The best thing happened, Reader...
A crow brought me a gift this week.
It was the broken end of a hose, placed directly outside the window where I've been leaving bird feed.
When I saw it, I was immediately confused.
I mean, random bits of rubbish often litter the streets where I live, but even a strong gust of wind wouldn’t have displaced an item three stories up directly in the place where I feed the local birds.
It was a deliberate placement.
In my mind, I’m now Snow White (if only I could train a pigeon to complete my lengthy list of household chores and sort my recycling)
Though, in all honesty, I think the birds see me more like the crazy pigeon lady in Home Alone.
But here’s the thing:-
I wanted to befriend the crows, mostly because I’ve seen a whole heap of TikTok videos of people befriending wild birds. Someone has a WHOLE FAMILY OF ROBINS that just come into her house and eat mealworms from her hand.
There’s another guy who cares for ravens and goes for walks with a raven on his shoulder like a pirate’s parrot.
I WANTED IN ON BIRD FRIENDS.
The pigeons noticed the food first.
Initially I was a bit disappointed; I had dreams about feeding magpies from my hand, not the city pigeons that tramp through discarded kebabs smashing a metric shit tonne of garden centre peanuts that I purchased with my own money.
But I realised the pigeons love a chat. They cock their heads and listen to you staring intently with their orange eyes, and make happy little feather ruffles and tongue-mlems when they feel sated.
One particularly cheeky pidgey now lands ON THE SKYLIGHT WINDOW and stomps around to request a peanut top-up.
The magpies noticed next.
The whole chatty family had the occasional sibling battle outside the window, but as soon as my head appeared, they’d be off. Easily spooked, and probably not helped because I was so excited, I said “OH MY GOODNESS HELLO CUTIES!!” with a level of enthusiasm as if I were greeting a band of rambunctious puppies.
Magpies? Not cool with enthusiastic baby voices, it transpires.
The crows noticed last, and they’d side-eye me with deep suspicion from afar, waiting for me to disappear from view before attempting a meal.
The level of shade you receive from a crow’s disdainful stare is viscerally crippling.
And yet I persisted.
Anyway, the point of this isn’t really about the birds, but about how the journey never really looks like how you expect it to.
My plan?
Feed birbs. Birbs become friends. Birbs start eating out of my hands and sharing deeply poetic and poignant moments that teach me wankily reverent lessons about the fragility of life while I navel-gaze profoundly about how we’re all one, and I get a viral TikTok.
The reality?
Spend quite heavily on a variety of different bird feeds because it turns out that all the birds have unique preferences. Get frustrated that crows and magpies aren’t actually in the market for a new human friend with the energy of a children’s TV presenter. Start begrudgingly chatting to the pigeons. Realise that pigeons are actually very sweet, and they all have different little personalities far beyond my original belief that they were vomit-stomping rats with wings. Start to slowly coax the crows over despite the fact that they look at you like you’re a lowly Tudor chambermaid tossing human excrement into the streets below. Start to give up on the dream of having corvid besties because they prefer to keep themselves to themselves, but continue feeding them anyway. Start to delight in the cheeky pigeon who has taken to aggressively reminding you that it is HUNGRY. Wake up one morning to a broken hosepipe end.
I’m still waiting for my viral crow candid camera moment.
But what I found along the way is a bird-fly-tipped hose fitting, and a pigeon with anxious attachment and a mildly concerning peanut obsession.
And it turns out that the thing I thought I wanted was the bait, not the treasure.
The real magic has been in showing up, the wait, the unexpected connections. And one day, the silent offering of something—maybe something a bit weird and broken—that in its own way said “thanks, I see you. You’re weird. I like it.”
If the journey to anything goes completely to plan, where’s the space for magic?
Here’s to looking to the gift that comes from the broken-and-weird offerings—and I’m not just talking hosepipe fitments.
Gemma :)
