It's Saturday morning. I am on 10 o'clock heifer check. I pull on long johns, extra layers, flannel shirt, silk scarf. An old felt hat, a gift from my sister many years ago. Grab the blanket from the stair rail in the porch: "It looks like rain," the Good Rancher had said as he went to bring in his horses.
I drive out, through the horse pasture, through the little gate into what he calls the Storm Field. It's a haven for calvy heifers and pet cows on days of inclement weather, such as this one.
It's mizzling and extremely windy. Even the crocuses are shuttered against the onslaught.
I circle the perimeter slowly, trying not to disturb these heavily pregnant mums.
Each is settled in her chosen spot.
They are all quiet.
At rest.
Waiting.
Tomorrow's the official day that new life will start to be seen, the GR says. It's the official heifer calving launch.
But it's the day before. All is quiet in this garden. All are at rest.
I back the side-by-side into an unobtrusive spot and let my mind drift back some 2,000 years ago to that "day before" where there was little to no activity on the streets of Jerusalem in honour of the Sabbath.
Rest day.
Waiting.
Tomorrow - little do they know - will be different from any other day anyone has ever known. A massive stone will be rolled from a brand new tomb. The broken body, placed in it so tenderly by friends just days before, will not be found in the cave.
Angels will attest.
The ladies will come. Peter and John will come. Friends walking to Emmaus in bewilderment and sorrow will speak to and break bread with Him.
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.
Thank you for voting for my eagle family in the Calendar Contest! Click on the link above, scroll down past all the contest rules etc to below my eagle picture; click on the heart at the centre of the blue bar, and you've done it! Repeat every day until September 2, 2024 ...
🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🏠
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.
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!
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:
On this fourth week, the writing prompt that hit me between the eyes was this:
"I stand on all fours, my fur ..."
I couldn't actually read this piece - or any piece, for that matter - aloud this week. But here's what I wrote:
I stand on all fours, my fur rising ever so slightly from my suddenly unfamiliar body. (Is it my body that is unfamiliar, or is it everything else?)
Last Tuesday night I went to bed, stretched out as usual on the blanket on the floor behind my Friend's bed. She turned out the light, then she said, like she says every night, "Sleep time, SLEEP time, my little Earl Grey. Sleep time, my Faithful Friend. See you in the MORning!"
But the morning never came. The dark night got blacker and blacker. The Good Rancher got up and made his breakfast and left. My Friend got up and called to me.
I didn't know where she was.
I didn't know where I was.
I bumped into a hard edge and did not know how to get around it so I stopped. I needed water, I needed to go outside, I needed to have my Friend say, "Good MORning, my little Earl Grey!"
She came back to find me. I almost didn't hear her footsteps. I was so scared that my entire body was shaking. I could hardly breathe.
"Come on, my dog! What's going on?" I looked at where I thought her voice was coming from. She cried my name like she never had before - "GRAAAAAAYYY!"
She pushed me with her legs and put her hand on my head. She got me to where I could feel cool air on my face. So many smells. Birds chirping. Cats meowing. Musket yapping from the porch. I was so confused that I just froze.
I put out my foot, but there was nothing there. Suddenly I felt her next to me. Her hands on my shoulders. "Step!" she screamed, "Step! Step! Step! Step!"
I didn't know what to do. She had never raised her voice at me before. Except that time when she saw me with a baby barn kitten in my mouth. Was she angry with me, like then?
I heard tapping right below me. "Step," she whispered. I could feel her breath on my face. Salt water dripping onto my nose. I leaned toward her and my foot dropped down to reach a spot just below me. "Step," she said again and that same tapping below me. I followed her breath.
And then I felt the cold bristles of grass beneath me. "Go, on, Earl Grey," she said. I inhaled the scent of previous outside visits, both mine and the other dogs'. Some stronger than others. I took a few steps into this blackness. I had to pee, but I was too scared to lift my leg.
She called to me and I heard her truck running. Maybe we were going for a ride? But I could not find her or the truck. Suddenly she was in front of meIbumpedintoherlegs. The Good Rancher was there and he picked me up and put me in the truck. She was already sitting right next to me.
The movement, the noise, the smells. I could hear big trucks coming toward me and I pressed myself low on the seat because I couldn't see them and I was scared they were going to run over me.
We stopped at the place where the people give me treats, and the girl came out to help my Friend get me out of the truck. They put a noose around my neck and started to pull me, but I did not know where I was going so I sat down.
And I heard my Friend's voice. "My Faithful Friend," she said. "Come with me, Earl Grey."
They got me into a small room. I tried to walk around but I kept bumpingbumping into a huge box in the middle of the room. I put my head on my Friend's lap and everything was quiet.
But not for long. Two other people came into the room and they made my Friend put a muzzle on me. Then they poked me in my foot, and they put something cold near my heart, and I felt whooshing air near my eyes. I started to pant.
My Friend and that girl got me back into the truck. The truck started and then there was a howling sound, like the coyotes on the hills at home every night. I tried to reach for her hand, which was always there when I put my head on the console, but I fell off the seat.
The howling stopped. So did the truck. The door next to me opened. She helped me get back up onto the seat.
We got home. I got onto the floor of the truck but when she tried to get me down I couldn't move. I could only shake and pant.
She went away and came back and there was somewhere hard to put my foot. It was covered with something soft that smelled like her jacket. "Step," she said quietly. "Step."
And I was on the blessed ground again.
This last week has been long. Cold weather. Accidents in the living room. I can't find my food until I am standing in the bowl. I spill the water. My head hurts all the time. I sleep a lot. The dogs avoid me, but those kittens stay close to me now.
Nothing is the same.
Except for one thing.
A long time ago she went away for a night, and when she came back the next afternoon, she smelled of blood and bandages and medicine and sadness. We could not jump up on her, and she did not bend down to give us our milk time, milk time. Something was wrong.
She lay on the couch and I lay on the floor next to her. When she got up she went to the small room with the loud rushing of water. I felt I needed to go look after her. So I waited for her outside the door.
And from that day on, whenever she goes to the small room with the loud rushing of water I always lie down, blocking the door, waiting for her, protecting her from the unseen enemy. Now everything is unseen, everything is the enemy.
Still. I still know when she is in that place, and I have still been able to find the door. And I would still protect her with my whole pitiful being.
She opens the door. I stand on all fours, my fur turning into shield and breastplate and helmet, and my useless eyes glowing jade green. I stand on guard for her.
And I hear her say the words she always says as she bends to stroke my back and head:
"Grey? Are you waiting for me, Grey? Oh Grey, you ALWAYS wait for me. THANK you for waiting for me, Earl Grey. Thank you for being my Faithful Friend. Do you love me, Grey? I think you LOVE me!! From the FIRST time you saw me, you loved me, and you wanted to BE my friend. And now, you are my FAITHful Friend, Earl Grey, and now, you are MY dog."
Everything has changed, but nothing has changed. I would give my life for her.
