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.


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