Hope is a Thing with Feathers, or Fins, or Fur

Springtime in the Ouachitas is a welcomed interlude between power-line breaking ice and fried eggs on the pavement heat. We begin looking out our windows for glimpses of life, in the form of colorful birds at the feeder, or scurrying little critters sunning on the patio. Many of us break out the cane poles, attach a bobber, and pick a spot on the creek bank, on a quest for  the catch of the day.

Yes, in this neck of the woods, we love all manner of wildlife. Some enjoy the thrill of the hunt, while others take a more relaxed, observatory approach. That is, as long as the little fellers stay in their proper places.

Like many of my neighbors, I have a bird feeder in the back yard, and welcome many visitors with blocks of peanut butter and suet, and yummy thistle and sunflower seeds. I’ve watched a cardinal couple  bring their fledglings for a treat before venturing out into the wild. Red-wing blackbirds, yellow finches, and bluebirds add more color, and there’s a very handsome woodpecker who occasionally stops by.

When it’s time to build a nest, winged parents will go to great lengths to find the best spot to raise their brood. My mother has had the pleasure of watching a wren and her offspring in a window mounted flower box. Literally a bird’s eye view of a real life family drama.

A friend of mine had a surprise once when she opened her gas grill for a barbecue and found a nest full of little chirpers. Needless to say, outdoor cooking was delayed until that family was ready to move along, and a new device was purchased.

Springtime starts our motors running in earnest. I can remember cool mornings on the water with my step-dad, searching the trot-lines he had placed in hopes of a catfish feast. Sometimes, though, we would find the catfish partially eaten, and the perpetrator, an alligator gar, snared on the line.  What happened to those ugly fish was certainly not pretty, as this usually jovial man did not treat them very charitably. I often told him that I hoped there was no such thing as re-incarnation, because he was bound to return as a gar, and suffer the same maltreatment from another fisherman.

Meanwhile, back in the back yard: squirrels often demonstrate their acrobatic ability when attempting to rob a bird feeder. They will stretch or jump from a nearby fence, hang upside down, and in general do whatever it takes to get ahold of the tasty morsels we intended for someone else. The same man who hated alligator gars loved watching squirrels, and even created special corn-cob holders which provided a place for the furry rodents to enjoy a feast. However, if they weren’t satisfied with their own food and coveted the bird seed, the gauntlet was tossed. My step dad devised a rope and pulley system which he could operate from inside the house. He would wait until the squirrel reached just the right position, and then . . .  Whoops! Sorry, Charlie. Down the thief would go. Score update: enterprising man one, squirrel nothing.

Longtime friends of ours have a wonderful back yard with a spreading oak tree that seems to have attracted a colony of chipmunks. The animals constructed an elaborate village under the wooden deck, and used the privacy fence as their own superhighway, scurrying happily around, and surviving all sorts of eradication methods. These kind hearted folks learned to tolerate Alvin and his friends, as long as they stayed outside.

On one particular occasion, desperate measures became necessary when one of the little stripers ventured in through an open door and made his way to the master bathroom. The lady of the house recounts that her brave protector armed himself with a two by four and a plastic shopping bag and waited patiently for the animal to “become confident” and emerge from his hiding spot behind the commode. Then, using his best “Little Bunny Foo-Foo” method, the eradicator “bopped him on the head”. The plastic sack was then utilized to move the very still furry body to the dumpster. The next day, the victorious chipmunk hunter heard scratching noises coming from the dumpster and discovered that the creature had survived his ordeal. So, believing it only right that he concede and allow a reprieve, the man transported the chipmunk to a nearby creek bank for release. It is hoped that in the future,  the chipmunk population will recognize the chivalry of this action, and properly observe their outdoor boundaries.

Happy Spring to all creatures, great and small!

 

 

 

The Changing Face of Love

 

What does love mean to us? The answer to that question is very individual, and changes over time. It also varies a little by gender, and even the times in which we grow up.

Newborn babies experience love completely through physical contact. Science has proven that little ones thrive on that human touch, and it actually makes them healthier. I’ve known people who volunteer at hospitals to hold and rock sick children. It fills in gaps for parents who must work, and allows nurses to take care of more critical needs. This is also a great time for grandparents to bond. Though I’ve never seen any research on the subject, I think the attitude of the person doing the holding and rocking comes through and affects the behavior of the child. New parents are understandably nervous and apprehensive. They may even be anticipating those college educations that will soon need to be paid for. Grandparents, on the other hand, are totally relaxed, stress-free and completely joyful about the new addition to the family. We are setting the stage at this point for the days when Mom and Dad will be concerned with discipline, and Granny and Grandpa will be more about having fun.

Small children continue to enjoy the “feel” of love, and soon transfer their affections to inanimate objects. I remember a huge, furry stuffed poodle that I loved to lay on, drag around and sleep with. As my maternal instincts kicked in, I adopted a rag doll named Mandy that I still own. She is unique, because she is fashioned out of black material with stitched-on eyes and black yarn hair. She was just the right size for me to lug everywhere I went. Evidently, I took very good care of her (I wasn’t as rough and tumble as my younger sister) because she still wears her original yellow calico dress and lacy apron.

About the time little girls get in school, it becomes important that they designate one of their fellow students as a boyfriend. I can remember in first grade we all competed for the attention of one dark eyed boy named Bobby. We all claimed he liked us best, though truth be told I’m sure he spent more time running from us than showing any of us his favor.

In the “tween” years, we begin to develop crushes. Being a child of the TV generation,  my first celebrity idol was Ricky Nelson. He was the cuter of the two brothers, and oh, could he sing!  Later, I became enamored with the Osmond brothers, and even traveled to Kansas City with my mom and sister to become part of the screaming, swooning crowd. Standing outside waiting to get in to the concert, someone spotted some young male figures standing in a hotel window several stories up. Everyone started waving, certain these boys would remember us when they got on stage. Most likely, we were duped by imposters, who always remembered the time they made thousands of girls act like complete fools.

When we’re old enough to seriously look for a mate, we search to find the handsome prince who is the perfect combination of all the things we’ve been dreaming of since the dress-up tea party days. He must be great looking, polite, funny, and hardworking enough to support us while we raise our perfect family. The goal here is to kiss as few frogs as possible along the way.

My Prince Charming had a little bit of a tough sell. Because my own parents had divorced when I was small, I was not going to be swept off by the first young knave riding up on a charging white steed, or even driving a blue-gray Dodge Challenger. I wanted to be sure the king of my castle would stick around to help me rear his future little lords and ladies. Getting acquainted with his family helped in this regard. To them, happily ever after was a foregone conclusion. We rode off into the sunset at a young age, and I’ve never looked back.

These days, as we look back on the busy days of bringing up three independent, totally unique children, it has become all about companionship. Of course, surprises like a special gift from the local jeweler, or a fancy gourmet supper carry some weight. But more importantly, sitting next to each other being mesmerized by meaningless television shows or arguing with the GPS as we explore new territory makes our joy complete. We’ve been there, done that, got a t-shirt or two, and treasure the thought of returning home with each other. Love is no less exciting, just more satisfying than ever.