No matter how busy this world can become a tiny
incident can stop us in our tracks until we must reflect on things from a
different realm, one of greater understanding. This happened to me in the
last few days.
I was reaching down to
turn the hose off when a movement on the ground caught my eye. A dark gray,
almost black bit of fluff was hopping on the ground.
“Oh blast! The wind has blown you out of the
nest. Well, you won’t last out here. One bite and Pinto will devour you
quicker than I can think about it.”
The little Starling was hopping as far away
from me as possible and was wedged right up against Rhonda’s spa. The mama
bird was zooming around over us making those raucous sounds they make. My
mind is weighing all of what would have to go into my reaching down to pick
the little mite infested thing up and I turned away to walk back into the
“With all I have on my plate I don’t think I
need to take on a bird of somewhat unsavory reputation.” I’m thinking. Just
last week I was complaining about them chasing the song birds away from the
water fountain. When they decided to come into the cedar trees there could
be a nuisance noise no one liked. But, there was no ignoring the bird on the
ground it was immediately within sight and I could see it through the window
where the washer was.
“I can’t even put a load of clothes in
without looking at you. Oh well! Some people just can’t leave sleeping dogs
lie, or leave birds on the ground alone.”
A cardboard box, newspapers in the bottom and
a quick, easy catch put that loud mouthed baby on top of the air-conditioner
out of Pinto’s reach who was a mutt of questionable background that gave him
genes from somewhere to make him a varmint dog and he was good at it. Even
frogs were not safe from his grasp albeit more of a worrying of them and for
playtime as they again and again tried to hop away.
“Oh Gramma! A baby bird!” No sooner was the
box up until my granddaughter walked in the back door.
“What are you going to feed it?” She was
immediately interested.“I don’t know. Once I fed one wheat germ but I don’t
have any and I’m not driving to town for just one thing.” I all but growled.
She was quiet and walked up to my computer. I
wanted to call to her not to get into some game because I was working on
something but said nothing for some reason. In a little while she came back
into the kitchen where I was with a sheet of paper.
“Look Gramma! Here is a recipe for feeding
baby birds. It is dog food, grapes, and a boiled egg. You soak the dog food
and then put it in the blender with grapes and the boiled eggs. I’ll go get
some dog food.”
“I thought we were trying to get rid of those
things!” Rodney was not happy over my feeding a Starling.
“That bird won’t live!” My seven year old
grandson informed me, no doubt made wise by his parents comments.
The granddaughter who was so interested the
day before on the ways and survival of birds she had gleaned from the
computer, the next day, wouldn’t even look in the direction of the little
thing. Evidently, she had been informed, as well, about the possibility of
its demise and maybe even about mites and such.
Nevertheless, I gleaned mulberries from the
front tree, mixed dog food and a boiled egg again when the first batch was
gone. It was now on the fourth day of this almost hourly feeding for the
gaping little mouth that seemed to automatically fly open as I approached
it. I had been taking the box outside where the mother clicked her
conversation to it.
“Gramma! Gramma! Your bird flew away.” My
little grandson’s eyes were as round as saucers as he came running into the
kitchen. I have no idea what his thoughts were and I plan not to ask.
“Wonderful!” My answer to him was in a word,
and I meant it.
“So what is this great understanding I have
gleaned?” You might ask.
I’ve learned again, that all the Bible study
in the world will not replace one set of circumstances all tied up in
creation’s tiniest of creatures. The fragile ways of life and living
children learn when given an opportunity. This never ceases to amaze and
delight because they have not yet reached a place of complacency in regard
to being able to observe and solve problems with adult-like acumen. What a
small amount of effort was involved to have enjoyed all the situations
around nothing more than a tiny bird.
Not to leave out, later in the morning, the
mother Starling came to the door where I was working on the computer. She
walked back and forth directly in front of the open door a number of times
as she cocked her head at me. Was this a thank you from something that is
supposed to have very little ability to even understand? I suppose this will
never be known.