One of the bonuses of this one-room flat, my temporary accommodation during lockdown, is a large window looking out onto a green and pleasant garden. A bird feeder hangs from one of the tall wooden fences that surrounds it. This too is made of wood and is shaped like a miniature rustic cottage, with a low-hanging roof over a squat, box-like lower half. Access to food used to be through two small rectangular holes.
One morning I looked out and noticed a squirrel on the fence doing all it could to remove food from the feeder. It managed to get just a few scraps out of one of the narrow openings and after a while gave up and left. The following day it was back. This time it meant business. At first the squirrel focussed on the sides of the feeder. Then it turned all its attention to the openings and attacked in earnest, sharp claws tearing away shards of wood. Every now and then it paused and tried to reach the food. It managed to get a few scraps and nibbled on those for a while. Then, as there was clearly more inside, it used even greater force to break into this seemly impregnable food store. This tenacious animal kept going until the wood separating the two openings cracked. It pushed the shards apart, one to the left and the other to the right. Triumphantly (well I’m assuming it experienced a sense a triumph. I certainly felt this on its behalf) one foot penetrated the enlarged space and pulled out what appeared to be a small cracker or biscuit from the interior. Then it bounded away.
Having witnessed the dynamic energy of destruction, I thought of the bird feeder as the battered remnant of its former self and was sad that a beautiful object had been so badly damaged. But, the more I’ve gone on looking at it, I’ve come to see that it is still an interesting feature of the garden: it’s just different. The new shape consists of a wide, welcoming opening, with an arch above it and eaves on either side. I don’t think the owners of the garden have noticed that it’s been ravaged – I’ve never seen them putting food into it – and anyone who wasn’t aware of the incident would just see a weather beaten, seemingly well-used bird feeder.
The Japanese value damaged pottery. They repair the broken object lovingly with lacquer resin mixed with powdered gold and consider the new version as a different but equally valuable object. They call this the art of Kintsugi. I now regard the bird feeder in this way.
A Covid Chronicles piece written for Liberty Choir radio. This blog version completed 10 June 2010