.3 on your FM dial.

“Our attitude is something we can control.

We can establish our attitude each morning when we start our day.

In fact, we do just that whether we realize it or not.” &045; Earl Nightingale

“Be grateful for luck.

Pay the thunder no mind &045; listen to the birds, and don’t hate nobody.” &045; Eubie Blake

DO GOOD.

Allen Batt of Hartland is a member of the Albert Lea Audubon Society. His e-mail address is SnoEowl@aol.com.