[My gosh. The guy can literally write an interesting story about anything. Really, he should get paid.]
Although the grass cutting kept me from finishing a stack of J.R. birdhouses (the pattern, circa 1946), I did find time later to count them, and figured that one should travel with me to the countryside during a motorcycle ride.
I had two goals for the short journey last Sunday.
To hide a new birdhouse in a safe location near my parents’ grave stone, and keep my eyes open for some of my father’s old plywood models.
I was delighted to find for the first time several familiar-looking white boxes on my way to the cemetery (Quaker St., Norwich) and a suitable spot to leave one of my own.
["Overlooking a family grave stone": photos by GAH]
Next trip (after the grass is cut), I’ll clean out the old boxes, remove one for repair (two sides and a top were missing) and add one more new one to what seems to be an extensive Quaker Street collection.
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2 comments:
What a lovely gesture, Gord. So there's a family tradition of making the bird houses?
Hi Kathleen,
A great-uncle was a well known duck decoy carver; his 'smiling cans' are much-sought after.
Dad produced over 200 birdhouses, none for sale, to put here there and everywhere in his home county.
My own birdhouses are mainly for retail market at present, but I'm starting to lean toward putting a few on trees and fence posts along my favourite motorcycle routes, then taking care of them year by year. I get a lot of pleasure from making them and watching them when birds are home.
My oldest son, the best woodworker in the family, is also taking up the cause now that he 'almost' has a workshop.
In the blood? i guess so.
Cheers,
Gord H.
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