My grandmother loved birds. She kept an old-fashioned metal trash can—like the one Oscar the Grouch lived in—filled with sunflower seeds: deep black like little beetles with slick shells. She used a coffee can to measure out allotments each day. When we visited I helped my mother count feeders. Some where pieces of two-by-four sliced and strung up, others were mini huts with thatched roofs. In the middle of the yard there was a mini plantation house on a pole—at least, I think there was. Sometimes it’s difficult to remember what was there, and what I wished for.