Stories of Birds –Art with Stories
Encounters with Robins
Listen to Encounters with Robins
The first encounter was during a dark and thunderous time. After a separation from my husband, I had moved to the rolling hills of the Cariboo. My new home was perched atop a collection of hills where you could see for miles as the thunderclouds glided , danced , and released . It was a dramatic location. As I settled in, every time I went out front, two Robins would dive at me. I was setting up my rock water fountain on the front porch by the lilac bush. It was a river rock with a hole in it and water came up through its center. It sits on a block, in a half oak barrel filled with water. Over time this rock has been sculpted by the water. In the mornings I love to watch nature in action over a cup of coffee. I noticed the Robins kept coming to the lilac bush, so I crept up to the window beside the door and peered into the branches. There they were, three blue eggs. No parents were near so I carefully pruned away a few branches so the sight lines were clear from inside the house. Of course we missed the hatching but my two children and I watched the chicks develop. It was a new beginning for us and we delighted in watching them grow so quickly. I revelled in the birth of this new life for both me and the birds.
I had the good fortune to be given a vacation for the three of us to visit family in Bermuda. So book in hand (Pema Chodron’s When things Fall apart) we departed. The trip was a time of awakening for me as I grieved the loss of my marriage and learned about living in the moment rather than always craving what I don’t have and pushing away my aversions.
After our return from Bermuda the robins had gone! I was sad to have missed their fledgling flight. The kids went to visit their dad and I had time alone to process. I looked for young robins, as I gardened. Then as I cleaned out the water from the fountain, I found them. . . ,
3 young robins, dead, in the fountain’s water barrel. I was crushed as it triggered so many emotions. Death of a marriage, loneliness, anger at myself for having the fountain so close to the nest. It helped me see my attachments and reveal the cycle of life and death. I was beginning to let it all go.
Pema Chodron’s book put me on the path of meditation. The following summer I went to my first 10 day sit at a Vipassana meditation center near Merritt. I discovered the simple delight of living in the moment and realising the pain shall pass. This was where I had my next encounter.
As I tried to meditate in my room, I heard birds chirping. They were in the bush right beside the window. I could barely see the beaks but could hear their calls as the parent Robin arrived with food. They were in this perfectly protected place. The courtyard is surrounded by the building so no predators could go there, not even humans during the course. I was building protection for myself.
Once I returned home, I was enjoying a coffee and looking out my window at the water fountain. It now had a large rock at the base so that nothing could drown. And there they were! Two Robins, sitting on the rock bathing and fluttering their wings in the fountain. The shock and pleasure took me by surprise with joyful tears. It was like a re-birth.
Nine years ago, I moved to Shawnigan Lake and helped with the opening of a new meditation center in Duncan. I donated my rock fountain and it sits in the protected courtyard. I also discovered a robin’s nest which had chicks in it during my first sit there. At every new change in my life they remind me of where I’ve come from.
In my last year of teaching I discovered a nest in the Rowan tree in my front yard. I once again watched and took pictures. Then as I retired I saw the fledglings land on the ground. One wanted to go back up into the tree but the other hopped after its parent down my driveway.
I am on my own now. Strong enough to not need protection.
The robins helped me grow to see new perspectives in each and every moment.
The Rain Bird
Audio of The Rain Bird- Thankyou to the Nal’bali stories
The Rain Bird
Twice adapted from Joanne Bloch (retold folktale) & Nal’ibali websiteProgram to promote reading in South Africa.
In Africa, in a country called Gabon, a little village stood at the very edge of a forest. In the heart of this forest, in the highest branches of an enormous tree, lived a very special bird − the bird that made rain. For as far back as the villagers could remember, they had taken the time to keep this bird happy. They saved scraps of bread, pieces of fruit and fresh coconut milk, and every week or two a group of villagers took these delicacies into the forest. When they had laid them at the base of the tree, one of them played a simple tune on the thumb piano.
After a while, the bird flew down to the ground to eat and drink. When she had finished, she began to sing the most beautiful song.
Oohhhh whoola, whoola, Oooooo whoola whoola
Oohhhh whoola, whoola, Ooooo whoola whoola
At the same time, she raised her shiny copper wings, and within minutes, the rain began to fall.
