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By Liz Quirin

Feeding the Birds Takes on New Meaning

Sunday was a beautiful, busy day. People sporting their allegiance to the Rams walked toward the Edward Jones Dome while others, still hopeful pledged, with their wardrobes, their undying loyalty to the Cardinals in this last gasp of summer.

Whether you support the local professional sports teams, the cost of a ticket to watch them — on this day lose in both locations — is just the beginning of the squeeze on your wallet. Add to the ticket, the cost of parking, perhaps a bite to eat or something to drink, and the tab can produce at least a gasp if not a groan.

I saw many of the people marching to their respective stadiums right after I’d met Charlotte (at left). She was one of the people eating breakfast Sunday morning, courtesy of the St. Vincent de Paul Mobile Kitchen. Five St. Vincent de Paul volunteers served sausage, scrambled eggs, juice and coffee to folks who have, for the moment, taken up residence in a small park in St. Louis. Looking out the bus window as we pulled up, the lawn was dotted with comforters, the tree trunks encircled with belongings in bags or battered suitcases.

People lined up for breakfast, came on the bus, sat down, ate and moved on to make room for the next guest. In a little more than an hour, we had served 16 dozen scrambled eggs, a crock pot full of sausage and moved through three cans of fried Spam. While some of us disdain the Spam — count me among them — our guests appreciated the meat dish added to the menu.

Charlotte ate and returned to her spot on the lawn. Someone had given her a honey bun, she said, and she was sharing it with the birds. She took a bite and then broke off pieces and launched them into the air. The birds ravenously descended on the crumbs and waited for more which she graciously supplied. Her feet hadn’t seen shoes or soap for a good long time, but she smiled and talked as she drew her feathered friends closer with the honey bun. No, she didn’t want to live on the street, and yes, she was applying for assistance every day, trying to find a place that she could afford.

While the people who ate on the bus weren’t despondent or hopeless, the incongruity of their situation was framed, for me, by the lines of people dressed in shirts and hats supporting a team or a player, walking to a game. Those with no permanent address already carry their blankets and their belongings down and across the streets, looking not for a stadium but someplace to spend the day without hassle, without being told to move on. Our culture tolerates too much and not enough. We can’t solve all the problems, feed and shelter the multitude of homeless and put ourselves out of business. We can, however, appreciate the simple joy of one woman sharing a bun with the birds.