What We Can Learn From Blue Birds Personal Perspective

 By Larry Pittman Goddard

I forgot to ask my Dad why he loved bluebirds.  He died, I prefer to say he ‘graduated’, about ten years ago and I would trade all my tomorrows to just have one today with Dad.

And I would ask him what he loved about blue birds.

Now before we get very far down this road, let’s be certain on this point. I am not talking about Blue Jays—those screeching awfully mean birds, big and bullying.

We are discussing the pretty little couples where the male is neon- glow-in-the-dark blue and the female, although not as colorful, is a dedicated spouse and mother.

Dad built birdhouses.  Lots of them.  With a Ph.D. in mathematics, the founder of the first computer science department in Texas and the first master’s degree in computer science in the United States, he was a pioneer in computer education.  His students have changed the world; Ross Perot hired all his graduates…all of them (He preferred to hire those graduates who had earned Eagle Scout rank); and ten years since his death, excuse me…graduation, we hear from students all over the world who tell us he was the most influential teacher in their lives.

But, even the preacher at his funeral said, “Alton Goddard hid his education well.”

He would much rather be digging potatoes, building things in his wood-working shop, or installing those fresh-water drip birdbaths for the blue birds.

Blue birds love fresh water and houses on isolated areas with lots of room around them.  Dad would research the exact dimensions for everything from the bird house size to the hole for them to enter.  And, something I have inherited from Dad is the theory, “That if it is worth doing, it is worth OVER doing…” So he over built birdhouses and even had garage sales where blue bird houses were the mainstay.

I suppose as somewhat of a tribute to Dad, I am keeping up the care of blue birds.  After moving to Tyler from Commerce (walking away from a 15 year career in higher education communications, public relations, marketing and fundraising without ever regretting it, I moved to Tyler and have never been happier.)

But, I live with worms in my refrigerator.  I’m not ashamed of it and if you love blue birds, you know I have crossed that line of ‘interest in blue birds’ to ‘obsessively controlled by blue birds’.

I buy meal worms in bulk—if you call 10,000 at a time ‘bulk’.  (For some reason, I call them mealy worms and get my point across).

They are fat and ugly and come in sawdust.  They love to eat rare potatoes so that just fattens them for the blue bird meals….oh, that may be it…They are meals for birds; therefore, they are called ‘meal worms’…perhaps a revelation.

So, continuing Dad’s tradition, I have more than 20 blue bird houses on his property in south Tyler—and two more on the patio ready to be installed.  I check the dripping water bird bath (It is the place I go to early every morning in freezing temperatures and crack the ice for the blue birds).  I can’t think of a living person for whom I would do these hardship tasks.  Not a one.

I feed the birds twice at day at three different locations.  Experts say to have a bird call to gather the blue birds.

So, wearing my white t shirts (they like it and gather in bigger flocks when I wear white shirts…go figure).  My bird call is embarrassing and childishly simple.  In a high pitch girly tone, I warp “Birds! Birds! Birds!” and truly they flock to me.

About twenty bright blue males and dowdy colored female show up.  I don’t want the neighbors to hear me…but I’m sure I am being imitated at dinner tables all over the block.

At least I’m being imitated my arch nemesis….the Mockingbirds.  They bully my precious blue birds and eat the worms—I now feed the birds in three places—the dang State’s Official Bird can’t cover all three places.  The Mockingbirds even chase the perfect blue birds and take the worms from their mouths…all the time with me yelling in a manly voice, “Shoo! Shoo!”…OK, you got me.  There is NO manly way to say the word, “Shoo!”

But, the Mockingbirds MOCK me!  I say “Birds! Birds! Birds!” in my girly voice and I hear the government protected Mockingbirds’ almost perfect imitation, “Bwk! Bwk! Bwk!”  Oh, come on!  They actually call the blue birds for the slaughter (OK, I embellish) of bird bullying.

But, just to torment my heart, the Mockingbirds built their trashy stick nest, right above the fresh water drip bird bath and I got to watch their eggs open with the baby Mockingbirds, which as I had predicted, were nothing but open mouths. I did get a little warm and fuzzy about Mockingbirds, but that didn’t last long.

