The four birdfeeders sat side by side like a miniature apartment complex on a 15-foot pole. The roofs had wooden shingles, giving the small structures a rural feeling.

The birds, however, couldn't care less about the décor. They were there to fill their stomachs with seed and suet to survive the winter cold.

The birds were one of the star attractions Saturday at the 112-acre Powder Valley Conservation Nature Center, 11715 Cragwold Road in Kirkwood. On the western side of the visitors center, people sat on comfortable chairs and couches and looked at the bird feeders placed about 15 feet away from the large windows. Microphones were placed in one of the feeders and on the pole so the birds' chirps could be heard through indoor speakers.

A steady flow of people stopped and looked. Some sat, rested their feet and stared at the birds for a few minutes. A couple of people dropped by, gave a quick look, and moved on.

A grandma sat down and looked like she wanted to settle in for a bit. Her young grandson broke that spell.

"Let's go, grandma!" he said.

"Where?"

"Anywhere."

She slowly stood up, still keeping her eye of the bird feeders. "I'm still lookin' for some deer," she said. Grandma reluctantly left.

A variety of birds landed on the feeders, each jockeying for position to grab some food. The smaller ones kept clear of the larger birds, moving in quickly for a couple of quick pecks before they were pushed away.

Starlings, sparrows, cardinals and finches landed on the feeders. It was easy to see why they constantly have to eat. They burned up a lot of energy landing and flying away. None of them settled for more than a minute.

If people were expecting songs of great beauty from the birds, they were disappointed.

Most of the noises were squawks, chirps, fluttering wings and cackles; avian language filled with accusations of theft or butting into line.

Two starlings squared off and began to fight, wings pounding with lots of shrill noises. Then, they settled down and began to eat again.

Soon, another species made the scene. First one, then two squirrels moved out of the woods. The pole was too slick for them to climb, but they were content to nibble on seed that fell on the ground or had been placed on a nearby platform.

The birds didn't seem to be particularly bothered by the rodents. They still gave them a fairly wide berth, though. The squirrels paid no attention to the feathered creatures.

The feeding had settled into a routine. Birds came and went, flying back to the trees before hitting the birdhouses again. It was constant movement. Then, suddenly, they were gone.

With a burst of energy, all of the birds and squirrels scattered in a blink of the eye. Not a trace of any of them left in the area.

Some invisible instinct or signal shaped by tens of thousands of years told them the danger was near. They moved in total concert with each other.

The birds stayed away for several minutes. None of them made a move to the feeders. Whatever sent them scattering couldn't be seen, but they weren't taking any chances.

Finally, one of the squirrels cautiously moved on the ground, stopping for a few seconds before taking a few more steps. Finally, it jumped on the platform and began to nibble on seeds. Two more squirrels followed.

Then, the birds came back one by one. The smaller ones took advantage of the situation, hitting the seeds before the starlings returned. Soon, the sound of squawks, fluttering wings and arguing came over the speakers again.