“I would like to paint the way a bird sings“

– Claude Monet

Well, I’ve really opened up a can of worms with this topic. Instead of a single piece on birds, methinks when I write that book (!) there will be a whole section of stories devoted to these divine creatures. Perhaps a sweet duckling experience way back in Uni, a creepy Edgar Allan Poe raven moment, 30-eagle rescue in 1988, flying eagles overseas to a new life in England, freakish death-defying eagle love-dance right above my head, adventures with Sam the Myna bird, my Dad the Cardinal, flying dreams. The list goes on. Later.

My love affair with birds started when I was conceived, if you believe in inherited traits. There is a plethora of research out there saying that you inherit all sorts of things from your mother: like height, mood, memory, teeth health, laugh lines, facial shape, hairline; and your father: dimples, fertility, shape & fulness of lips, the way your sneeze, sense of humour, sleeping style. And much much more. So, I’m pretty sure it was my Dad (affectionately called ‘Dad-Dad-Dadio’) who passed on to me this love of all things winged – their flight, their songs, their stunning plumage, the whole avian fascination. It’s in my genes.

If you’ve read my prose before you’ll be all too familiar with my nomadic background. Growing up ‘in the army’ Dad always had a handy ‘no pet’ excuse – uprooted every 3 years just wouldn’t be fair for the animal. There was a smattering of feeble attempts to usurp his rule – 3 turtles with pink, blue & yellow painted shell-houses (a fad that thankfully didn’t last long, nor did the turtles), hamsters that were quickly given away after we found out the hard way that they were not all females. There was wildlife we tried to bring home – a baby hedgehog on our front lawn in Germany. Its mother presented herself the very next morning & her baby was quickly returned. Annie the racoon that we sort of enticed to stay at our trailer for a summer up at Ipperwash Army camp…until she wanted to hibernate and we were forced to take her back to the forest. But we DID have one pet. My Dad brought him back from a leave in England. Sam, the Myna bird. A bird of course! An exceptionally smart and saucy one who joined us on vacations, through Germany, France, Spain & Italy & then back to Canada. He lived to be 10. I loved that bird.

And now, I am surrounded by winged wonders. Right outside my bedroom sliding door there is a nest in the bay leaf tree (a tree that I actually need to remove so it doesn’t clog up the perimeter drain again, flooding the basement. That job will have to wait until her brood has fledged.)

Sitting up high on the new porch of the horse palace (another on the Honey-Do list completed) I can look out onto the 5-acre hayfield, see the horses enjoying a munch, wee birds perched on their backs, eagles searching the field or singing away back in the forest or riding the thermal updrafts. And just to the left, the Pacific Flyway, with its awesome array of winged migrators in the spring and fall.

And summertime? The farm is just buzzing with activity right now. Of course it helps to have the flowers, fruit & nut trees but at the guesthouse we just couldn’t resist other enticers: 2 hummingbird feeders, a suet feeder & a bird bath. Non-stop action, entertainment & education too. Dad would have loved it. The bird-lures need to be properly cleaned & attended to all year round but the rewards – priceless.

Dad passed away peacefully at 80 years old. Each year for his birthday I would give him something ‘birdy’, like coffee table picture books of birds of Ontario, of BC, of the world & his favourite – an Audubon bird caller. When we were going through his things I found it along with the well-worn handbook The Audubon Society Field Guide to North American Birds. Inside the cover is written:

To my dear dad

From your darling daughter (Jackie)

xox

It’s a hobby for all seasons, this birdwatching. Year-round pleasure, bringing peace and comfort to the retiring heart. That’s what I want; isn’t that what we all need.

I am forever thankful to my father, who whether it be ‘nature’ or nurture’, passed on a love of birds, a way to truly chillax as I continue to farm that 20-acre organic slice of Paradise in Cedar

.Jackie Moad continues to farm that 20-acre organic slice of Paradise in Cedar, while occasionally and cautiously getting behind the wheel of her Westie, ever looking forward, with local solutions for global challenges in mind.

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