R.I.P. Birdie
At the beginning of each day that I wake up and watch the branches of the hanging birch swaying low over the water as I do everyday, I wonder how much more I will have to say about this existence. Each day provides more than a full answer. This morning the birch were swaying in 10 degrees cooler wind than yesterday, a fact which had not gone amiss on the birds. A panic seems to strike them, particularly the small ones that are non-migrating, when they sense the first North Wind of the late summer. They fly into the house seeking shelter, then find it to be a thoroughly disagreeable place and try to get out again through closed windows. One tiny feathered friend hadn’t worked out that you cannot fly through a closed window and unfortunately met an early end trying to get in.
Our son and his good friend, who enjoy sitting in their row boat fishing out in the middle of the lake, were just sharing another super-disgusting story while the ducks yapped around them waiting for food. 11-year-old boys seem to be into outdoing one another when it comes to how yucky a story you can tell. Back here on land my husband announced that he’d found a dead bird at our window. The sound must have carried across the water and the boys reeled in their lines and paddled back quickly to the frustration of the ducks who still had not got any breakfast and quacked furiously as they chased the boat.
Upon witnessing the poor dead creature which lay like a sort of undamaged angel, the boys immediately volunteered to bury it. In the hammock, my daughter glanced over her latest novel about teenage love and rolled her eyeballs. “Boys are so weird,” she sighed and returned to her story of pimply passion. The funeral services got underway with immediacy. A saw, a hammer, nails and planks were gathered in order to create a cross. The garden spade was unavailable for a full hour. The eulogy was discussed: “Dear God, this bird is dead. Can you get it up to heaven as quickly as possible, PLEASE?”
The boys surprised me. Under the veneer of yucky stories was a great flair for delicacy and beauty. The grave was decorated with any of my garden flowers that had survived the recent heat wave. Not only that, they were lined up symmetrically to make a sober pattern around the new sacred site.
As evening set in the temperature continued to sink and the weather was clearly changing. My husband sat at the window with his binoculars revelling in the Sturm und Drang that was setting in. Across the bay we spotted a heavily bearded man on a small trimaran tucking himself into a sleeping bag. Through the binoculars he looked like Tor Heyerdal after the Kon Tiki journey. “I wonder what he is thinking,” my husband shook his head. “He’s parked himself right up against the North Wind.” I didn’t reply but inwardly admitted that I felt a bit like that when the first cold winds of the season drew in. I’m never quite ready for them and my urge is almost always to resist.
Never a dull moment...
At that moment the Sea Rescue boat cruised around the corner dragging the latest victim of the shallow spot at the tip of our island that is not marked. All sailors know that it’s never a good idea to take the corners too close but just about every boat that passes there falls into the same trap. We’ve considered flying a flag with a skull and crossbones off a tree on that corner of the island but it might be more sensible to contact the sea authorities. I’ve got a couple of pictures to send them anyway; more evidence that there is never a dull moment around here.
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For more island adventures visit www.lettersfromtheisland.com .
Hej Julie,
)♥
Sorry to hear that your wild bird has died. But such is the circle of life I guess. Thanks for your stories.
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Ah yes, the yucky stories pahse. Have they gone through the ghoulish story phase already too? You know, when they suddenly seem almost disturbingly enamored of ghost stories?
Went through both in my boyhood years lo these many years ago.
And yet, I don’t find it surprising that they buried the bird and put flowers on the little grave too. Both kids and adults are often facinated and talk about yucky, scary or outright bad stuff, but when it comes down to it we usually try to do the right thing. And tend to be more sentimental than we let on.
By the way, the skull and crossbones flag sounds like an awesome idea. ^_^
If you for some reason want to get the kids, alternatively your husband and the kids, out of the house for a while for some reason, ask them to set up a pole at the shallow spot (in the water, if the bottom is soft enough to hammer one down) with a Jolly Roger tied to it.
Then they can name it some suitably piratical name, Döskallerevet/Skull reef, or something like that as the icing on the cake.
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A happy family life is rare, perhaps like in the death of the bird looking like a damaged angel, in our time. Looks like you have a great family together. And arrogance seems it has little place here.
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The Skull Reef project sounds interesting. Will consider it. Thanks for dropping in everyone.
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