Birds of a Different Feather

I live in a bird sanctuary. No, I really do. There is a town ordinance that protects all the birds in our community. I'm not sure, but the neighbor's cat is not aware of this ordinance. But then maybe he is Nature's way of helping control the bird population.

My sanctuary is the screen porch which sits high on the second level of our house off the kitchen. It is not only my favorite room in the house, but guests and family seem to gravitate to it. Because of it's height above the ground the general feeling is that one is sitting in a tree house.

A large fir (pronounced "fur" around these parts) stands tall and stately directly behind the porch. It leans somewhat to the side, we think due to the ice storms in the 1960's. This is because many of the older trees on our mountaintop seem to be leaning the same way. When we first moved here, thirteen years ago we could see the back yard of the neighbors behind us. Today the limbs are too full and wide and completely shield our neighbors from us and us to them. It is also close enough to the house that squirrels are able to leap from the roof of the porch to the fir tree branches without any effort at all. That does not stop them from making a running start across the rubber roof of the porch and leaping like Superman to the nearest branch they can find.

This of course makes the birds who call the fir tree and the Bradford Pear which sits on the side of the porch their home, very angry. And remember, who's town is this? The squirrels or the birds? The birds and they do not let anyone forget it especially the squirrels. But who pays the price for this war? That's right - us humans!

For the most part the battle is dignified with the blackbirds and blue jays pretty much in charge. The average blackbird is about ten feet long - just kidding, but it feels like it. Actually, from beak to tip of tail, some can be at least a foot long and when you have three or more congregating in your trees/lawn the noise level is deafening. I, however, have learned to tune them out.

This is because I read the story "The People Could Fly" in the book of American Black Folktales told by Virginia Hamilton. According to folklore, long ago in Africa the people knew magic and flew like blackbirds over the fields. Then many of the people were captured for slavery and some shed their wings and after the long journey to America they forgot how to fly; while others kept it a secret. And then while in the fields, the slaves became ill and were tormented by the overseers and masters until finally they were ready to fly away. And with the help of the old man Toby who said the magic words the slaves rose up in the air and flew like a black cloud in a blue sky to freedom, leaving behind all the slaves who could not fly.

Whether or not I believe in the legend of slaves that turn into blackbirds is not important. Some may have escaped and some slaves may have died and many were left behind to remain slaves as did their children and were left as the author states, "with only their imagination to set them free." So each time I see a blackbird in my yard I am reminded as we approach our country's Independence Day, of the importance of freedom and to not take it for granted.

As I sit early in the morning just before sunrise I listen for the sounds of my feathered friends. Maybe the family of blue birds will nest in our "See Rock City" bird house; or maybe the mourning doves will coo their morning symphony; or maybe the beautiful red cardinal who watches me closely to protect his mate and her nest nearby will signal a hello today. I'm not sure, but am sure about one thing. I am a better person thanks to the birds who share my corner of the world, my sanctuary within their sanctuary.