The Christmas Finch

Did the brilliant red cardinals adorning my tree make the bird feel comfortable?

January 1, 2025

Diane R. Jones,

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Photo courtesy Macaulay Library/AllAboutBirds

My dear friend, Steph, had passed away several years earlier. I often found myself missing the close connection we shared, but on this December day, I was uncharacteristically melancholy.

I had known Steph for years through mutual friends. When we saw each other at gatherings, the conversation was easy, and it often ended with a promise to get together. But, as it usually does, life got in the way and prevented us from connecting. That is, until she was diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer. Steph chose to live until she died, and I decided to help her.

My choice to join her on this journey of hopeful healing and celebrating life was unexpected.

Here I was, opting to forge a bond with someone I didn’t know well at the most sensitive, transient time in her life. Steph and I shared four joyous and gut-wrenching years as best friends — talking nearly every day and getting together on most weekends.

Our summers were spent at Newfound Lake in New Hampshire, where we loved to sit in a boat’s bow for top-speed runs on the lake. It was our happy place. A good day was one we spent outside. Steph adored birds and a list of the species she had seen in her yard tacked to her wall. Both of us were fond of the Baltimore oriole.

As we spent her last Christmas together, she was not in a good place. The changes in her body were taking a toll. She told me through tears that she didn’t recognize herself. In the days after Steph passed, Baltimore orioles frequented her yard. I wondered if the orioles were Steph’s spirit telling us she was okay. It made sense to me that she would choose birds to communicate with us.

On a December night, I mindlessly flung the front door open, and in flew a bird. Panic-stricken and late for an evening out, I tried in vain to guide the purple finch out the door. When my efforts failed, I shut the doors in the house, covered the furniture with sheets, and hoped for the best.

Upon returning home, I tentatively entered my house and glanced around. The finch was nowhere in sight. After a long search, I found it perched at the top of the Christmas tree. I moved gingerly so as not startle it.

It looked at me sleepily, and I decided it could stay. I took a moment to appreciate the finch’s beauty. It was a male with beautiful red feathers. I snapped a picture and a short video before retiring to my bedroom.

To my surprise, it was light when I woke. I peered out of the bedroom and down the hall and saw the finch sitting at the top of the tree in nearly the exact location it was when I went to bed. I walked down the hall, scanning for evidence that it had been flying around the house as I slumbered. I saw nothing, not so much as a single poop!

Brilliant red cardinals adorned my tree, and the finch sat on a branch next to one. Did the decorations help the bird feel comfortable? However, I decided it was time for my beautiful, well-mannered guest to leave. I opened the front door and puttered around the kitchen. I expected the bird to see the outdoors and take flight. It did not.

The finch avoided my efforts to guide it to freedom. It flew around the living room and kitchen, perching on various objects. It landed on the wreath on the open door. I crept toward the door with an outstretched arm, intent on nudging it closed, but the finch flew back into the house, looking at me as if to say, “Why are you chasing me away?”

I thanked the finch for visiting and lifting my spirits. As I admired it, suddenly the bird flew out the door and was gone. The finch’s playful antics, quiet demeanor, and tidiness meant only one thing to me — Steph had visited me for Christmas.

Diane R. Jones is the author of the award-winning Rudy the Rudster children’s book series. She is an animal lover and passionate about protecting the environment. Diane lives in Portsmouth, New Hampshire.