The Summer I Was Chosen by a Northern Mockingbird

During the long, suspended days of the pandemic, a wild mockingbird began visiting my driveway and chose me, again and again. What started as a strange encounter became a brief, meaningful connection that I still carry with me.

The First Time He Landed

June 2020. Summertime in Texas, during the long, suspended days of the COVID-19 pandemic. Like so many others, my family was home together constantly, learning how to exist inside the same walls.

One morning, I was standing alone in our driveway when a wild bird landed on the ground beside me and began squawking loudly, insistently, and unmistakably at me.

It was so unexpected that I looked around, half-convinced someone else must be nearby to witness it. There wasn’t.

When I failed to respond with anything other than confusion, the bird flew off, leaving me standing there, wondering what on earth had just happened.

It felt less like a coincidence and more like an introduction.

When He Came Back

With nowhere to go and time suddenly abundant, I decided to clean out the garage that summer. I worked with the door open, quietly alert for another encounter.

To my amazement, the bird returned. Once again, he landed nearby and squawked as if he had something to say—then flew away.

I began to wonder if he was hungry or thirsty so I put out a small bowl of water and a few cold grapes cut into tiny pieces.

He came back. And to my surprise, he happily ate the grapes.

Assuming no one would believe me, I recorded a short video and posted it on Facebook, introducing my unexpected new friend to the world.

A Visitor Becomes a Presence

I cleaned out the garage a little each day. My feathered visitor, whom I named Little Nugget, would fly in, perch on a table, and keep me company while I worked.

After my husband’s initial shock wore off, he too grew accustomed to our small flying foreman overseeing the operation, occasionally enjoying his cut-up grapes.

When Little Nugget landed on my shoulder for the first time, I felt briefly, impossibly—like a Disney princess in an enchanted forest.

I felt chosen by a wild thing that owed me nothing.

Little Nugget

My next-door neighbor noticed the bird’s frequent visits and shared a possible explanation. Little Nugget may have been taken from his nest as a baby and raised by humans, only to be released once fully grown.

That would explain his comfort around people. Maybe he’d been trying his luck with humans ever since, until he found one who didn’t shoo him away.

I’m glad that person was me.

What I Began to Notice

I quickly grew fond of Little Nugget and looked forward to our daily encounters. As I shared updates online, friends helped identify him as a Northern Mockingbird and suggested treats like mealworms, which he loved.

Spending time with him led me to two surprising realizations. First: birds can be complete jerks. Little Nugget was often chased and attacked by others in the neighborhood.

Second: there was something quietly sad about him.

He didn’t seem to belong to any flock. No family appeared to claim him. He was alone.

Some afternoons, I would sit on the back porch with Little Nugget perched on my shoulder while he stared into the distance, watching other birds fly by.

Little Nugget didn’t seem to belong anywhere.

Moved by how often he was chased away, I built a small sanctuary in our backyard stocked daily with mealworms. He would visit, eat, and leave. I never knew where he went at night.

After the Storm

One evening, a powerful thunderstorm rolled in and lasted through the night. I worried about Little Nugget and prayed he had found shelter.

The next morning, I searched the yard anxiously. At first, there was no sign of him.

Then—just as I began to lose hope—he appeared, flying in and landing squarely on my shoulder.

That was the happiest I had ever been to see him.

That day, the rain had brought insects to the surface, and our yard was alive with movement. I coaxed Little Nugget down to the grass and walked beside him as he feasted on bugs, hopping confidently from one snack to the next.

Watching him, I felt a quiet relief. He still knew how to survive.

What Remains

After several weeks of daily visits, Little Nugget stopped coming. One day passed. Then another. Then four.

By the fourth day, I accepted that our time together had ended.

I chose not to imagine the worst. Instead, I believed that perhaps he had finally found his place reunited with a flock, accepted somewhere he truly belonged.

My time with Little Nugget was brief, but it was meaningful. It reminded me that even brief kindness can matter deeply.

For reasons I may never fully understand, I was chosen. Even if it was only for grapes and mealworms, I felt honored.

I hope Little Nugget knew he was loved, even briefly, and I will always cherish the summer we shared.

Author’s Note

This essay is based on a true experience that took place during the summer of 2020. I don’t know what ultimately became of Little Nugget, but I’ve come to appreciate that not every meaningful connection is meant to last. Some arrive briefly, change us gently, and leave us better for having noticed.

Thanks for reading. I’m glad you were here.