Keeping watch on the birds on a cold spring day

Is this chickadee blind or what?

Today is late May, rainy in the morning after a rainy night, after an endless stream of rainy days.

A chickadee pair is using a nesting box in our backyard as it has for several years.

Chickadees have nested successfully for millions of years without any help from me. But on this wet, blustery day I thought I'd lend a hand. I bought a box of fresh, lively mealworms.

The parent chickadees were making their usual frequent trips to bring insects to the nestlings. They had to be working harder in the rain, cold and wet, right?

The worms were put on the ground in a small pile 10 feet ahead of the box. The worms went undisturbed, dying in the rain. I put more on a board six feet from the box. I put a few on top of the box.

All of the worms died a cold, lonely death, unseen, as far as I could tell, untouched for certain.

I had 10 bucks invested in what became a learning experience, except I did not learn much. (I eventually learned that patience is a virtue.)

Not many bird species nest as early as these chickadees. All, however, need insects to feed the newly hatched birds. Even the seed eaters use bugs as baby food.

I believe that the birds, whatever they're doing, know more about it than I do. The worm purchase was made in a weak moment. What I don't know enough about, apparently, is what I'm doing.

An hour after I set the buffet, the sun came out. That changed nothing.

I was watching the worms while sitting inside, at the patio doors, with a camera, waiting for birds to come to the seed feeders on our deck.

This happens every day at midpoint. I assume it happens at your place, too. So, what is the signal? How do all the birds recognize that moment? Where do they go? What determines their return? Return is synchronized. How does that happen?

This is as puzzling as the meal worm refusal.

The only birds that continued their business were the geese nesting on the far edge of our pond. She goose has been incubating for more than six weeks, too long for success. Her opening days in this chore were cold and snowy, prolonged nasty weather.

I think the eggs went bad then. She didn't know. No one knew.

The goose never quit. She is leaving the nest more often now, to eat, to bathe, once for a short flight with her mate, but always to return. The gander, incidentally, is stalwart, on guard when his mate comes ashore to eat, always on the pond, never absent.

I do know there is nothing I can do about it.