y childhood home in rural West Virginia was surrounded by bird feeders and baths that provided hours of entertainment. Occasionally Mom—hey, the birds don’t care. But I always got a special kick from the heated birdbath attached to our side deck. In winter, when other water sources froze over, that steamy oasis was there for the birds. And boy, did they love it. After one heavy snow, a dozen Eastern Bluebirds crammed together, wing to wing, around the rim of the bowl, their azure and orange feathers popping against the whiteness. Watching them bask was a great reminder of the simple joy birds—and a little fresh water—can bring.
