I'm Not Fat, I'm Just Fluffy

I’m sitting on my deck with my camera on my lap. My goal is to capture every moment. I see them coming in droves. Neighborhood families rush toward me in a mad frenzy. Evidently, the word has gotten out that there is a party at our house.

My husband had just filled our bird feeders. Our yard instantly comes to life as the birds descend upon their free meal. Mourning Doves, Chickadees, Sparrows, and Starlings are first at the buffet. Paul Simon’s ‘Kodachrome’ plays through my head as I reach for my Nikon.

During the pandemic, I took an online photography class which reignited my interest in a former hobby. I desperately want to apply some of the skills I learned, but I feel ill- prepared among the flurry of activity. What is the difference between aperture and ISO? What the F is a f-stop? Which is the best setting to use for birds at the feeder, and in flight? Why didn’t I take better notes during my class?

I connect the zoom lens and snap off the lens cap. Overwhelmed by the dials and multiple settings, I make the easy choice and embrace the title of novice photographer. Afraid to miss the moment, I switch to automatic mode and begin.

The second seating at the feeder includes a few of my favorites - Downy Woodpeckers, White Breasted Nuthatches and the Tufted Titmouse which I lovingly refer to as Mohawk. There are so many opportunities for great shots, I worry that I'll run out of space on my SD card. I regret not transferring yesterday's images before the party started. Within an hour, we get an appearance from the Red Bellied Woodpecker. The grand finale includes a rainbow of color – six American Goldfinches, two Blue Jays and a family of Cardinals.

It is close to 2PM when the squirrels appear. Professional acrobats, they dive through the air and hang fearlessly in order to grab a mouthful of birdseed. At one point, I count a total of twelve squirrels romping through the yard. I work hard to keep up with shots as they fight amongst themselves to gain control of the feeders.

Standing apart from the others is the cherub I call Chunk-a-lunk for obvious reasons. She gingerly climbs the deck stairs and positions herself away from the others, closer to me. She speaks to me telepathically, begging me to throw her a walnut. She sits on the deck railing like a queen on her throne, holding her belly as an obvious invitation for a decadent treat.

I shift my attention away from the bird feeders and aim my camera at Chunk-a-lunk. She is calm and seems comfortable, allowing me to change positions in order to get a variety of angles. She poses like a pro. Her belly becomes the focal point for my lens.

As I shoot Chunk-a-lunk, I am aware of my own post pandemic belly. A year of “innocent indulgences” has turned me into a fellow Chunk. I start to feel a symbiotic connection to my portly friend. As I hear the rhythmic click, click, click of the shutter, my mind shifts and I wonder if animals obsess about their weight like people do? Is it possible that Chuck-a-lunk worries about her own girth? Is she offended by her nickname and thinking about scratching my eyes out for being so insensitive? Is it possible that our visiting doe is bulimic? Our neighborhood fox anorexic?

Looking through the viewfinder, I turn the focus ring for a few final shots. She stares at me and holds her belly with pride. She speaks telepathically one final time. I hear her say, “We’re not fat, we’re just fluffy.” Gratefully, my Nikon captured the moment resulting in this shot of Chuck-a-lunk and her beautiful belly.

(The photo was taken from my home in Morris County, NJ with a Nikon D3500 DSLR using 55mm zoom lens on an automatic setting. There were minimal edits to the photo.)