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from the pages of
March 2003
Feeding the Birds
by Michael Ballon
As a professional chef, I have spent most of the past 20 odd years engaged in the work of feeding people, which has been a gratifying, enjoyable, and rewarding career. I have received my fair share of acclaim and recognition for this, and it has helped shaped my identity as well. Among the most satisfying elements is having a great working relationship with staff and employees, and getting to know a whole set of people who are regular diners at my restaurant, who have been devoted and loyal customers. We are in the business of welcoming the familiar as well as strangers in for a meal, and providing a warm and comfortable place to gather.
In the past 2 years since moving to a new house in the mountains surrounded by forest, I have developed a new clientele. "Clientele" isn't exactly the right word, because unlike the diners in the Cafe who pay for their food, it is I who bear the cost of feeding the birds. This is something I readily do, and it has become an important part of my daily life, and an integral part of my work in providing meals for others. This cold and snowy winter has seemed a particularly important time to carry on with this work, and my efforts do not go unrecognized. I know the diners in the restaurant appreciate good food, but it is no doubt decorum and the fact that they are not quite so hungry which prevent them from eagerly attacking their meal the way the birds do. The daily ritual begins with a trip outside with a cupful of feed, while the coffee drips. Especially on unusually cold or snowy days, by the time I have walked the few feet from my door to the hanging feeder, I can hear the excited flapping of wings and stirring in the branches, and by the time I approach the feeder I can sometimes be literally swarmed by a small flock of birds anticipating breakfast. While I enjoy mine, they enjoy theirs. It only seems fair. While some people know and care about the names and variety of species in their feeders, that is not important to me. Yes, I do recognize the chickadees, and even I, who knows little about birds, can't miss the red headed wood pecker. The wood pecker dwarfs in size most of the other birds at the feeder, and easily muscles out anyone in his way. The several pair of morning doves are also easily identifiable, but the many other varieties whose names I do not know are just as welcome.
Like every other feeder of birds, the squirrels are the bane of my existence. I'm not sure why it seems like a act of charity and mercy to feed the birds and not the squirrels, but it does. They are such unrelenting pigs, and seem so unwilling to share. The birds just seem so much more vulnerable, and their survival in this weather seems miraculous. Earlier in the winter before the heavy snow fell, the feeder attracted the attention of a large brown bear, who tore down the feeder and walked around my deck like a dog with a frisbee in its mouth. Now the feeder hangs higher, and the bears are presumably sleeping. When the warmer weather arrives, the birds will have other dining options, and my role will become less important. But in the meantime, the first meal I serve every day is for the birds.
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