The SW Chronicles began as a link to an earlier time, a second chance, and a dream my parents once carried.
In 1967, my father, Lu John Tan, had emigrated to America by himself only a year earlier. My mother, Lisa Hung Tan, was just 32 years old when she traveled trans-Atlantically to join him, bringing four small children with her while not yet speaking a word of English herself.
They had left behind the only security they had ever known. They came to America for an opportunity they hoped would give their young family more opportunities for a better life.
The opportunities they found did not come in the way the had initially dreamedd
And it was in the shadow of that disappointment — during a difficult period filled with financial uncertainty, youthful hope, and the courage required to begin again — my father dreamt of opening an upscale Chinese restaurant by that name.
For him, Shangri-La was more than a business idea. It suggested a mystical place of beauty, peace, refuge, and restoration — the kind of place people might enter for a little while and leave feeling better than when they arrived.
The restaurant never materialized. But to a child of about six at the time, the image stayed with me.
Not as a failed business plan.
As a feeling.
A place of welcome. A place of safety. A place where something wounded or weary might pause, be fed, and feel restored.
Decades later, I find myself building a much smaller Shangri-La in a Central Valley backyard.
Not with waitresses wearing red silk uniforms with Mandarin collars, brocaded wallpaper, linen tablecloths, and restaurant doors.
With shallow water, shade, seed, flowers, patience, and whoever decides to show up.
SW stands for Shangri-La Wildlife — a private nod, a family echo, and a small secret smile.
This blog is about noticing the lives that enter that space.
It is about the wildlife that comes by each day for a quick bite to eat, a refreshing drink, or a quiet place to pause, reset, and rest.
Some visitors stay only a few seconds, never to be seen again. Others become regulars and can be counted on to return almost daily.
The longer I watch, the more I learn.
Tenant of the Day is the daily photo entry — one real backyard moment, one visitor, one small story.
Lessons I Didn’t Know I Needed is the weekly essay — a longer reflection on the lessons hidden in ordinary life, often starting in the backyard: water, shade, patience, trust, caution, survival, humor, and the surprising intelligence of small creatures.
After years of managing residential rentals, I still think in terms of tenants, maintenance, and care. Only now, my regulars have wings, paws, whiskers, feathers, and tails. They do not pay rent in money.
They pay in wonder.
The point is not perfection.
The point is noticing who showed up.
About the Photos
Unless disclosed otherwise, the photos are real backyard encounters, often taken by my sister on her iPhone through a mesh screen door and from a considerable distance. Many are simply cropped, brightened, sharpened, or cleaned up for clarity. If AI is used to re-create or clarify a moment that could not be restored through ordinary editing, it will be disclosed.
Dedication
Dedicated with love to my father, Lu John Tan, and my mother, Lisa Hung Tan, and to the Shangri-La they dreamed of together but never had the chance to build.
SW Chronicles 