The Feeder in the Snow

It was a harsh winter. Snow buried all the seeds and berries, and the tits outside Nurlan's window had nothing to eat.

Every morning Nurlan saw them on the bare branch of the maple tree. The little birds sat all puffed up, as round as fluffy balls, keeping each other warm. One of them even flew up to the window and tapped softly on the glass with its beak. Tap, tap.

"Grandpa, she's asking for food!" Nurlan cried.

Grandfather came to the window and looked at the birds.

"She is," he agreed. "In winter, hunger is harder on birds than the cold. A well-fed bird can get through even a hard frost. Let's give them a hand."

They fetched an old wooden apple crate from the balcony. Grandfather cut little windows in it so the birds could fly in from both sides, and made a roof so the snow wouldn't cover the food. It smelled of fresh wood shavings, and Nurlan gathered them in his palm like curly petals. Then he painted the feeder green and drew a sun on its side.

They hung the feeder outside the little window, right opposite the kitchen table. Nurlan poured in unsalted seeds, and Grandfather tied a piece of unsalted fat to its edge.

"Now, the rules," said Grandfather. "One: there must always be food. Once you start feeding birds in winter, you can't stop. They're counting on you now and will come back. Two: nothing salty, nothing fried, and no bread. Those make birds ill."

All that first day the feeder stayed empty. Nurlan kept running to the window, but the tits sat on the maple and eyed the new little house sideways.

"They're careful," said Grandfather. "Be patient."

And the next morning Nurlan saw a yellow-breasted tit in a little black cap at the feeder. It grabbed a seed, flew to a branch, held the seed in its feet and pecked away at it. Then a second one came, and a third, and soon the feeder was busy and noisy.

Every morning the first thing Nurlan did was check the feeder. Even when he was very sleepy, even when a snowstorm was blowing outside. He topped up the seeds, and at weekends he changed the fat. Soon the birds stopped being afraid of him and didn't fly off when he opened the window.

By February not only tits came to the feeder. One morning bullfinches landed on the maple branch, red as baubles on a New Year tree. They were grand and unhurried, ate their seeds slowly and whistled softly. Nurlan watched them holding his breath, and even forgot about his tea.

Grandfather gave him an old notebook, and Nurlan began writing down who came to the feeder: tits, sparrows, bullfinches. Sometimes he drew them with coloured pencils.

In spring the snow melted, buds swelled on the trees, and the birds scattered to the woods and parks. The feeder stood empty. Nurlan felt a little sad, but Grandfather said that now the birds had plenty of their own food.

But in autumn, when the first snow fell, the tits came back to the same window. One of them flew up to the glass and tapped. Tap, tap. They remembered.

That evening Nurlan filled the feeder with fresh seeds, so the birds would have breakfast in the morning. Then he climbed under his warm blanket and listened to the snow falling softly outside. Somewhere on the maple branch, huddled close together, the well-fed little tits were asleep.

Goodnight.