There must be a gene that only emerges when one gets past 50.
And once it manifests itself, one becomes officially old.
See, I bought a bird feeder.
My dad, prior to moving into an apartment with my mother a few months ago, spent decades and many dollars on buying bird food and squirrel food for the feeders he placed outside his front living room window. Every time we visited him he would tell us stories about his birds, ducks, geese, and squirrels – one albino! – that he watched for hours. He’d tell us about the squirrels who performed acrobatic stunts while trying to get at the bird seed and squabbles between breeds of birds.
My parents’ neighbors with a pool weren’t too crazy about the waterfowl visiting, however, but my dad didn’t care. He’d plant himself in front of the bay window, saying what took place outside was better than anything on television.
It soon became apparent that the animals counted on my dad as much as he did them, as the birds would squawk if the feeder was empty. He even had a squirrel go up to the front door, unabashedly letting him know the peanut container needed to be refilled.
At times I felt sad for my dad, like his birds and squirrels were the only things going on in his life.
But now I get it.
I have found that sometimes it’s the simple pleasures of this world that are the most satisfying.
You can learn a lot from feeding and watching birds. Take the family that made a nest in one of my hanging baskets outside my home office. I got to watch the male bird sit atop the plant hook and guard the basket while the mother bird sat on their eggs, creating a safe and warm place for their youngsters to incubate. Once in awhile I’d get close enough to look between the flowers and see her sitting there, facing out to the yard. She looked so patient and content. I’d wonder what she was thinking about.
When the babies hatched, I saw the mother fly off and return with food, with the father always nearby.
It was a simple life.
Not that simply existing should be our, as humans, only goal. It is in our essence to want to strive for, to aspire to, more than merely surviving. But what if that is what some of us get pleasure from? After all, the mother bird I observed was quietly doing what she needed to do, what she was born to do. What if taking care of your family and your home is what gives you the greatest joy?
If my dad, in his years of retirement and jigsaw puzzles and word finds and reruns of Gunsmoke, finds enjoyment in bearing witness to the quiet and stillness of wildlife, then I can too.
Watching birds and squirrels is communing with nature. And there’s nothing wrong with that. In fact, I count myself lucky that that is what I can focus my attention on. My husband and I are employed, our children are healthy, and our house isn’t getting bombed.
One day I looked in the flower basket and found the babies gone. They’ve never come back to the nest, which I’ve left intact. I leave it there as a reminder of what I got to be a part of. How to be still and patient and content, being happy with what I have and recognizing that anything more is a gift.
49 and Counting 