My daughter Savannah bought me a birdfeeder camera a couple of Christmases ago, and I am not yet tired of it. Every single day of my life, the pictures it captures fill me up with joy. They make me laugh and make be wonder. They tug at my heartstrings, delight me, and spark my creativity.

When the birds land on one of the perches in front of the seed bin, the camera makes a little click that gets their attention, and for a split second they often gaze right into the lens as if posing. The camera captures gorgeous, jaw-dropping, hilarious portraits. It documents movement and life in my yoga garden. And the pictures remind me that most days I don’t have to venture beyond my little corner of the earth to feel at one with the universe.

I anthropomorphize everything. Dogs, squirrels, plants, my car (I love you, Mary Arizona, especially now that you are paid off and all mine!). Everything has feelings to me, even the blue plate I broke last week in the sink. My empathy knows no bounds, and I have made my peace with this odd fact about myself. I used to suppress this tendency and only talk to squirrels, for example, when I was alone. Our society makes you feel weird for caring about the feelings of animals (especially when people around you are eating them). They make fun of you for cooing to the flowers in the bouquet you bought at Aldi and naming and talking to your car, although I know lots of people who have named their cars and talk to them when the roads are slick or the heater is slow to get warm.

But I will apologize no more. Just last night I felt sad for the calf in a food picture my sister sent me (why she keeps sending her vegetarian sister pictures of the animals she is eating is a topic for another blog!). I no longer care what people think of me for feeling the wilt of the tulips in my yard, for worrying about a sparrow being picked on, or for crying over a dead red fox squirrel in the road.

My warm embrace of the emotional connection to all living things, past and present, has come to live in my newfound joy of artmaking. It is alive in the writing of my recent book Loving Lincoln. It was validated by the intensive yoga training I just completed. And it is manifested each day in my reactions to the life captured on the birdfeeder camera, which, I admit, has taken my anthropomorphizing of birds to a whole new level.

The camera has inspired art.

The camera captures me out in the yard, which is always good for a laugh or a piece of art.

The camera also inspires stories. The photographs captured by the birdfeeder camera are often scenes from real-life human (I mean bird) drama. The birds land and fly away, jockey for position, tweet and squawk at each other, box out, rebound, defend, and dine peacefully. All walks of life. All colors and colorful personalities. I feel like the birds want me to write their stories, although not all of them would agree, I suppose, with my interpretation of the facts.

Here are a few headlines from the last few months…

Obnoxious Cub Fan Gets Served

Jack Sparrow, the neighborhood baseball bully picked the wrong Cardinal to trash talk this evening. He’s had run-ins before, but the dinner seeds got a little bit jammed down his throat this time. Talk about just desserts, they’ll be talking about this take-down in the backyard eastern redbud for months. No comment or defense from Jackie Sparrow, who witnessed the altercation. Just look at her, looking on, pretending not to know him—everyone in the trees knows she can’t take that husband of hers anywhere. 

Move Over, Blue-footed Booby

There is a new Yellow-footed Old Bird in town who is the talk of Monroe Ave. gossip. Five pairs of morning doves have been hanging around lately just hoping for her to make an appearance with that strange and wonderful big jug she keeps in her crop. There are also reports of house finches, titmice, wrens, cardinals, and the odd blue jay stopping by regularly in hopes of getting a peek and a taste, truth be told. There is a crow who watches from high in the oak tree two houses down, cawing loudly to alert the bird world to the arrival of the Yellow-footed Old Bird. And a red-bellied woodpecker dining on suet was overhead telling the downy woodpecker on a nearby branch: “The blue-footed booby is no longer my favorite other bird!

Near Miss at Stace-Place International

A Northern American Cardinal had to make an emergency landing today at Stace-Place International. He was coming in from the rotting sumac tree, flying low across the fence, when he noticed an obstructed perch. “It was like a big black blob there,” said Cardinal, “All I could see was black and sparkling flecks like stars!” The European Starling who had been hogging up the perch told authorities he was not, in fact, trying to create an international incident. He was just trying to eat a couple of seeds in peace. The Cardinal landed safely on a Cedar branch resting on a garden shed. No one was hurt in the incident, and no tickets were issued.

Domestic Disturbance at Stace-Place

“Jesus, Phyllis, I’m trying to eat here,” screamed Mr. House this morning, as the sparrows gathered for third breakfast (or was it pre-lunch?). Witnesses told a reporter quick on the scene that Mrs. House did seem a little randy. “It is spring, you know,” said the chickadee, “We’re all feeling it right now.” The pair of mourning doves on the ground below the feeder were not interested in sparrow TMI, though, and flew off to a nearby fence to cuddle and coo in private. Once the authorities arrived, Mr. and Mrs. House were peacefully eating with the other sparrows, and no one was willing to take time from the meal to offer any more details of the kerfuffle.

Lady Cardinal Finally Wins

Yesterday morning all the neighborhood was abuzz with the news that Mrs. Cardinal had finally beaten Mr. Cardinal to breakfast. 6:00 a.m. on the dot, was her winning time. “It was still kinda dark!” chimed the titmouse, who was up early to catch a flight to a birdfeeder down the block. Mrs. Cardinal was so pleased with her accomplishment, she could barely eat, she said. But she did eat, oh, yes, she did, and and later reported: “Best seed I ever had, and I will see you here first tomorrow and the next day and the next day after that!” The crow in the oak tree just squawked. “Fat chance, orange beak.” Sadly, the crow was right, and Mrs. Crow had to eat crow the next morning. Mr. Cardinal arrived at 5:59 a.m. to take back the win. Mrs. Cardinal later admitted to friends, however, that she was really much happier sleeping in and waiting for the morning rush. “Eating alone in the dark is no fun at all!”

Young Sparrow Monopolizes the Photo Booth

Yesterday afternoon, a young house sparrow parked herself in front of the camera in the Stace-Place photo booth and refused to leave. She just kept sitting there, setting off the sensor, smiling and cheesing and leaning in too close. The grackle offered to move her, but all the women (a wren, a cardinal, and four house sparrows) said to leave her alone. “She deserves a little time to feel good about herself,” chirped the lady starling, “We’re all feeling the stress this spring.” The lady finch added: “Yeah, with global warming and crazy orange politics and schizophrenic Illinois weather and that insane young cooper’s hawk trying to take us all out, we women could all use a little “me” time.