How a Simple Bird Feeder Changed How I See the World

A quiet reflection on how a backyard bird feeder changed the way I notice the world — and why paying attention might be one of the most underrated mental health practices we have.

Lou LaMedica

Jan 28, 2026

How a Simple Bird Feeder Changed How I See the World

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Birds, Before and After

There was a clear before and after moment for me with birds.

Before, they were an invisible part of daily life.

After, they were suddenly everywhere.

That shift didn’t come from a book or a class, or from some sudden desire to become a bird person. It came during that strange stretch of early COVID, when time slowed down and we were all looking for small things to anchor our days.

We put up a bird feeder out back mostly because it felt like something to do. Something simple. Something harmless.

What I didn’t expect was how much joy it would bring.

Most mornings started the same way: coffee in hand, standing at the back window, watching the birds gather. It became a quiet ritual. Not formal. Not scheduled. Just a pause before the day began.

We bought a small bird identification book and started paying attention. The dark-eyed juncos were almost always there, dependable and calm, hopping along beneath the feeder. Sparrows came and went so often they felt like neighbors.

And then, every so often, a goldfinch would appear.

Bright yellow. Impossible to miss. The kind of bird that makes you stop mid-sip. Those mornings felt lighter, like the day had already offered something good.

The kids got into it too. We’d remind each other that we needed to feed the birds so they’d have food. It gave us a tiny shared responsibility, a daily purpose that had nothing to do with productivity. Just care.

Looking back, I realize how important that was.

Birds are the background music of our lives.

For a long time, I just wasn’t listening.

Once that awareness clicked, it followed me.

💡

Sometimes nothing in the world changes — only what we learn to notice.

On my walks in the woods, I started paying attention not just to what I could see, but to what I could hear. I wanted to know who was out there with me as I moved through the trees.

I downloaded the Merlin Bird Identification app and started learning by sound. Not sight. Sound.

Now my daughter and I know that the familiar “jupiter, jupiter, jupiter” call belongs to a Carolina wren. And that strange, almost parrot-like sound echoing through the woods isn’t something exotic at all, but a pileated woodpecker, hidden high above.

I didn’t suddenly enter a world with more birds in it.

The world didn’t change.

I did.

The bird feeder opened a door. It trained my attention. It taught me to look. And once I learned to look, I learned to listen.

Now birds are everywhere I go. On power lines. In parking lots. In hotel courtyards when we travel. Different songs, different colors, the same quiet thrill.

That’s why bird watching feels like a natural part of slow living to me. It requires presence. You can’t rush it. You have to be there.

If any of this resonates, don’t overthink it. Start small. A simple feeder. A window. A few quiet minutes in the morning.

You might be surprised what you’ve been missing, not because it wasn’t there, but because you hadn’t learned how to listen yet.

“Know what’s enough. Build what matters.”

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Lou LaMedica