A conversation with a congregant about her bird feeders made me miss mine, so last time I was at Rural King for chicken feed I picked up two new ones.  One is cheap plastic, entirely recyclable.  The other is a much sturdier plastic tube surrounded by steel mesh.  I moved my thistle feeder from the garden so now all three hang outside my bedroom window.  They arrive as the sun rises:  tufted titmice, house finch, goldfinch, nuthatch, sparrows, robins, and a red-bellied woodpecker.  The bluebirds will find it soon enough and I’ll enjoy it as long as it lasts.  

But eventually, the skirmishes will resume.  Squirrels at first, reconnaissance only.  They’ll retreat for want of better spoils since I don’t stock suet, corn or sunflower seed.  The squirrels will report to their superiors, the raccoons, “There’s nothing there worth having,” and we’ll know a few days of peace.  But the peace will not last, of course.  The raccoons will come see for themselves.  Raccoons don’t want thistle or millet or safflower either.  They want revenge.  The vandalism will escalate over several nights until they figure out how to get the feeders off the hooks and throw them off the deck, about a fifteen foot drop.  The cheap plastic one is done for, the first time.  The sturdier one will last for five or six drops.  When I throw them away I’ll move the thistle feeder back to my garden and wait another three or four years before putting another feeder in my basket at Rural King.

Perhaps it’s one of the gifts of being fifty-three years old.  I’ve completely lost any hope in alternate outcomes in certain ways of the world.  I no longer expect raccoons not to be raccoons.  Therefore, I no longer expect to keep the same birdfeeders hanging safely all summer long.  They are mine to watch for a little while.  Then they are the raccoons’ to destroy.  I can like it or not like it.  I cannot change it.  I can only change me.  My mind.  My heart.  

Am I a cynic?  No.  Do I wish the world were kinder?  Yes.  But I’m not inclined to judge it by raccoon behavior.  They are getting by as raccoons do.  Apparently they don’t like being teased any more than the rest of creation.  Plus, I rather like this view of the world calibrated by long experience.  Fewer surprises, less disappointment, and the sweetness of any given moment is a balance I could get used to.

~peace & prayers,
pastor annette

It might be Spring in Indiana.
Or not.  
 
My daffodils are gorgeous.
Except the ones the snow ruined.
 
The days are longer so the hens lay more eggs.
A dozen a day most days.
 
Layers are the key to dressing.
Peeling as the day proceeds.
 
I’m trying not to miss the winter that didn’t come.
Nor pine for a summer gone too soon.
 
Instead be here and now.
In this Indiana air and light.
So much more than enough. ​

​Scout sniffed her breakfast and looked at me as if to say, “Is there anything else?”  She gets dry kibble with a little scoop of meaty, canned dog food stirred in.  The store was out of our regular brand of canned so I got a different one, which she LOVES!!!!  But that’s run out, so this morning we are back to the old one, thus the sniffing and those sad, brown, puppy eyes.  But I held my ground, and she finally gave in and ate it, knowing if she delays too long Rosie will eat both bowls and she’ll be hungry until morning.
 
The struggle is real, as they say.  The struggle of a life so privileged that preference and necessity seem synonymous.  I’ve always known I was privileged.  My parents made sure of it from the beginning.  I knew that certain weeks we didn’t buy things, because we have house payment this week, and we were very lucky to have our own house.  I knew not every little girl got new clothes or school supplies in August, that some kids didn’t even have a school.