Once There Was a Cottonwood Tree in Our Backyard

OK-I am not sure that is the best title for this post.  I'm quite sure, in fact, that no posts were ever made out of the cottonwood tree that is no longer growing in our back yard.  Yes, there are pieces of it here and there.  I am sure that some of the stars we see came from her branches,  but the tree itself has been down for a good number of years. Also, the cottonwood is not the primary subject of this bit of prose, but she does play a significant roll.

What's that?  Oh, you'd like for me to get on with the real story?  Ok!  Why didn't you say so?

Well, when the cottonwood was planted (by Grandma, of course) she thought it would grow up to be a quaking aspen-scientific name Populus tremuloides (that sounds like something quaking don't you think?) or perhaps a plain old poplar tree.  However, any tree named "poplar" (not to be confused with "popular" which is an entirely different subject) means it is just part of the family of trees to which cottonwoods (Populus deltoides) and quakies belong.  So, she was correct-it did grow up to be a type of poplar.  But not a quakie.  Quakies are actually popular poplars.   It grew and grew and grew!  It provided wonderful shade in a relative short time.  We hung a swing on one of its branches.  Kids climbed the branches as high as they could handle, but the trunks-she had three major ones if I remember correctly-were soon too large to get your arms around to help climb.

She was a wonderful tree.  Most of the time.  She had a couple of quirks.  Every early June our neighborhood would have a couple weeks of snow!  Well, not real snow.  But it looked like snow on all the lawns as our cottonwood would shed her cotton-swathed seeds as far as the wind would take them.  I always thought it looked lovely, but I didn't suffer from allergies to such things.  Some of our neighbors didn't like cleaning it up off their lawns.  We didn't mind that very much.  Her real challenge is that she kept growing.  And growing!  Someone had planted her a bit close to our house-thinking she would be a cute little popular poplar like a quakie, but she did grow true to her roots into an ever-increasingly large Tree!  She also started developing a stinky-tree problem.  There were places in her trunk that just didn't smell right.  We realized that she had a type of slime flux-a bacterial wetwood infection-that would continue to progress deep inside of her.  Now don't worry if you remember playing in the tree or on her trunks that served as a pirate ship for a number of years.  Slime flux is not contagious to people.

We ended up needing to have her cut down.  Here is a lesson for you.  It is always hard on one's heart to cut down a living tree, even if she is ill.  Sometimes one doesn't plant a tree in the best location and needs to cut it down in its prime for that reason.  Plan ahead, young people.  We all need enough space to grow and thrive.

OK-enough about the cottonwood in our backyard.

One day about fifteen or sixteen years ago I was pushing our little mower over the grass under our cottonwood tree.  I must not have been paying close attention.  As I started pushing through some long grass in the shade of the tree I noticed a small ball of feathers.  "Stop!", my brain said.  "Maybe Baby Bird!" it said.  But, you all know how difficult it is to get your arms and legs to listen when you are already moving and your brain yells at you to "Stop!".  I did my best!  I pushed down on the handle so the deadly spinning blade might not hit the little feather ball, sure that I was too late.  I released the lever so the mower stopped running and pulled it back to reveal a fledging robin hunkered down in the long grass.  Oh no!  I was sure I had just decapitated a baby robin (scientific name Turdus migratorius).

I knelt down and gently picked up the little fluff ball-and it peeped at me.  Hooray!  I was not a baby robin killer!

I did what you would do.  As I held the little spotted guy in my hands I looked up in the cottonwood trying to locate a nest, a mom robin, a dad robin,  heck, even a grandma robin.  No luck.  Not knowing what to do I consulted that being with the most wisdom and knowledge I know-Grandma-and she told me to look on the interweb.  There I learned that fledging robins often end up on the ground and that you should leave them alone.  Their parents are almost certainly nearby and will take care of the little bird when you leave.

I was not that smart.  We ended up caring for the little thing for a few days, getting up in the night to feed it worms and cat food (ironic, eh?) and having it stay under a light to keep warm.  Oscar helped with all this.  We did let him (the bird, not Oscar) go after a day or two and he found his way back to his feathered family.

Wait-do you know what "fledgling" means?  OK, how about "fletching", as in arrows?  Ok, I see by your knowing smile that you get the connection.

