A few days after we had our new house under contract, my husband’s phone rang. It was about mid-afternoon, so we knew who was calling. It was Gramps, my husband’s grandfather. He calls almost everyday. Just to see what we’re doing. To make sure we’re doing what we should be doing, not doing what we shouldn’t be doing, to check on his great-grandsons whom he loves dearly, to give me a hard time because that’s how he rolls.
I listened to my husband’s side of the conversation and knew what was being asked.
In short, Gramps was making sure that we were taking the bird feeder he made for me with us to the new house.
As if that was ever a question.
I love birds. If you’ve followed me over the years, you know of my love for birds. When I found out, years ago, that Gramps could make a bird feeder, I asked for one. It took him nearly four years to get around to making it, but when he did, it was the Taj Mahal of bird feeders. Two floors, a heated bird bath and a tin roof. It was amazing and wonderful and brought even more bird friends to our old back yard.
So, yes, by golly, I was taking it with us!
Shortly after we moved in and settled, my husband went back for the white bird feeder. He had me pick where I wanted it put in the ground. It had to be viewable from my office as I spend most of my weekday hours there, so I picked a spot in line with the window from my office. But it also had to be viewable from both the window over the kitchen sink and the dining room windows. So I ran around the house while my husband stood in the spot that I had picked for the bird feeder. I’m sure we looked funny; him standing still, all alone in the yard, me peeking out of windows.
And then he went about digging a hole and burying the pole.
With some help.
LittleBrother is in a “helping” phase. Sometimes it’s… annoying. Because it’s quicker and easier when I set the table, but why would you say no to a child who wants to help. And it’s faster to wash the car without little hands and many questions, but the helping heart is so pure that saying no feels cruel.
So as FireDad attempted to dig a hole and set up my bird feeder, LittleBrother stood and asked his daddy a billion and twelve questions.
And really, it’s quite perfect. Because now my bird feeder that I adore so much because I love birds and my husband’s grandfather took the time to make me such a masterpiece also has the additional family history that our youngest son talked his dad’s ear off while “helping” put it in the ground.
Knowing that I’ll think of Gramps, FireDad and LittleBrother every time I look at my bird feeder makes me smile. I love that something relatively “new” in our family has so much history attached to it.