The mountain chickadee is tiny. She is quick, agile, and curious like me. She’s a songbird, whistling an enchanting tune, like the ones my dad whistled while tending to his garden. Usually, he whistled songs from The Beatles, especially Let It Be. The lyrics are hopeful. Dad was hopeful. He believed there would be an answer for everything, if only we would ask. When the chickadee doesn’t hear an answer to her Spring song, she takes care of herself. Soaring high above the mountains, nestling in the trees. Anticipating tomorrow.

The chickadee’s calls are sometimes rendered as “cheese-bur-ger.” As a little girl, I’d sit next to my dad in his 1966 Chevy C10 pick-up truck, and he’d let me take charge of the stick shift. If I shifted too soon before the clutch was engaged, the grinding gears sparked a wide grin from Dad as together we cried out, “Cheeseburger!” He taught me to drive that truck when I was a little older. “If you can drive this ol’ thing, you can drive anything,” he would say, showing me how to “ease the clutch” when starting on a hill.

The mountain chickadee loves the evergreen forest and mountain trails, flitting through nature, adoring the trees, knowing freedom in the sky. Just as I do. When hovering over the pines, high above the mountains in the West, she’s not easy to see. She calls out, scolding almost, with hopes somebody will see her, hear her, and understand her message. The chickadee will connect with others, but she can revel in her own company, enjoying the independence that comes with maturity and wisdom.

A chickadee hatchling is born naked, eyes closed, with tufts of down on her head. She doesn’t need much food to survive. Her mother spends much time with her young at first, protecting them from predators with a loud hiss, like a snake. Had I been a chickadee, others would rely on me, as I matured, to communicate when danger lurks, even if it’s my own mate who poses the threat. I would become fearless and adept at recognizing potential danger. I, too, would hiss like a snake. 

The female chickadee prefers to mate with the more dominant male, a strapping young male with a loud call. They breed monogamously. And after the mother births her young, the male chickadee sticks around. He provides for his family, bringing a supply of insects, seeds, and berries. It is the female who builds the nest, but her mate will often help, gathering fur to line the inside of holes made by other birds, discovering a natural crevice, or using ground roots to keep their young safe. The male chickadee helps raise the family. My own dad provided for his family and kept us safe. I always believed that as long as he was with me, nothing could ever go wrong. 

At feeders, a distinct pecking order prevails, with male chickadees often forcing females aside except early in the breeding season. So, the chickadee, like me, will brave the cold winter nights alone, huddled in foliage clumps or under big flakes of bark. And when daylight brings sun to the brisk mornings, the chickadee and I will bathe in its warmth, stretching out on an exposed perch, away from the wind, away from peril. I’ve endured the cold night air in solitude, knowing peace will come with the morning light.

Dad called me his “little chickadee” for as long as I can remember. In mythology and folklore, the chickadee serves as a powerful symbol of wisdom, honesty, perseverance, and bravery—all the qualities my dad embodied and had hoped to instill in me. He knew all about the bible and its teachings. He lived them. “Growing up, we didn’t have television, so we listened to the radio, made music, and studied the bible,” he said thoughtfully. “So far, everything I learned from the bible has come to pass.” I regret not trying to learn more about these things from my dad. It seems he wanted to encourage us in this way but knowing his children wouldn’t be “studying” the bible anytime soon, he subtly showed us God’s word by example. 

Some humans will brush-off a glimpse of the Mountain Chickadee, not seeing her for who she is. But I find her interesting. Though small, her strength has promise. She’s determined. When taking flight, she knows where she’s headed and what she can become. At last, she’s free to unfurl her wings and fly.