The Bird Woman in “Mary Poppins”
Jane Darwell was eighty-four years young when Walt Disney personally tapped her for the role of the Bird Woman in his 1964 production of “Mary Poppins.” Although she appeared in more than 100 major motion pictures films in her lifetime, critics say she is best-remembered for that particular role and for her portrayal of the matriarch and leader of the Joad family in the film adaptation of John Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath for which she received the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress.
Brave Goldfinch
These early mornings, its Darwell’s Bird Woman character I’m feeling very close to – not in the magical world of Mary Poppins but in my own marvelous world of Oysterville. As happenstance would have it, I’ve been the one who has been feeding the birds in our nearby neighbors’ backyard each early morning for the last few weeks. I walk across the churchyard, through a gap in the fences and into Carol and Tucker’s place, carrying my little tub of wild birdseed and, sometimes, a package of thistle seed – if the finch feeders need replenishing.
At first, the birds didn’t appear while I was within their sight, though I could hear a bit of flutter and flurry in the alder trees bordering the property to the southwest. I knew they were watching and waiting for me to disappear so that they could have at the bounty I was distributing. Gradually, though, they have become bolder.
The very bravest and first to show up while I was still at my scattering duties were the goldfinches. One, two, three… as many as seven perched on the three feeders and on nearby tree branches. They would only let me approach so far, though – not quite close enough for a good photo. Not with my bare bones cell phone camera, anyway.
Hungry Jays
Next on the braveness scale were the jays. For all their saucy talk, I’d have thought they would be the first. But isn’t that often the way with the braggarts and blusterers of the world? Finally, here came the juncos – lots of them. Maybe they feel there is safety in numbers. They seem to like the tops of the picnic tables best. Perhaps they feel those tabletops offer a more direct flight back up to leafy safety.
The mourning doves are there, too, invisible but full of noise and whuffle. They fly quickly from tree to tree, obviously watching, but apparently waiting to appear until I am well out of sight. And, yesterday, a little gray squirrel joined the fun. His eyes never left me as he picked up seeds and stuffed them in his cheeks – all quick decisive movements and with an attitude that said, “I’m outta here the minute you make a move in my direction.”
I’ll bet the Jane Darwell didn’t have half as much fun feeding the pigeons on the steps of St. Paul’s Cathedral in London as I do feeding the birds and other little critters within sight of the Oysterville Church. Still… I feel a kinship. Old ladies playing yet another of life’s enchanting roles!
