Birds of a Feather Flock Together on Muddy Lane

Going through the process of planning a funeral probably varies from family to family.  As we sat doing just that last week, I imagined disagreeing, arguing, fighting and other escalations by people who'd sat in the chair I was sitting in.  Meanwhile back in reality, my mother had no hesitation about the fact that my father did not want to be embalmed.  It was in her words, 'the last thing I can give him that I know he wanted' so neither of my brothers or I had cause to disagree, to argue, to fight or to engage in other escalations.  We had zero reason to do that because we stick together.

The pastor who officiated Daddy's service is my mother's friend and church leader.  He genuinely cares about her and came to talk to her in person about the funeral.  He offered support.  He prayed with her.  He asked us if we wanted him to mention anything about our Dad.

One thing I could think of:  Daddy loves birds.   Always has.  He raised all kinds.  Quail, ducks, wild turkeys, parakeets and parrots...peacocks most recently.  Dad fed the wild birds as a staple and enjoyed that so.  He cared for sick birds with gentle determination.  It was his way to marvel at the beauty of nature.  But perhaps his favorite bird of all was the rotisserie chicken we would carry home from Sams Club.

Driving to the cemetery Friday, we noticed a pair of Canadian geese feeding along a pond bank in a field where I remember riding around to 'count cows' with Dad.  The pastor mentioned seeing some wild turkey flocked adjacent to the cemetery as he made his way down Muddy Lane.  A neighbor brought some food and she raved about how they love when Dad's peacocks visit their yard.  Birds...birds....birds.

I can remember lots of bird-related lessons.  More than I could ever write on a blog.  A bird caused Daddy and me to have that talk about life and death.  He recalled his mother sending him out to catch a fat barnyard hen when family came to visit so she could prepare a 'good meal'.  Another bird story reminds me of how Dad would doctor up sick animals, creatively trying something that might solve the problem.  The two of us actually performed a 'surgery' on a juvenile turkey one afternoon with needle and thread.

One of the major qualities of my character involves a bird.  A killdeer.  When I was probably in third or fourth grade, Dad found a killdeer nest in the pasture by our home.  He took me out to see it and we had a long discussion about how that particular species of bird nests on the ground unlike the robin in the tree or the bluebird in the box.  He explained how the mother bird attempted to lure us away from her nest when we approached.  (Look it up if you don't know how that works...it's amazing.)  Anyway, I saw the tiny eggs and while walking back to the house he told me not to go back and disturb the bird.  I said I wouldn't.

The next day after school, I couldn't wait to go look at the bird eggs.  I went out into the field and walked and walked but my elementary brain couldn't remember the exact spot.   I watched the mother bird's ritual but she did not succeed.  I kept looking. And then it so happened that my foot located the bird nest. I stepped on the eggs and they broke.  I ran back home and felt terrible but said nothing to my mother.

Later that night when Dad asked me if I'd been to see the killdeer nest, I lied.  He asked me again.  Again, I lied.  He said nothing more but slowly stood up and unbuckled his belt.  And I got it.  A spanking.  The last one I've had up to this point.  And, then Daddy said "I'm not punishing you for the bird nest.  I know you didn't mean to do that.  I am whipping your butt for lying. You have to take responsibility if you do something wrong.  And you don't lie."

You see, a bird story....one of the most influential lessons of my entire life.  If you know me at all, there may have been (or will be) a time when I say something to you that you do not like.  I may give you an answer that you find unpleasant.  But it will not be a lie.   I can sugar-coat with the best but I value the truth more than being fake.   And I owe that to my father's way of teaching right from wrong.  And to a killdeer bird that randomly built her nest one summer near my home.

After retirement, Daddy enjoyed birding as a hobby.  Oh, how we have laughed about him hunting for an ivory-billed woodpecker when that story came out in the news.  He would sit out and watch all the wild birds fly in for sunflower seeds.  He had conversations with his parrots.  He'd sneak around and follow turkey hens and the peahens to find where they were nesting in the spring.  It was a challenge he enjoyed because the hens were secretive and he'd anticipate the hatching of the chicks for each mother bird.  It often took him several days to find the location, but he would stay determined in his searching because he wanted to keep an eye on each nest.

Daddy also applied that same gentle determination to love for his people.   He kept an eye on us.  He was undeterred in his ways - a simple life in the nest, a cheerful disposition to handle the changes of the weather and a firm appreciation for loyalty to the flock.  I now realize that my family like is a flock of birds.  We are going to stick together and take care of the Momma Bird.  I love you Mom!  Everything's gonna be just fine.  Your sons are remarkable for they have their father's ways.  Your baby birds didn't fly too far.  They're right on Muddy Lane!