Birdhouse Vacancy

One of the quiet traditions my parent’s grandchildren and great-grandchildren likely all have experienced is visiting the birdhouse with their grandfather. Just above their house on a metal pole sits a roughhewn wooden birdhouse facing west. It has a hole near the top of the front of the house and a lock on the roof that connects to the house to keep out predators. That lock also allows Pappaw to unlock it opening the top of the birdhouse so that he can hold new generations of the family up to it so they can gaze down onto a bird’s nest which is often filled with tiny eggs. Several in our family have pictures of Pappaw holding them in their younger years or holding their children in more recent times at that birdhouse peering down into that private little world.

Hannah has experienced this tradition. Every time we visit my parents she insists on visiting the birdhouse even if the birds have gone south for the winter.

I noticed Hannah’s fascination with the birdhouse. That wasn’t hard to do especially after last year when I asked her what gift she would like to buy her Mom for Mother’s Day and her answer was a birdhouse. My Dad also took note of Hannah’s fascination with the birdhouse. And, of course, my Dad did something about it.

In his spare time, Dad built Hannah her own birdhouse. Then, as a birthday gift to her, he and my Mom gave it to her. All that had to be done to it was to paint it then plant it in our yard.

Hannah and I went to the nearby hardware store one day. She picked out a brownish-brick color and some brushes. Later, she put paint to brush and her new birdhouse was transformed into a different looking home for the aviary set. We wrote her name and Pappaw’s name on the bottom of the house and dated it for posterity.

Once the paint dried, we had to determine where the birdhouse would be placed. I felt it would be best near the end of our drive way nestled in a bed of tangled vine of unknown origin. Hannah though felt it would be better resting in a nest of ivy above our driveway at the edge of our porch. So, for a few months, the birdhouse stood, facing west as my Dad suggested, but not one bird moved into the house. Likely, by the time we painted and planted the birdhouse, the season for nesting had passed by. Either that or the birdhouse is just too close to the human house for some birds. These birds, of course, would not be the birds who try to build in any nook or cranny or flat surface of our porch throughout the year.

Now as spring nears, we've moved the birdhouse to a new location. It now rests in the front yard in the flower bed between the two oak trees. We will see if this location will bring us our first tenants.

That said, if you know of any birds looking for a good place to stay, send them our way. We’ll treat them right. Of course, we reserve the right to look in on them from time to time.

That's My Wife You're Talking About

I saw him across the room. He and I had talked before although not much more beyond pleasantries. He began moving in my direction as I understood that our talks came to reveal we lived in similar worlds where paths sometimes crossed. Frankly, most of what I knew of him was from hearing things, all good by the way, about him from others in his family as he moved away from this place, his hometown, years before, sometime around the time I moved here and laid some claim to this place now being my home. Despite all this, I could say I really didn’t know him. He sat down beside me anyway.

As we usually do, we traded small talk. We caught up on the broad details of our lives and the lives of our families. This day though we didn’t quickly pass by one another. We had time to talk beyond the weather and the general health of those we love.

I then noticed he had spotted my wife not too far away talking to someone else. He reminded me they had known each other pretty much all their lives. He then said something to the effect of how she is one of the best people he has ever known. He remembered how she always spoke to him when she saw him, from when they first knew each other to the very day we were living then. I could tell from his words how much this meant to him.

We continued to talk. He asked how Jennifer and I came together. That story takes some time. It involves relatives, friends, a job change, an auto accident, a visit to Montana and the providence of God, among other things. I spent a few moments connecting the dots and hitting the high points so that he could see how the pure random circumstances of Jennifer and I being together and hitting the lottery twice in one day hold about the same odds.

Soon, though, the time for conversation was over. He had to leave. We shook hands commenting how we enjoyed the conversation. The next thing I know he was rounding up his wife and kids and other family members to head out the door.

It can be difficult to see things from someone else's perspective. As my friend talked about my wife though I could plainly see what he saw in her. Often this space is dedicated to my thoughts or the antics of our six-year-old who amuses us, amazes us and often teaches us about life and ourselves. I am not unaware though that I am able to share these things because I share my life with a better half than I could ever hope to be on my own. I don’t write about her as much as I should or could. She though is the glue that holds our family together.

She is the kind heart who thinks of things to do for others. She is the “mean Momma” sometimes when Hannah’s blue eyes warm Daddy’s heart. She is the friend who never misses the opportunity to speak to a lifelong friend when she can. She is the woman who melted away the stubbornness of a man who chased the wind and his own shadow for way too long. Day to day, she is elbow deep busy making our lives together something worth cherishing.

I plan to grow old beside her. I try not to ever seem unappreciative of her but if and when I do seem to take her for granted I am thankful for friends who see a glimpse of who she is at her very being then value those qualities and can, in some way, remind me how special she truly is. It is not lost on me that I have been blessed beyond what I deserve.