OK, at this point in our journey it is time for you to look back in this blog and find a story titled "Rescued".  I think it was told in May 2015- a long time ago.  Another story about another bird.  No populus deltoides involved, but it happened at our cabin where we do have an abundance of populus tremuloides.  

I'll wait.  Did you take a look?  OK.  The score is now two rescued birds.  Yay team!

Now for a more recent bird encounter.  I was sitting right here.  No, not "here" where you are, but "here" where I am.  You are currently "there".  Unless you are reading this on my computer.  Then you are indeed "here".  Congratulations!  We'll have dessert in a few minutes after we finish this story.

The story-I was sitting at the computer ("here") working on something or the other when I heard that distinctive "thump" of a small bird flying into our back door, which is mostly window.  I don't hear that often, but it always makes me worried/sad that a little bird has broken its neck flying into the glass.

Why do they do that?  I'm sure it's not to make me worried/sad.  It has nothing to do with me.  Often it happens when one of the local hawks soars by.  I think they do that trying to catch a meal, which is just fine, but maybe they do it sometimes just to watch the little birdies scatter.  Either for hunting or humor, this little bird was startled and tried to find the fastest way to safety and flew into what looked like a good escape route but ended up floppy on my back step.

I went out, still sad/worried, and picked the little feathered being up.  I wondered at the miracle that we have such creatures-flying, acrobatic animals!  My sadness deepened as I felt that her little body was limp and her eyes closed.  It was a cold day.  I couldn't think of putting the small thing in the trash.  I thought of placing her in a warm, sunny spot, but there was a North wind chilling even the brighter spots. So I held her gently in my hands.  I thought I could detect the speedy beating of her little courageous heart, but wasn't sure.  So I sat there thinking about Jesus teaching about a sparrow not falling to the ground without God knowing.  I did say a bit of a plea to Father.  I didn't want the little bird to suffer or to be cold. 

As she rested in my hands I saw her eyes flutter an open.  She wasn't moving anything else yet, but it gave me great hope to see her bright little eyes.  She was definitely  breathing now.  After a few minutes I gently extended her wing and she was able to pull it back in place.  Eventually she found her way to being on her feet and fluttered from my hands.  She flew toward the glass door!  But no head bonking this time.  I let her sit and rest a short spell then opened the door.  Off she flew!  She headed for the the thick base of the honeysuckle plant and took with her my wishes for many more days of being a bird.  What kind of bird was she?  Well, she was a lucky, brave, happy and probably headachy bird.  Oh, I believe she was a house finch-scientific name Carpodacus mexicanus.  Oh, I just realized that "she" was likely a "he".

Ok-final tally for this story-Three rescued little birds, one cottonwood tree that blessed us for many years, many quakies still standing and quaking, one hawk that is either hungry or amused at scattering the little birds and one contented grandpa.

"Why are you a content grandpa?" you may ask.  Whenever we try to do good, to listen and feel what we should be doing, whether it is trying to rescue a little bird or being nice to a sibling, especially when it would be so easy to be snarky!, or when we just try to be good and kind and build up the people near us, we make the whole universe better.  We really do.  Any good we do builds and strengthens God's kingdom.

Sometimes we need to be strong enough to not take the easy path of belittling and discouraging and instead try to encourage and build up. It's easy for most of us to want to help small cute critters, but that doesn't always include your siblings!  But they are who often need us to be strong and kind and encouraging!  In the past few weeks I have been blessed to watch as several of you grandkiddos have watched out for, helped and praised the efforts of some of you siblings.  That always makes my heart happy.

 I was reminded this morning as I walked with Sadie that this applies to ourselves as well.  It is easy to find faults and weaknesses that we suppose we have and focus on those.  Just today Grandma and Letty were out in the cold rain moving the broken concrete chunks we use as a wall around our compost.  I couldn't help because I recently had a new shoulder put in and can't do heavy work.  That was my work they were doing in my compost pile!  (don't you wish you had a compost pile?)  As I started to feel a healthy dose of "poor me" because I couldn't go play with them in the rain I remembered that I can do what I can do.  In time my shoulder will heal and I can get back to shovel work, but, for now, I will do what I can and be happy with that!  And you should too!