While the world outside feels heavy lately — with frightening politics and the limitations that come with my chronic illness — I find myself retreating to my happy place: a cozy corner inside, looking out on the life unfolding about fifty feet away in my backyard. Out there, through cold winds and swirling snow, our little community of birds carries on as if none of it matters.
Woodpeckers, chickadees, goldfinches, and cardinals — all of them stay here instead of flying south feasting from dawn until dusk as if every seed might be their last.
Below, the squirrels stage acrobatic feats, unsuccessfully scaling poles only to settle for black oil sunflower seeds that spill down from the frenzied flyers above.
The main feeder hangs over a baffle and connects to two others on either side by metal arms shaped like a moustache — a perfect perch for those politely waiting their turn. I often think they need an air traffic controller; near collisions happen constantly, yet somehow order is maintained. Each species has its own rhythm: chickadees dart in, grab a seed, and vanish. Cardinals linger, unhurried, often sharing the space with a mate or fledgling.
Just beyond the feeders lies a strip of forest, home to foxes, raccoons, turkeys, rabbits and skunks. The other day a sleek red fox appeared, nibbling dropped seed under the feeders too— what a sight! That instantly lifted my spirits.
There’s a kind of equalizing magic in watching nature up close. The chaos of the news and the noise of the world fade away, replaced by something real, grounded, and beautifully simple. Our four feeders need refilling every two days now — they’ve come to rely on us, and we gladly show up for them.That, at least, doesn’t feel helpless at all. It feels deeply worthwhile.
What do you do to save your sanity? Please share.
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