At the beginning of the week, a bear knocked down our bird feeder. The pole was snapped off at the base, and the top was smashed to smithereens. (For those who haven’t read all about it, here is the link: https://hinterlands.me/2019/10/25/exit-destroyed-by-a-bear/)

Time for handyman Clif to spring into action. First, a new top was needed. Clif went back to the store where we had bought the feeder umpteen years ago, but no luck. He also checked online. Again, no luck. You might think at this point we would have considered buying a new feeder, but you would be wrong. We are Mainers, and Mainers have a reputation for making do and coming up with, ahem, creative solutions.

For various reasons, we had accumulated four laundry baskets over the years. Clif asked, “What do you think about using one of the white ones for the top?”

“Excellent idea,” I said, delighted with the notion of using something we already had. And after all, we would still have three laundry baskets. Plenty for a household with two people.

Lickity split, Clif cut off the top of one of our white laundry baskets and fashioned a top for the feeder.

Next, it was time to pound a new pole deep into the ground.

As Clif couldn’t find the right sized pole for the feeder, part of the old pole was slipped into the new pole. Then, to support the lower baffle, out came the trusty duct tape—the delight of all handy men and women, especially Mainers. (I’ve even repaired old gloves with it.)

Then, voilà! Time to put on the feeder with its new top.

“Pretty darned good,” I said, borrowing an expression from my Yankee husband.

Almost immediately, the grateful birds began coming to the feeder. Following the advice of several of my blogging friends, we have taken in the bird feeder at dusk. No point in asking for more trouble.

Next week, we will get some black spray paint for the pole. But the top is plastic, and we will leave that alone.

A note about the use of the word wicked in the title. Mainers use the word wicked the way brilliant is used in the UK. Nearby, there is even a business named Wicked Whoopies, and I could have one of those delectable treats right now. They really are wicked good.

So there you have it. A wicked good fix for a wicked good feeder.

Yesterday, on my way to hang laundry, something loud buzzed by my ear.

My first thought: What’s that?

My second immediate thought: The hummingbirds are back!

Lickety-split, I went into the house and set a pot of sugar water to boil. Clif went down cellar to retrieve the hummingbird feeders, and by afternoon, they were out and ready for the little winged visitors.

Later that day, as Clif and I were having drinks on the patio, a male hummingbird came for a sip of the sugar water in the feeders. Readers, as the season progresses and more hummingbirds come, I will try to get a shot of these whizzing beauties. But between the birds’ speed and the limitations of my wee camera, my chances of success are not good. But I will make a valiant attempt.

Around the yard, there are more signs of Spring, glorious Spring.

The ferns continue to unfurl.

The sweet red maple blossoms are falling, to be replaced by a tender fringe of new leaves.

Slowly, I have begun removing leaves from the beds in the front yard, and although there are no flowers yet, it looks pretty darned good to me. No snow, no muck. Lots of glorious green.

Finally, here is a picture of Clif at the gate.

He is happy that, at last, spring is here.

And so am I.