I’m a big fan of bird houses, in fact I rather love them… they were scattered all over the condo when we lived there, all made of unfinished wood, lovingly crafted by my Dad. It was a symbiotic relationship, he made them, I put them on display, we are both happy. He isn’t in any kind of shape to make them right now, but he is trying. A hip replacement on a aging body that already has to many other problems will knock you right back every time. He has determination though, and at his age, mid 80’s that’s a good thing. I have seen too many elderly people just give up, and lay back… it’s hard to bear. It’s also hard to think that one day, that might be us.
He managed to get mobile enough to go to his woodworking shop, and gave me a few birdhouses for our new yard. Each one has a story, a life, a dream built right into it. Many of them are one of a kind, unique, all are unfinished… a hope still to be painted. When I got back to our house and started to look around, I realized that many of his bird houses reside in my home, there are some duplicates, some unusual ones, all are loved…
So I decided to tackle them and start the painting process, the quality of workmanship in such a small treasure is unbelievable. A legacy that I hope will last many years. I mentioned to him that they were too nice to put outside in the weather, and ever practical, he told me that’s what they are for. There is a moral to this story, somewhere in here I am sure, I just can’t see it for the tears. The realization that he isn’t the person he was, that aging will catch up to all of us. And that the bird houses will go on for a long time, even if the production won’t. That’s a hard lesson to learn.