Talking to Birds

"Cardinals appear when angels are near."

~Victoria McGovern

     When I was a kid, my father was an avid bird watcher. He had a maiden aunt who was an Audobon Society bird expert, and he had learned to appreciate birds from her. We always had a full bird feeder in the yard within sight of the front living room window, no small feat in the middle of a Western New York winter. As a small child, I learned to identify blue jays, nut hatches, and especially cardinals. I knew what kind of birdseed they preferred and could identify their song. My father taught me all this and more. In the evenings there was often a male cardinal that would sing from one of the big trees in our yard and often you could hear another cardinal in the distance calling a reply. My father learned to mimic their call, and sometimes he would go out in the yard and start a conversation with them. Yup... my dad talked to cardinals!

     He was a huge presence in my life, of course. A loving father who became my most ardent supporter as I ventured out to make my mark in the world. He doted on my children as well. I could always count on his wise counsel if I was facing a difficulty. He was a good listener.

     The day he died, my mother, sister and I returned home bereft from the hospital to the cottage  my parents lived in, It seemed so empty!  It was a warm, beautiful Indiana June day, so we ended up out on the enclosed porch at the back of the house. Under the windows of the porch was the rose garden my father had planted and tended, and there were several in full bloom. One was a bright yellow rose. Perched on the stem of this gorgeous rose was a yellow bird I'd never seen before. It was there for a moment and then with a chirp it was gone. We all three were stunned. I looked up the bird in Dad's bird book and found that it was a yellow warbler, common in Indiana in June. But we'd never seen one before, and I have not seen one since. My mother remarked that maybe it was my dad, just checking in for one last goodbye.  And ever since then, I have associated my father with birds, especially yellow warblers.

     Here in our mountain home, keeping a bird feeder full of food would be wonderful, but it comes with the knowledge that black bears love bird food and are great tree climbers. Keeping one full is like inviting a black bear to lunch. Indeed, our neighbors have had that exact experience... So, reluctantly, I have not kept a feeder.  Living in the woods, though, we are surrounded by birds, many of them different than those we saw regularly in Indiana. I keep my dad's copy of A Field Guide to the Birds by Roger Tory Peterson close so I can look up any we do see. Lanny has become more than a novice in this regard, and since his eyes are better than mine, he often sees details on a bird that helps us identify it.

     Today, as I was sitting in our living room, there was a tapping sound on the window. I looked out in amazement to see a male cardinal, resplendent in his red plumage, peering in the window at me. He chirped when I looked, tilted his head for a moment and then flew away. I was immediately transported back to my childhood and my father talking to those cardinals, and then I remembered the quote at the top of this blog. Whether it was my father or just a wonderful coincidence, it gave me a warm memory of a central figure in my life. I was reminded of my father's love for me. Of course I miss him, but  his gifts to me fill my life with goodness. And gosh, I needed that in this weird, troubled time!