Swallows, Swifts and Martins.

 

(From the Desk of George Barnard.)

There were very few homes on Mountain Road when in 1974 I build a nice new home there on lush acreage. There were lots of swallows around Mountain Road.

A well-established home, some 800 yards to the south, had five or six of their nests under the eaves. We were graced with the company of just two pairs of swallows in our first year, four pairs in our second year, but during the following winter, our friendly neighbors went away for an extended stay overseas.

Their home was now rented out to a troubled young couple. The young woman was known to be under regular treatment by a psychiatrist. She was schizophrenic, and when the swallows returned in the spring, they milled around for days, but they would not settle down around our neighbors house. Supposedly objecting to the "bad vibes" inside, some ten pairs ended up congregating around our home.

Obviously, some of the swallows were somewhat disturbed about the need to change location after quite some years next door. They had also lost four or five days trying to make up their little avian minds about where to go. One pair began building their clay nest on our western wall, and of all places, some three feet or more below the eaves!

How ridiculous! If the late afternoon sun wouldn't fry them alive, the next rain storm would flood them out of house and home.

I sat right there on my big sandstone rock, meditating, looking up at these crazy birds, and then I invited them both into my Akashic Library. I had no idea if they would, or even could, respond to reason, but I tried to get their attention. I told them that what they were doing was not a real good idea, a bird-brain thing to do.

By the next morning they had switched to the east side, and under our wide veranda. Amazingly, to the delight of our children and all my patients that year, they build their nest right on the clinic doorframe, just six foot, eight inches or so from the ground! These two birds were fearless, coming within inches of clipping our ears as they rushed back and forth to feed their babies.

Swallows, swifts and martins will always have that special place in my heart. And, no, I don't know how it worked. Not a clue! I just know what happened. They listened? Yes, I guess they did, because they eyed me again and again as I sat there talking to them on my "meditation" rock.

George.

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Toujours au Service de Michael.

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