The first morning we wake up in England is at the tail-end of the recent heatwave on this side of the Atlantic, and it feels stuffy inside. J and I go out to eat breakfast on a bench overlooking the harbor. It's cool and overcast now, and it's such a relief after the constant sweating of the past week. The sound of squawking seagulls interrupts the morning peace. I look just to my left and point out to J that the seagulls must be hoping for a few droppings as the bins are emptied.
This man's partner walks toward us to empty another bin and stops to shoot the breeze.
"We feed the baby seagulls every morning."
So they're not just hoping for accidental droppings; they're flying in for a breakfast buffet they know to expect.
"Seagulls are smarter than you think. Sometimes people put bags on the top of the bins to keep them from getting in, and we've seen them go flying straight into them to knock them off the top."
"Sometimes we have to break up fights between the seagulls and the crows."
My mind conjures up a picture of rival gangs in West Side Story, and I'm reminded that every life and every job has something interesting to lighten the load. It makes me happy that these men spend their mornings feeding the birds while they keep the harbor clean.
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