As I looked more
closely at the birds around my feeder, I began to notice how much mathematics
lives in their movement and choices. I was especially drawn to the birds in
flight. When their wings fanned out, the feathers spread in a way that felt
almost perfectly symmetrical. Each wing mirrored the other, and the spacing of
the feathers created repeating patterns that shifted smoothly as the bird moved
through the air. What looked effortless was actually a precise balance of
shape, angle, and motion.
I also took several
images of birds on the ground and perched on trees, feeders, and the orange
metal hanger. The birds constantly adjusted their angles depending on the
surface they landed on. On tree branches, their bodies aligned naturally with
the slope of the branch. On the feeders, especially the plastic birdhouse,
their posture changed again. The plastic surface is smooth and rigid, and I
noticed that birds could not stay on it for very long. It does not behave like
the natural surfaces around it.
This contrast made
size and scale very visible. Smaller birds, like chickadees, managed the
plastic feeder more easily. Their lighter bodies and smaller feet allowed them
to grip and balance in ways that larger birds could not. The blue jays
struggled more. They often used a different strategy altogether, using their
beaks to throw seed onto the ground, where the flat surface made it easier for
them to retrieve food. This felt like problem solving in action, adjusting
strategies based on body size, surface, and efficiency.
The placement of our
bird station is also intentional. It sits beside an ornamental apple tree so
the birds can quickly escape into cover if needed. I have only witnessed a hawk
attack once, and it was a chickadee that was taken. Since then, the tree has
grown even more, offering additional layers of safety. The tree creates a kind
of spatial network—branches at different heights and angles, that birds use to
move quickly and protect themselves.
The materials we
choose for feeding birds also carry mathematical consequences. Plastic feeders
are easy to clean, but they offer very little grip. Wooden feeders are harder
to maintain, but their rough surfaces behave more like tree bark and branches.
Even when the feeder swings in the wind, the natural textures help the birds
stabilize themselves. In a place where wind is constant and temperatures drop
to –45, these details matter. It still amazes me that such tiny bodies survive
conditions like this, constantly adjusting position, balance, and movement.
The metal hanger
itself is another story of geometry and reuse. It wasn’t bought, it was made by
my dad when we moved away and built our house on our own property. He used a
hollow metal pipe and bent old rake teeth from a dump rake into arches. Those
curves now hold the feeder steady. The structure has never needed repair, only
a coat of paint, one of my favourite colours, orange. What I see now is a
combination of straight lines, curves, symmetry, and tension working together,
shaped by both human design and practical need.
Watching birds has
always brought me joy. But watching them with the mindset of a mathematician
adds another layer. I see balance, adaptation, scale, symmetry, angles, and
problem solving playing out constantly. Mathematics is not something imposed on
this scene, it is already there, alive in movement, material, and relationship.
While my observation was static, your observation included motion which adds another layer and dimension to the patterns you can observe. I found it especially interesting how you described the angles the birds made as they moved and landed, aligning themselves based on their perch. It’s also worth noting that both Ray and I commented on the lack of curves and varying angles in human-made objects, yet the human-made object you focused on was composed of arches. In this case, we might consider the purpose of those objects and why their shapes were chosen. A bird feeder hook has less weight to support and serves an aesthetic purpose in addition to functionality. In contrast, we might see lots of straight lines and right angles in skyscrapers or apartment buildings where the main purpose is maximizing space in a vertical direction.
ReplyDeleteI don't know if you saw the photo I posted in my own activity post, but I also have a bird feeder. It's in view of my chair at the dining table, and I always find myself keeping a close eye on it. Watching the movements of birds--and George the squirrel--always grounds me, because these movements are incredibly familiar. The way that magpies tend to crash into it with full force like a power forward crashing the net in hockey; the cute hops of chickadees peering for seeds. I find myself in search of blue jays because I can always hear it before it swoops down and pecks for food.
ReplyDeleteBird feeders are lovely examples of tiny acts of reciprocity. By supporting these birds, they grace us with their presence. In observing them, we can make mathematical connections between nature and our world--we, as masters students, are adept at that. Now we face the seemingly insurmountable challenge of getting our students to do the same.