“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life (25)...look at the birds of the air;they do not sow or reap or store away in barns and yet your heavenly Father feeds them.(26) Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?(27) ...But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. (34)” ―Matthew 6:25-34
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| Pappy's Chickadee's |
My grandfather was known to us as “Pappy.” He was the teacher of driving slowly on the driveway. The ferryman to Baskin Robbins. The best pecan nut cracker that ever lived. And, perhaps, the loudest snorer that ever snored.
He was also a feeder of the birds.
It is winter time. The food is scarce...the nuts are past their harvest, the insects in hibernation, the fruits and berries absent or in short supply. The situation can be so bleak for some species of birds in fact, that they depend solely on food from feeders to get them through the winter―or so we are often told.
And so it goes, during this bleak season called Winter, some of us―like Pappy―feed the birds.
I was a curious child and avid “little helper.” Some of my favorite memories are helping Pappy feed the birds and fill up the many feeders that hung off their glassed-in back porch. During each session, many of the same factoids were repeated by my patient teacher as I inquired about information that had been repeated numerous times before―but that I had not actually remembered. I think I liked the telling of his stories and lessons so much that I (almost) intentionally tried not to remember them. My chosen and conveniently poor retention ensured my delight of his shared knowledge would be renewed each time the lesson was taught.
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| Imagine this little girl sitting still… |
“Pappy,” I would ask, “how many times can a hummingbird beat its wings in one minute? And how many times will its heartbeat in 1 minute?” Patiently, the answers were repeated over and over again during each session. “As many as 200 wing beats and 500 or more heartbeats.”
This would go on and on…long after the feeders had been filled. "How far did that bird fly South from ?" "Where is it going?" We would come in and sit on the back porch sofa. From there I would watch the birds that had momentarily been scattered by our presence at the feeders, return and begin feasting again. I would perch in his lap and chatter without ceasing.
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| A busy day at the feeders on Southern Comfort Farm |
Pappy didn’t always sit patiently with me. In fact, he was all but famous for his rebuttal statement towards the grandchild when he’d had enough. He would grunt the statement, “uh ah….guh-on now!” as he brushed us gently off his lap. Any sting from being evicted from Pappy’s lap was quickly soothed by the busyness of old fashion games Ta and Pappy kept in the hall closet like Jacks, pick-up sticks, or Lincoln Logs.
But when Pappy fed the birds he was always in a patient state of mind the instant he got up and headed over to the old metal mini-trashcan that held the seed mix. It was a special blend―a mix of several types of food he concocted to attract what he wanted to see at his feeders (one I still duplicate). I would sit there with him―and together we watched the birds come to the feeders. He looked like he was in the same place of peace I would see my Father reach in the woods or out fishing. I guess it was this moment of closeness with creatures and critters that helped him find his “happy place.” It was a place that seemed free from worry. Almost as if the apostle Matthew was whispering his reminder of God’s provision in his ear during those moments… though, truth be known, he probably couldn't’ have heard anyone whisper anything in his ear over my non-stop talking. But alas!...the peace would remain unless an unwelcome critter appeared―a squirrel.
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| A brilliantly colored female Cardinal |
When it came to critters at the feeders, the squirrels were despised! Pappy viewed them as a restaurant owner of an “all-you-can-eat” buffet would view a NFL offensive lineman. They simply were NOT welcome. Pappy had a squirrel trap to help manage this problem. It was baited with the most delectable “squirrel offerings” available. No squirrel could resist. Nothing tickled me more than watching one get caught. The squirrel would creep ever so sneakily into the trap and then―BLAM! The cage doors would spring closed and the squirrel was immediately registered for the “Pappy Postal Deportation” to the park way across the other side of town. I would always pray that Pappy would have one caught and ready for release during my visits so I could assist in the Pappy Postal Deportation process. If you’ve never see it, no animal runs like a squirrel realizing it’s free from a trap. In fact, I am not so sure that National Geographic doesn’t need to clock the speed of a squirrel during trap release against the speed of a cheetah for the fastest land animal speed.
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| A curious Cardinal |
As soon as I was old enough to have my own apartment, I started feeding the birds. Like other habits we learn from our “elders” (my mother and her mother also fed the birds), we often start repeating the habits of our parents/grandparents out of "expected habit development" (which is a highly technical psychological term that I just made up). We do this "expected habit" because we think we have to in order to be proper, well-adjusted adults―at first, that is…. Then we get a little older, a little further into adulthood, and we start to examine whether or not we want to claim these “habits” for ourselves.
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| A goldfinch takes flight from the feeder |
And so I thought about it the other morning...it was freezing and I walked out of my house (on my “first attempt” to get in the truck and leave for work...it always takes more than one attempt) and I noticed all three bird feeders were empty. So I stopped for a moment in order to fill them up. After all, I had just spent twenty dollars of my hard-earned money on birdseed at Tractor Supply three days ago. There was no point in letting it just sit in my little metal trashcan unused. Once I finally left for work, I spent most of my drive reflecting on “the why” of it all. “Who are they?” I thought. “Those that feed the birds?”
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| A Tufted Titmouse perches for seed |
I could ramble on philosophically for long while in an attempt to compose the perfect summary of what some of the fibers are that comprise that “common thread.” But I won’t. It wouldn’t be good enough anyway.
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| The Blackcap Chickadee |
What I know about birds is this: Their songs are so joyful they stop me in my tracks sometimes. Their movements and quickness make my heart flutter. I think of my grandfather putting on his black “driving cap” every time I see a black-capped chickadee. And I can sit still for very long periods of time and just watch them―and it is STILL quite a big deal for me to sit still.
Ultimately, I end up where I started again: “Birds are a miracle because they prove to us there is a finer, simpler state of being which we may strive to attain.” ―Douglas Coupland
There is a worry-free life out there waiting for you to find it. If you don’t know where to start, try getting a bird feeder.
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| "I think I'm in love with you…" |
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| Goldfinches enjoy a thistle seed sock |
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| A rare find at the feeder for me―a Flicker |
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| A Titmouse (tuft is down) |
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| A Titmouse (tuft is up!) |
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| A Woodpecker on a Pine Tree on the farm |
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| A Carolina Wren settles on a branch near the feeders |
I was a curious child and avid “little helper.” Some of my favorite memories are helping Pappy feed the birds and fill up the many feeders that hung off their glassed-in back porch. During each session, many of the same factoids were repeated by my patient teacher as I inquired about information that had been repeated numerous times before―but that I had not actually remembered. I think I liked the telling of his stories and lessons so much that I (almost) intentionally tried not to remember them. My chosen and conveniently poor retention ensured my delight of his shared knowledge would be renewed each time the lesson was taught.
