I am looking out the large window into the back yard at my mother’s home. She sits nearby, working on her latest puzzle that is spread out atop the dining room table. As I gaze out the window, I see a familiar pair of avian friends, strutting and picking around the yard. We affectionately know them as Harold and Everett; a couple of black birds that visit the yard daily.
You might be thinking, Ah, how cute. They named the birds. While you are correct on that, there is a deeper story behind the naming. My father’s name was Harold. He grew up on a small farm a half-hour away. By the time he graduated high school, he had decided that he did not want to spend the rest of his life farming. So, he took a job at a steel mill a half-hour’s drive from the house he built down the road from the farm.
After some years of driving the one-hour round trip to the mill, frequently working ten hours a day, six days a week, he became weary of the daily trek and decided to build a house within a few miles of his workplace. I sit today in the house he built.
My father had a good life and was a great dad to my sister and me. Sadly, he passed on Fathers Day in 2009, following a month-long hospital stay. My mother continued to live in the house he built and was very happy to be able to stay there well into her nineties, with the assistance of my wife and I.
One day at mom’s house, we observed two black birds that landed in the back yard. We would soon learn that they visit every day. Interestingly, there are black birds all around the neighborhood, but these two are the only two that seem to have made mom’s yard their daily hangout. We know that it is the same two that visit every day because one is slightly larger than the other and they have become recognizable by the three of us.
Mom said, “That’s Harold, come home to visit.” My wife asked who the other one was, and we all decided it was Everett the neighbor who had also passed several years before.
After getting to know them by name, we have come to look for them each day. Over the past month, I have made it a habit to take a scoop of seeds and peanuts out to the bird feeders each morning, then walk a little further and whistle while throwing the rest of the scoop out into the grass. Harold and Everett would eventually find their way, landing quite a distance from the tossed treat, then walking cautiously, side to side, while slowly approaching the feed. Eventually, they would gather up enough courage to peck at the food, oftentimes flying back to the safety of the tree line to eat the mouthful they collected.
Over the past few days, it seems that they have become used to my routine and maybe even expect it. Yesterday, I was in the kitchen, and I heard some cawing. I told my wife that they were hungry and promptly went out to whistle and toss. They no longer delay in flying in. They now land in the yard before I get back inside the house. They still make their first approach to the food with caution, but after that first mouthful, they just walk right up to it. I look forward to the day when they trust me enough to no longer use caution on that first approach.
Harold and Everett have become a cherished addition to our days at the house. I wonder if my dad is in heaven, looking down at us with a smile on his face and a bit of laughter in his breath.
“Consider the ravens: They do not sow or reap, they have no storeroom o barn; yet God feeds them. And how much more valuable you are than birds!” – Luke 12:24
-Randy
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Feathers photo by Vignesh Kumar R B on Unsplash
In-flight photo by Steve Harvey on Unsplash