Christine
Maccabee
As
gardeners
and lovers
of nature,
our lives
are
enriched
not only
by the
plants and
in the
flowers we
cherish,
but as
well by
the many
insects
and birds
we
encounter.
All of us
retain
memories,
as very
young
children
and right
on through
life, of
these
various
creatures
and how
they
touched us
with the
beauty of
their song
or the
fascinating
nature of
their
appearance
or
personality.
As far
back as I
can
remember
the sounds
of the
cicada
wooed me
through
many a
long, hot
summer
day, and
the sight
of
delicate
butter-flies
as they
flit from
flower to
flower on
my
butterfly
bush takes
me back to
my
grandparents'
bush which
I am
certain I
must have
stared at
for hours
on end my
first few
years of
life. Just
the
peculiar
smell of
those
flowers,
not sweet,
yet not
unpleasant,
stimulates
images of
myself;
tiny,
mesmerized
by the
smell and
the wonder
of that
beautiful
bush and
those
butterflies.
As for
birds, it
takes no
more than
the sweet
silvery
song of
the house
wren or
the
cheerful
caprice of
the robin
to project
me back to
my
childhood
home in
Baltimore.
Even the
delicate
warbling
of the
gold-finch
here at my
mountain
home
reminds me
of one
precious
canary
which long
ago was a
source of
joy to
this child
of nature.
Before his
death in
1996, my
father
sent me a
moving
portrayal
of a few
of his
memories
of birds
throughout
his life.
It was
typed on a
very
special
notecard
with
paintings
of birds
by
Marjolein
Bastin,
the most
important
nature
artist in
the
Netherlands
today. I'd
given the
empty
notecard
to my
father
requesting
him to
write me a
message on
it so I
might keep
both the
card and
the words
as
treasures
forever.
Within
less than
a week I
received
it, and I
was deeply
touched.
It was a
true joy
to see my
father
writing
again, as
he was on
an upward
swing
after a
difficult
winter of
illness
and
depression
due to
cancer and
misgiven
chemotherapy.
I'd like
very much
to share
his
special
memories
with
you....
"This is
delightful
notepaper;
interesting
and
colorful.
It makes
me want
to write
something
appropriate,
about
birds of
course.
As I
pondered
about
that, I
wondered
when I
first
became
aware of
birds.
Probably
when I
was very
young in
the
spring
of 1922
when
they
could be
heard
singing
as I lay
in my
crib
close to
an open
window.
There
was a
time
which I
remember
well
when I
was in
grade
school.
The
birds,
mostly
robins,
built
their
nests
and I
used to
watch
them
feed
their
young.
Then,
the
young
left the
nest and
followed
the
adult
birds
with
beaks
agape.
The
adults
chattered
excitedly
and
looked
fiercely
at us
kids
when we
approached
the
young
and
tried to
catch
them.
The
wrens
awoke
this
morning
with
their
song.
They
were so
small
and
somewhat
too
arrogant
for
their
size. I
loved
them.
A low
whistling
often
came
from the
gooseberry
bushes
along
the
alley
fence
where
the
orioles
would
feed on
the
bugs.
They did
not eat
the
berries
and it
just
occurred
to me
that our
gooseberries
were
actually
healthy
and
plentiful
because
of the
bug
patrol
of the
orioles.
Down at
the Lake
Michigan
shore
there
were
always
various
kinds of
seagulls.
When the
fishing
boats
returned
from the
day's
work the
men
would
clean
fish and
throw
the
refuse
to the
birds.
They
followed
the
boats
like a
cloud of
wings
and
feathers
full of
squeaking
and
squawking.
When I
was
aboard
ship in
Alaskan
waters
[during
WWII], I
saw the
horn of
tufted
puffins
with
their
big
colorful
beaks
which
fluttered
off
shore
and
often
rested
in the
water.
Occasionally
we would
be
followed
by an
albatross
as they
soared
behind
the
ship,
never
resting
their
outspread
wings.
Even
here in
Maryland
we
counted
21
different
kinds of
birds at
our
feeder
in 1978.
We do
not seem
to have
that
variety
anymore.
The
robin
singing
in the
evening
is a
mellifluous
sound,
an
angeles
sweeter
than the
bells
which
betoken
"peace
be with
you".
Love,
Dad
Thanks
Dad, for
the
inspiration!
Your
loving
daughter,
Christine.
Christine
Maccabee
is one of
a growing
number of
Certified
Master
Wildlife
Habitat
Naturalists
throughout
the state
and the
nation.
She can be
reached at
301-271-2037.
Read
other articles by Christine Maccabee