A Child's Lament

This afternoon my instinct was to veer east into Eagles Field, as we now call it.

The men have seen the eagles circling the silage pit and the corn field. I have seen one parent, last Friday, near our neighbour Randy's yard. I have gone to the grove of trees holding the nest regularly, and there was never anyone there except for last Monday: Little Bird was sitting there, motionless, in the heat of the afternoon, her back to the nest that cradled her not that long ago.

Today as I pulled the truck close to the fence that divided Eagles Field from the one I can drive a truck in, I saw an almost unrecognisable lump high up in the tree adjacent to the nest. It seemed to be roiling in pain. 

After long minutes it straightened itself out: Little Bird, feathers looking ruffled and bedraggled.

Little Bird, clearly in distress, crying.

This was the first time I have heard a sound out of either of the children.

Two shadows crossed the truck. The parents, never too far away, winged their way to the grove. The father circled over the scene, and the mother swooped in. She landed next to her child for a moment; and then she perched on the edge of the nest, where she could watch and encourage her. 

Sound on!

Little Bird could not be comforted. But somehow, even as she cried, she must have heard the familiar tones of her mother gently chirruping at her. Finally she took to the air; her mother joined her. 

All too soon, however, the young one was back, on the same branch, still in distress. She was trying to fly, but couldn't seem to summon the courage.

Back came the mother, circling the trees and flying in to land, this time on the branch right next to her child.

Startled, Little Bird took flight. 

This time she didn't return.  

Now it was the mother's turn to fret on the branch. Just as Little Bird had, Mama Bird became agitated, peering down at the ground. 

Finally she, too, calmed down and left.

I was curious as to what might have upset them so much so I picked up the side-by-side and drove right to the area, now devoid of birds.

Nothing.

I looked up from this unfamiliar position underneath the nest and the trees and breathed deeply, thinking about these two birds I have come to care about so fiercely.

 

And then it came to me.

Today is 17 years since my Mum left this earth for heaven.

Sometimes a girl just needs her mum, even though she's been gone for 17 years. There may not be a reason. She just wants to know her mum is nearby.

And I thought of what my Dad's friend Tony Hanson told him: "She is with God and God is with us. So she's not very far away."

Even when Little Bird will have to part from her mother, in the regular course of things, I want to think they will still be connected in some way. She will have learnt what it is to be a good eagle because of how her mother has always been there for her. 

Including when she cries.

Leaving the Nest

Vision Credit Union Calendar Contest - Eagle link

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Leave the field that the eagles call home and turn left onto the 855. Go up to the tower and turn left. Drive 20 kms on dusty gravel and turn left onto the 36. Head north for a few kms, past the burnout; and on your right you will see, about a quarter mile off the highway, a little white house with a red roof.

Only about 12 miles from the Good Rancher's place, as the eagle flies.

As you turn off the 36 onto the gravel something wonderful happens. A rainbow appears. Wait, a DOUBLE RAINBOW, arching gracefully over the house.

This house, this nest, that launched eight fledglings in their time:

Gordon

Mary

Allan

Clark

Margaret

Bruce

Mabel

Marilyn

This particular evening, the symbol of promise hovers over this place as my sister brings her son to see it, to see the nest that nurtured his family four generations ago.

The place where Ruth and Tiff brought their premature, sickly baby son after he was released from the Hanna hospital. Where Ruth prayed, "God, if you save my baby, I will give him back to you to serve you."

The place where she wept, 26 years later, after she had waved goodbye to him from the steps of their home and watched the car all the way up the dusty quarter mile until it vanished from her sight. Not once did she ask him not to go.

Her son Allan served God in India for over 40 years. Each time he returned to Canada for a brief period of home assignment, the first place he would go would be home.

He returned one time unexpectedly, shortly before she died. He came to tell her he loved her, to tell her thank you, Mom.

He had made his life on the other side of the world.

But he never forgot his nest.

First Flight

 

The day had to come, of course. Big Bird had been stretching, perching on the graceful twigs artfully extending out past the nest, flexing his back and feet and neck, fluttering and then flapping his wings. He had caught the air under his wings and then done an exhilarating lift-off straight up above the nest, where he beat his wings and remained triumphantly airborne for several fraught seconds.

This afternoon didn't seem any different from the other sleepy afternoons at the nest. I did my regular long-distance check to make sure there were two eaglets and one parent at the nest. Then I steered the side-by-side across the bumpy terrain until I came within 100 yards of the nest.

However, when I stopped, there was only Little Bird in the nest. Their parent and Big Bird had vanished.

Suddenly I heard the sound of two pairs of wings cleaving the air overhead. The parent eagles sailed silently above the copse of trees and disappeared on the other side.

I looked up into the trees and saw a quivering little mass clinging to a branch high above the nest, or so it seemed to me.

All his feathers trembling, he started to crawl up the branch.

And there he clung for long minutes, paralyzed with fear.

Until.

Until this:

They stayed thus for 38 minutes. The whole time she was almost whispering to him. She never raised her voice, not even once. He fixed his eyes on her and visibly gained strength and confidence. I felt like this was holy ground.

