The First Guest at the Table
When we moved to the mountain 24 years ago, we didn't know much about birds. Down in Silicon Valley, we knew the usual suspects: robins, scrub jays, chickadees and sparrows, with an occasional mountain jay. But up here there seemed to be an entirely different world flying through the trees. So we put out some birdseed and hoped someone would come. Finally, one little round gray bird did. We immediately named him Fat Freddy. Then we pulled out our bird book to find out who, exactly, we had just welcomed to our new home.
Twenty-four years ago, when we first moved to the Santa Cruz Mountains, we put out some birdseed and waited. We didn't know much about birds then. Down in Silicon Valley, we knew the usual suspects: robins, scrub jays, chickadees and sparrows. But up here on the mountain, there seemed to be an entirely different world flying through the trees.
Finally, one little round gray bird arrived. We named him Fat Freddy. Then we pulled out our bird book because we had absolutely no idea what Fat Freddy was. A junco, it turned out. Our first mountain bird. Freddy apparently liked the place because soon he invited his friends. For quite a while, our bird feeder was an all-junco establishment. And then the guest list began to grow.
Next came what we call The Men in the Gray Suits. I had known pigeons since I was a little girl. My grandparents lived on Waller Street in San Francisco, and when we visited them in the 1950s, Grandpa would walk through the Panhandle to the children's playground in Golden Gate Park. There was a little train and a merry-go-round for us and pinochle tables for Grandpa. He always had peanuts in his pocket for the pigeons. Those city pigeons were fat and poky and very interested in being fed.
Our mountain pigeons seemed entirely different. They were tall and slim and elegant, beautifully dressed in gray with rings around their necks. The Men in the Gray Suits. At least that's how they look until a whole crowd of them discovers fresh birdseed and piles into the feeder on top of one another. Then the elegant disguise falls apart pretty quickly.
Over the years, more visitors discovered this little spot outside our window. Grosbeaks. Mountain jays. Steller's jays. Scrub jays. Pine siskins. Orioles. Once, even a tanager. And not everyone had wings. There were squirrels, of course. Raccoons. Deer. Bobcats. And a little gray fox we occasionally saw down the hill.
Then we got our corgis. Apparently, word traveled quickly through the neighborhood. The bobcats stopped coming onto the deck. The raccoons stopped coming onto the deck. The deer stopped coming onto the deck. And the fox kept his distance. Years later, after our beloved corgis were gone, I began seeing a little fox down the hill again. And then one morning I looked out the window and there he was, sitting in the bird feeder. Whether he was interested in the birdseed or waiting for breakfast to conveniently fly in and serve itself, I have no idea. But I was delighted to see him.
And then there are the turkeys. Wild turkeys are part of life on our mountain. In the spring, the males spread their magnificent tails and chase the hens around as though the entire forest exists for their personal courtship display. They are enormous, awkward, beautiful and endlessly entertaining. Usually there is plenty of birdseed scattered on the ground for them. But apparently one turkey decided that wasn't good enough. One morning, I looked outside and there he was too, in the bird feeder.
And that's when I realized what this little place outside my window has become. Twenty-four years ago, we put out some seed and hoped someone would come. Fat Freddy came. Then his friends came. And over the years, so did an astonishing assortment of creatures we never expected and certainly never invited by name.
We simply put something out into the world as a welcome. We didn't get to decide who would find it. Maybe there's something worth remembering in that. Sometimes we offer something small: a handful of birdseed, a kindness, an invitation, a little love. And then we let go of what happens next. We may never know who will find it, who needed it, or who might completely surprise us by showing up.
This is a lot like ThankU.io. I started it in 2019 as a place to simply put appreciation out into the universe. It started, and remains, a very slow uptake, kind of like the bird feeder. I have let go of what happens next. I will never know who will find it, who needed it, or who might completely surprise me by showing up. I just hope my little light helps someone have a better day.
Twenty-four years later... seven years later... I'm still looking out that window and sitting at my keyboard to see who's here today. The invitation still stands. Everyone is welcome.
Find the Good and Say it Out Loud.
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