This went on for many years. Because the rain fell regularly, the crops grew abundantly and there was plenty of food in the village. But gradually things began to change. Somehow, the villagers were always busy and they began to neglect the rain bird. “It will rain anyway,” they said. “It’s time to stop spoiling that silly old bird!”
But the people were wrong. When they stopped looking after the bird, the rain stopped falling. The crops began to dry up and die, and the animals grew thin and weak. Still, nobody in the village went into the forest to feed the bird that brought the rain. Now they were all too busy trying to find money to buy food in the neighbouring town.
Much later, one scorching day, a young girl called Ketti decided to go into the forest after school. “At least it will be cool in there,” she thought. She walked and walked, and after some time, she came to the tall tree in which the rain bird lived. Ketti stared up at the tree. Suddenly, she remembered how her granny had taken her into the forest to feed the bird when she was still a tiny child. Ketti opened her school bag and pulled out a piece of bread left over from her lunch. Carefully she laid the bread at the base of the tree. Then because she had no thumb piano, she sang an old song that she had known all her life.
“Il Oh ya, oh yay
Oh ya oh yay yay
With a loud whooshing sound, a beautiful bird swooped out of the branches above Ketti’s head and began to eat the bread. When the bird had finished, she opened her mouth and sang “Oohhhh whoola, whoola, Oooooowhoola whoola”
Then she raised her shiny copper wings and all of a sudden Ketti heard the rumble of thunder. By the time she reached her home, giant rain drops were pelting down, cooling the baking red earth.
Ketti was very happy, until she told her parents what had happened.
“Don’t be silly!” scolded her mother. “Nobody believes that bird has anything to do with the rain anymore!”
“Your mother is right,” said Ketti’s father. “The drought has been broken now and we will be fine. Don’t go wasting good bread feeding that greedy old bird again!”
Though Ketti didn’t argue with her parents, she felt sure they were wrong. “If only Granny were still alive,” she said to herself, “she would have believed me!”
But Ketti’s granny had died a few years earlier. The only thing Ketti had left was her granny’s old thumb piano.
Two weeks passed and there was no more rain. The crops began to shrivel up again and the hungry animals’ ribs began to stick out even more. The sun beat down mercilessly from a glaring blue sky.
“I don’t care what they say!” thought Ketti. “We need rain. I’m going to feed the bird again tomorrow!”
So, early the next morning, after taking a slice of bread and a handful of red berries from the kitchen, Ketti slipped out of the house. She began to make her way to the centre of the forest.
What she didn’t realise was that her father was also awake. When he saw what his daughter was doing, he realised that she was going to feed the rain bird again.
“I’ll teach that child a lesson!” he said to himself angrily. He snatched his bow and arrows and silently followed Ketti into the forest. Just as the bird flew down to eat the food that Ketti had set out for it, her father raised his bow and released his deadly arrow. The arrow flew straight into the bird’s heart. The bird let out a piercing shriek. “BooooH”
Terrified, Ketti spun around, just in time to see her father fall down, unmoving. Ketti screamed and turned around, just in time to see the arrow fall harmlessly from the bird’s body. Then the bird, unharmed, swooped up into the highest branch of the tree.
Ketti raced out of the forest to a scene of utter devastation. Every animal and every person she saw lay on the ground. With a pounding heart, she ran all the way back to her home. She quickly found her granny’s old thumb piano. “This is my only hope!” she thought. “The rain bird is angry. I have to make her happy again! I HAVE to!”
Half an hour later, Ketti was back at the base of the big tree. Her body was drenched with sweat and she was gasping for breath. A few paces away from her lay the lifeless body of her father. Ketti looked away quickly, and with trembling hands, began to play the thumb piano. She played and played, until her fingers hurt.
Finally, what she wanted most in the world happened. Down swooped the bird as if nothing had happened. The bird ate some of the berries still lying on the ground and sang a few notes. Then, as Ketti played on, the bird raised her wings. Ketti heard a rustle behind her.
It was her father who had woken up!
“I’m sorry!” he said again and again to the big bird. Then he held out his hand to his daughter and they walked slowly back to the village. In the village all the people and animals were awake again.
