Bird Seed Tree, exclusively Skirt in the Kitchen
“Birds of a feather flock together.” Tis true. It’s one of the sayings that my father used to say for as long as I can remember. I miss those old ways of talking that he would mention from time to time, when he wanted to get a point across. His words still come forth when I need to hear his voice, even long after he’s been gone; when something is heart-wrenching, grabbing and shaking me from life’s situations.
The day of his second-year passing is soon approaching. As much as I have looked forward to Fall, I now dread it in a sense, when it comes to his departure. He passed two months later, to the very day of my grandson’s passing, two days after my daughter’s birthday in September, and he was buried on the anniversary of my wedding day, September 28th. I used to celebrate the latter day just as much as I aimed to enjoy a birthday or a holiday. I accept Your Will, Heavenly Father.
Yes, I know he’s in a better place, and I’m thankful that he’s no longer in pain. I still miss him like the dickens. I don’t think anyone ever outgrows the arms that held them from the time they were small and full of mischief, the innocence of knowing what our fathers would be to us and then finding out just what they ultimately would mean to us after they’re gone.
One of the things I feared after he went on to be with the Lord, was that I kept replaying the sound of his voice in my mind just in case I would forget what his voice sounded like-those times when he’d be on the other end of the phone line, or when he’d be so happy to see us standing there after a long travel. I loved the exclamation in the tone of his voice when we lit up the room by just being there, and that’s how it seemed according to him with how his face smiled with the sound of his chipper voice when he had us in his presence. He was the one who lit up the room. He loved with all of him. His eyes were in unison with his voice, gleaming the happiest that he ever was, a smile so wide from ear to ear.
I was lost in thought driving from town to town, going through countryside the other day when I happened to notice that a cluster of blackbirds were strung together on a wire. They resembled a family. Maybe they were just accustomed to being together, to keeping warm with each other in the chilly mornings. They just knew that they belonged with each other, that wherever one would go, the rest would follow-some immediately, perhaps several or one lagging way behind, but all of them would eventually gather to the next destination.
As I looked at a white sky with the blackbirds on a black wire, in an instance, my father’s words came to my heart and mind, and in his very voice-the sound of his words that I used to hear him say, and what I needed to hear him say to me after such a lengthly time since his leaving. With a blurred stream of vision, I broke into a smile, because that’s where it was-in the sound and tone of his voice that I was so afraid that I’d forget. He was lighting up a room.
I knew I’d always remember what his words were, but that sound of those words mattered to me just as importantly. I felt that I needed to keep that connection, no matter how far into age I will be.
Dad spoke in word pictures quite often. He actually made it simple to understand what he was trying to convey. That is one of the things I get from him that I do, myself. It’s made me into a writer. It’s caused me to appreciate those little things in life that many people stumble over and choose to not bother with.
I think I can appreciate even a short string, which is probably why I adore meat string, particularly, as practical and plain as it is. I find it to be beautiful, a lovely color, uniquely designed with every fine strand that makes it into a stout string; a useful resource. It’s one of the things I use on a regular basis in a multitude of ways. I remember Dad always having meat string or twine. There was a time when he laced up one of his work boots with meat string.
Being in the yard, many times he would talk while trimming the bark off a stick with his favorite pocket knife. I watched him do that ever since I was little. Now my oldest son carries that pocket knife. Wild, thinking about it… that very knife.
Dad loved the birds and how they chirped, the rhythms and patterns of each kind of bird, even what time range of day that certain ones would come out to chirp and sing. He listened to the tones of the birds’ voices, and he taught them to us. Dad was a songbird. He’d whistle to imitate which ones he’d want us to remember so we could identify them-all because he loved them-but also because he loved us that much to share with us a large part of himself that took time to do. That is one of the simple things in life, about life, just being together.
For a Bird Seed Tree, this is a good time to put one together with a slight chill in the air from the season turning. Soon, all the branches will lose their burnt-orange colors, even golden-yellows and rust-browns. With or without a clothing of leaves, the birds love their trees, especially when there is grub to behold and grab!
Have a good-quality bird seed, a nut and fruit blend that attracts Chickadees, Cardinals, Pine Siskins, Finches, Grosbeaks, Nuthatches, Woodpeckers, and Juncos. Let’s name some more!-the Blue Jays, Mourning Doves, Buntings, Northern Flickers, Towhees, Titmouses, and the Sparrows.
Always keep a variety of different string on hand-can come in “handy”.
Tie and knot string around gathered pine cones.
Since a plastic fork seems to work the best for this, because it is pliable and giving, and since the prongs can get easily into the grooves of the pine cones, dip it into creamy peanut butter.
Apply to pine cones.
Do only the bottom portions-makes it easier to handle, keeping ahold of the top ends with a clean hand! Plus, you’ll need to hang them on a tree, on some branches and limbs. Trying to do so would only get peanut butter all over fingers when stringing the pine cones to hang if all of the pine cones were covered with peanut butter.
Roll into wild bird seed of real fruit, 
nuts, seeds, and grains-a nutritional feed for the songbirds.
a bird’s life
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