Then, as suddenly as she had arrived, she vanished. He was bereft.

But she let him know she wasn't far away!

Armed with this security and with the instructions she had relayed to him as they perched there together, he finally felt emboldened to make his move:

Please excuse the disjointed aspects of this first flight video. I was holding the camera and my breath and stanching tears at the same time! This nanosecond clip just serves to show the heights to which our brave Big Bird soared ...

I was wondering where he would land, whether he would crash into the branches, what he would do next. I happened to point up toward the nest, curious to see how Little Bird was faring. I should have known that the person Big Bird would want to tell his adventure to was his nest mate!

Don't you wonder what Mama Bird said in those quiet moments to her fledgling? Whatever it was, the words must have been filled with wisdom, practical instruction and encouragement. She knew she couldn't fly for him, but she let it be known that she wasn't very far away. Such love!

It took me back to 1988. I was going through a very rough time, about to launch myself out of the nest I had been hiding in. One of the hardest parts was telling my parents. 

My Dad silently gazed at me for long moments and then he came to me and wrapped his arms around me and enveloped me in a hug I can feel to this day.

He whispered one sentence: " 'Underneath are the everlasting arms.' "

And he was right.

What about you? Think back: did someone precious to you say words that would launch you into the next step of your life? How grateful we can be for those who love us enough to speak truth into our lives, exactly when we need it!

And oh, Big Bird, we are so proud of you! 

O Canada

O Canada! Our home and native land!

True patriot love in all of us command.

With glowing hearts we see thee rise,

The True North, strong and free;

From far and wide, O Canada,

We stand on guard for thee!

O Canada! Where pines and maples grow,

Great prairies spread and lordly rivers flow,

How dear to us that broad domain,

From East to Western sea!

Thou land of hope for all who toil!

Thou True North, strong and free!

O Canada! Beneath thy shining skies

May stalwart sons and gentle maidens rise,

To keep thee steadfast through the years
From East to Western sea,

Our own beloved native land,

Our True North, strong and free!

Ruler Supreme, Who hearest humble prayer,

Hold our Dominion within Thy loving care.

Help us to find, O God, in Thee
A lasting, rich reward,

As waiting for the Better Day,

We ever stand on guard.

God, keep our land glorious and free -

O Canada! We stand on guard for thee.

O Canada, we stand on guard for thee!

The World's Most Beautiful Coffee Table

Tragedy struck our tiny communities when Jamie Harden passed away suddenly on February 4 while on a trip to Arizona.

The community rallied, as our community always does. Jamie's friends started an online auction to benefit the family she left behind.

I was so fortunate to be the successful bidder of a coffee table, to be built at the Byemoor School by its CTF woodworking class under the guidance of Mrs Buchwitz.

I love the Byemoor School. It's tiny, yet mighty in the ways that count: persevering, loyal, caring, fun, athletic, community minded, passionate about rural living, artistic, creative, disciplined, courageous, resourceful. Always willing to pitch in. Oh, and with ENORMOUS heart.

Somewhere in there they manage to fit in reading, writing and arithmetic too ...

So when I saw that this bunch was going to create a coffee table in honour of the Hardens, I knew that I wanted it. It would be a belated gift for the Good Rancher's birthday.

Fast forward to a couple of days after the GR's birthday. I got a message from Mrs Buchwitz that there was to be a personal delivery on Thursday afternoon. Due to my having to be in Brooks, I wasn't able to be present; but the GR said he would be there to receive the delivery.

The transport pictures are what Mrs Buchwitz thoughtfully took; the videos are what Kurt recorded; and the table pictures at the end were taken by me.

Carefully bringing in

the coffee table

Happy birthday, and 

Mrs Buchwitz presents

the booklet about the table

The coffee table has been 

placed in its new home;

the GR offers Timbits and thanks!

Introducing the talented artisans

Here is the story of the table:

I pondered all the things that came together to create this masterpiece from such humble beginnings:

• The wood is taken from pallets

• The nails used are old

• The builders were rookies

BUT ...

• The grain of the wood was carefully chosen and meticulously placed - look at the first picture to see what I mean

• The nails were selected specifically to bring character and history to the piece

• The builders were eager to learn, diligent, cooperative and professional

• The stain choice was thoughtfully considered with the goal of bringing out the hidden depth and beauty of the wood

And they had a Secret Weapon: 

MRS BUCHWITZ!

This picture, taken by Principal Jewitt, gives us a glimpse of what Bobbi Buchwitz means to this school:

I will confess that I cried when I read the booklet about the table - it means almost as much to me as the table itself. Every picture contains love. Mrs Buchwitz was right again!

Some afternoons when the guys have headed back to work after lunch, I linger in the man cave. 

The sunlight shimmers golden all over this little table, and it fills my heart with gratitude that out of something so tragic has come something so beautiful.

And I am reminded of what Jamie's friend Paige put on her Facebook page in the hours following the news:

Good advice for all of us.

"Love never fails."

This exquisite table is evidence of it.