At some point, you have to admit when negotiations have failed. We had bird feeders for the birds, squirrel food for Pinecone, cracked corn for the geese, and suet for the woodpeckers. It seemed like a perfectly reasonable arrangement to us.
Apparently, nobody Behind the Puddle had agreed to it.
Pinecone has never been particularly concerned with what we purchased specifically for squirrels. Given the opportunity, Pinecone has happily performed acrobatics for the woodpecker suet instead. Then our collared dove discovered the squirrel food and made it quite clear that the word squirrel printed on a bag held absolutely no authority in the backyard.
So today, we officially ended the bird food negotiations.
The ground feeder hanging from the white pine is now the Community Table. We filled it with a little of everything we already put out during bird chores: seed, corn, peanuts, and the smaller pieces that various members of the neighborhood seem to enjoy. Nobody needs to present identification, and apparently there are no assigned seats.
When we restock bird seed, we are going to pick up sunflower seeds and smaller peanuts and begin mixing our own critter food. Cracked corn will join the mixture too, while most of the whole corn can stay elsewhere since it has developed the unfortunate habit of falling through the feeder and attempting to become next year’s crop. Depending on what we find on sale, we may even add another ground feeder beneath the maple tree.
The suet situation requires an entirely different inventory system. We keep extra blocks and logs in the shed because the neighborhood rarely provides advance notice before consuming them. One evening there can be what any reasonable person would describe as plenty, and the next morning there is apparently an emergency need for immediate replenishment.
I am also not entirely convinced the birds should receive all the credit for that.
We know there are raccoons wandering through here after dark, and we have already witnessed their impressive problem-solving abilities around a suet feeder. So perhaps the Community Table has a night shift we know considerably less about.
But I think that is part of what I have come to love about feeding everyone Behind the Puddle. We can purchase the food, choose the feeders, hang them from particular trees, and imagine we know exactly who each one is intended for. Then nature quietly reminds us that we aren’t actually in charge of the seating chart.
A dove eats squirrel food. A squirrel eats woodpecker suet. Geese wander beneath the feeders looking for whatever everyone else dropped. Somewhere after dark, a raccoon may be helping itself to the catering.
And eventually, instead of trying to make everyone follow our plan, we changed the plan.
There is something wonderfully simple about that little feeder now. It isn’t Pinecone’s feeder anymore. It isn’t a bird feeder that Pinecone happens to visit. It is simply a place where food is available and whoever happens to be hungry is welcome.
Maybe hospitality doesn’t always require knowing who is coming.
Sometimes you simply put enough on the table, make room for whoever arrives, and trust that everyone will figure out where they belong.
For today, ask yourself:
Where in your life might something become easier if you stopped deciding who or what belonged where, and simply made a little more room at the table?
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