As a friend’s five year old little girl pointed out to me, “Blue birds help Princesses get dressed.” 

“What are you telling me, Mykylie?”

I ask—truly wanted to know her research.

“Well, watch a movie about a Princess, like Cinderella or Snow White.” She said very businesslike and using her little hands to emphasize her point without hesitation.  “They always have little blue birds flying around them helping them get dressed.  And it is always Blue Birds, not mean birds”.”

Man, the propaganda to love blue birds does start early.  Disney is hot on the mission of everyone loving blue birds!

OK, back to the girly bird call, “Birds! Birds! Birds! (Again, think high pitched girly voice); moments pass and I’m not embellishing now.  There appears a huge beautiful flock and they get so close to flying around me, that I do think they are trying to help me dress. Or undress. Maybe they don’t like the white shirts after all.

They love the fresh live worms from the refrigerator.  But, to be frugal, I have begun ordering online freeze-dried worms delivered by UPS to the front door.  Alas, the freeze dried worms tend to blow away on windy days.  Worms blowing in the breeze is not a Chamber of Commerce image of Tyler, but kind of funny when you see it.

Courtship amongst the blue birds has to do with practicality.

Housing.

Pure and simple. The males, in their Las Vegas neon blue attire, find a good house, near fresh water and worms.  Then, they invite the “courted” (I love that term) female to inspect the home.  I’ve watched this mating ritual.  The male goes in the house and whistles and sings.  Then the female goes in and there is silence.  It’s like a white glove inspection!

The female comes out and jabbers some advice and I’m sure positive comments—although the comments sound like constructive, mixed with destructive, comments.  If they come to a consensus, which is called ‘bird love’, they build a nest and begin the fun stuff.  And, they have about three or four ‘families’ over the course of the summer.

There are many types of birds just as there are many types of people.  I am not a true birder.  I don’t have special binoculars or lenses of a camera that extend like a fire truck ladder.

But, I have learned some things from the blue birds. 

First, love is enduring.  When a person approaches a baby blue bird, one of the parents will fake an injury, make noises and head in the opposite direction, as if to say, “Take me!  Not my baby!”

Next, love is sometimes based on practicality.  A good home is all important and the basic needs of food, shelter and protection are met.  If a couple loses those basics, the extras in life diminish or just do not matter.

Also, put on your best appearance at all times.  Blue birds are beautiful at all times.  I was reminded of this last weekend, when after working in the yard and looking like the ‘Wreck of the Hesperus’, I headed to a store.  You know the rule.  The worse you look, the more folks you see who you know.  A colleague I would most want to impress was there; but truth be told, she looked, if not the wreck, the ‘Lifeboat of the Hesperus.’

I recall a few years ago, I found myself in Antarctica with a bunch of ‘naturalists’, not nudists—I must clarify because usually that is where minds go—but these ‘naturalists’ loved to bird watch.  On a cruise ship!  With a casino, bars, disco, shops in easy walking distance…and there were outside in Antarctica weather (yes, it is horrendous) trying to see birds (not only penguins, these heretics were after a glimpse of the rarest, never before seen birds).  I stood with them awhile what one notices the most about touring Antarctica is that it is quiet.  Quiet that cannot be described.  Just total quiet.  Nothing to be heard.

Sometime that afternoon, in the quiet, seeing the beauty God created all around me (not including the ‘naturalists’…they all seem tend to be ugly actually and some needed to pull up their pants while bending over the railing)…but standing in the quiet, quiet, peacefulness of a large continent that inhabits no human, you find yourself closest to God.

And I swear I heard my Dad’s voice from Heaven tell me that he loved blue birds because they, like me, are giving us beauty—just as all of God’s creatures bring beauty.  Blue birds are grateful for the concern and care of others and they accept it graciously.  But, most of all, they are grateful for love.  Those of us who have love understand that whisper from Heaven—love is our finest gift.

So, oddly and never anticipated, I love blue birds for the same unasked reason my Dad did.  Out of love.