It Was a Winter for the Birds. But Spring Is About to Come Calling.

That means, among other things, that I've missed my chance to try to get birds to feed out of my hand, winter being the prime hand-feeding season.

Hugh Wiberg, a birder in Wilmington, Mass., has written a book that advises how to get titmice, chickadees and other fearless passerines to nosh out of the palm of your hand. His book, published by Storey Books, is titled "Hand-Feeding Backyard Birds."

When he calls it a step-by-step guide, he isn't joking: "On the fourth Sunday, I moved five paces toward the feeder and turned into a statue." That may have had something to do with the subfreezing temperatures. Anyway, Wiberg is far more patient than I; I don't think the effort is worth it in breaking down the barriers between species.

One of the things I miss most about the England of my youth is the robin redbreast. This is not the large, flocking American robin but a small, solitary bird the size of a wren. The wings and back are a ruddy brown, the underside creamy white turning to scarlet orange, which wraps around its cute little face. It is known for its tameness.

I was walking along a remote border of the Oxford Botanic Garden last summer when I noticed a robin scratching at the mulch under a rhododendron. I went down on my knees, poked in the dirt for earthworms, which I found, and tried to hand-feed the bird. It would not come to my fingers but stood bravely nonetheless. I threw a worm or three its way, and it approached and ate them.

Then it fluffed itself up and started warbling, a full song but so faint as to be almost inaudible. I thought at the time it was singing for its supper. It was a magical moment, even if I later read that robins like to chant softly merely to amuse themselves.

I recounted the story to my brother, and we were joking that I could smuggle a robin back to Alexandria (ecologically unwise and illegal, of course). Then I wondered if I might keep one inside, as a canary. He reminded me of that verse by William Blake: "A Robin Red breast in a Cage/Puts all Heaven in a Rage."

Wouldn't want to risk that, though I no longer believe that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.