That night the villagers held a meeting. They all agreed that they had learned a valuable lesson.
And from that day onwards, not one week passed without a special trip to the forest to feed the bird that brought the rain.
Hadley and the Quail
Listen to Hadley and the Hawk
I would watch them from my empty nested window. It has been 9 years now since my own flock fled, and I moved here to Shawnigan Lake. I first saw the Quail the morning after I moved in. I chose this place because of the bird feeder in front of the big picture window. I delight in seeing their bobbing head feathers. Thnnnnnttt, thnnnthuh, satisfied eating noises. Pip pip pip pip pee, their worry or alarm call. And when they had chicks! The adults would watch over high on a post Ka-Kah-ko, ka-kah-ko or ki ka choo, ki ka choo, to gather their covey. And watch them run; it’s like their heads shoot forward and their feet follow. How they would flee at the tiniest of movements “ whou, whou, woo, woo,wooo or freeze in place. I would count them daily to see how many chicks survived from the day before. They became a substitute for my children.
Two large yogurt containers of bird food go into the feeder each day, with half of one spilled on the ground for the quail. They now over winter in this place. I wonder if I’m disturbing nature’s natural cycle? But I reason that if the meadow had not been harvested, there would have been grain for them all. I am simply replacing what has been taken.
I’d often sit in my chair hammock as still as can be and watch them graze along right under me. Such joy to be still enough and not be noticed. I am no predator.
Once I came around the outside of my home and I scared some of the babies. The door was open and they ran into my studio. And boy oh boy are they good hiders. I managed to catch a couple by the window. I had no idea how many were in there. Every time I thought I’d got them all I would hear a chirp. I found the last of one of 6 which chirped the next morning. I had to sit on the ground with a blanket for it to run by as I covered it with a dishcloth. Once outside it took awhile to come out of freeze mode and find a bush.
My art studio has windows on three sides. I often find juncos and finches caught in there. I would throw a tea cloth on them, gently hold them and release them back outside. I now have beads covering my outside door, to allow fresh air but to dissuade birds from flying in.
Then one day Hadley landed on my garden table only a couple of meters from my hammock. She just sat there, quite puffy with young downy feathers, a raptors beak and striped tail feathers. She was a Cooper’s hawk and probably a juvenile. I managed to creep slowly towards her, taking pictures at every step. She was not bothered by me at all. I got within a few feet of her and she jumped onto the deck. She scraped her long talons as she hobbled between the plant pots looking for juncos and finches to hunt. She became a regular visitor every morning, allowing me to come close every day, often perched on a chair back or the roof of my car. I am no predator
Whenever she came round the other birds would disappear quickly with the quails warning sound. Pit pit pee, pit pit pee. Whoo whoo, woo, woo, woo. In she’d fly with her large wide wings and those lovely tapered wing tips, hovering and landing with talons on the chair back.
One cloudy day I’m inside by my window and I hear a flutter. Oh boy, it’s another bird. I get up and see Hadley on my rattan divider in my bedroom! She must have walked in through the beads. There’s no way I can throw a tea towel on her! She flew into the studio and landed on my pastel poppies. Each time I moved she flew toward a window. I took the beads off the door, grabbed one of my driftwood sticks, and gently put the stick under her feet. Eventually she perched on it. In that moment I didn’t dare look at her eyes, I focused on her feet, willing her to stay on for our success together. In slow motion I rounded the door and exposed her to the outdoors. She pushed away from the stick freely, releasing herself to the roof of my car to compose herself . What an experience! She was so heavy, it took two hands to hold up the stick. She had trusted me.
But then one morning, with morning coffee and window gazing. Quail feeding thuh, thuh, thuh. Happy eating sounds
In swoops Hadley from around the corner of the building
Quail flee. BUT this time, one is caught.
Hadley sits on it, looks around,
backs up into the bushes,
somehow aware of my sadness, and rips and feeds.
The Lae Lae Bird
Here is one of my favourite stories that I have been telling for over 30 years. It came to me from a friend in my teacher education program. A group of us told it together for a music assignment and I have been adapting it ever since. Here I am painting it with a recording. This is a tale from Thailand, called The Lae Lae Bird.
Sylvia's Studio and Stories 