By Roger Barbee
The 1989 movie Field of Dreams tells the story of a farmer who one night hears the whisper, “If you build it he will come” while walking in his cornfield.
For the past three days, I have been reminded of that movie.
My wife Mary Ann and I enjoy birds, but for the past month since returning to the Valley, we have been busy with opening boxes, positioning furniture, and other requirements of a move. However, one of our sons visited this past week, and since we were feeding him well, we decided to use his younger muscles. We got him to spread mulch and place our honest-to-goodness squirrel-proof bird feeder next to the back patio. After all was done Matthew filled the bird feeder with sunflower seed and left the next morning.
Patience is a desirable trait, and I like to think that I possess it; however, as the first day closed with no bird visiting the feeder, I began to question its placement–was it too exposed since birds, like all things, seek security. Would it be better placed nearer the trees in our back garden? As day two came and closed, I threatened to move it closer to some bird cover. However, Mary Ann, full of patience, cautioned me, “Just wait.” During the evening of day three we sat in our morning room watching the last of a hot day fade. As the shadows climbed Massanutten Mountain, I grumbled about the lack of birds on the feeder. My grousing attitude even began to grate on Mary Ann’s patience, and she told me to stop complaining.
While sitting that evening in the Morning Room we chatted about our accomplishments in our new home and shared plans for its future. Then one of us saw it—a male house finch settled on the curve of the shepherd’s hook holding the feeder. We watched it, eagerly wanting it to go to the feeder and eat its seeds. We whispered as if believing our voices would frighten it away. Then a blue jay sailed by the feeder, alighting on the ground beneath it. Perhaps it, too, thought the house finch would eat from the feeder, scattering seeds to the ground. Instantly the house finch bolted to the far maple tree. An expletive flew from me, and as usual it improved nothing, only showing my lack of vocabulary. We then waited as darkness descended before accepting that the house finch would not return.
Over coffee the next morning we talked, but I held everything in anticipation—would the finch return, perhaps bringing other birds. Then it was atop the shepherd’s hook before making its way to the seeds. In a short time, other finches enjoyed the feast, and soon a variety of birds joined as well.
A small bird reminded me to remember the message of the movie, or of St. Paul, or of Terry Tempest Williams, or of Mary Ann—impatience and weak faith will cloud any experience.
