We’ve always fed the birds at our place – it makes me feels less guilty about crusts left on plates and the last bit of French bread that gets abandoned at the bottom of the brown paper bag. At one stage we even had a particularly cheeky pukeko that would use its beak to knock loudly on our back door if we slept in a little on the weekend and hadn’t delivered his breakfast on the lawn. But then our neighbours got a cat. A lovely, snugly, friendly cat, but a cat with a penchant for pouncing on birds. Suddenly eating from our back garden became a dice with death for the neighbourhood birds.
Last weekend my husband and kids launched a campaign to bring back the birds. Someone had an idea to build a bird table and within minutes they were fossicking around under the house for tools and woods. This is precisely where my husband’s approach differs to mine. My course of action would have been a couple of hours on Pinterest searching for bird tables, a trip to a hardware store to check out materials, and a wander around the garden to work out the perfect spot for the thoroughly considered masterpiece.
Meanwhile with the kids’ help, he had a bird table assembled within an hour. It’s made up of the pole from an outdoor umbrella that self-destructed last summer, the case from a fishing rod and a slab of timber that may well have been under our house for a couple of generations. I love it. The birds do too. I’ve learned that sometimes it’s the doing that matters most. Pinterest isn’t the blueprint for life.