|
|
 |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Bud Grossmann’s
Words of the Week
for the Week of
April 22, 2012
Published as Family History in a
Gramma Letter dated March 3, 1998.
© 1997 by Bud Grossmann.
All Rights Reserved.
|
| | |
Robin, 2012
© 2012 by Bud Grossmann
|
A ROBIN WILL BUILD
Tuesday, March 3, 1998
Dear Gramma,
“A robin will come along and build her nest on your lip.” This was the warning you once gave me when I was a little boy. More than once, I suppose you said it. I don’t do a lot of pouting anymore, but I’ve pretty much mastered the art of sulking. My periods of self-pity don’t last long—seldom more than a month.
Hey, Gramma, I’m kidding, I’m kidding! Well, I hope I’m kidding. I suppose you shouldn’t rely on my estimate of the typical duration of my bad moods. You’d do better to ask the people I live with. But don’t, please don’t ask them. Let’s talk about something pleasant now, shall we? We can talk some more about robins, if you’d like.
This past Sunday I chatted with my parents on the phone. They described Wisconsin’s sometimes-springy-sometimes-snowy weather. They said someone in the neighborhood had already seen the first returning robin. Oh, how I miss the changing of the seasons! Here in Hawaii I have to consult a calendar to find out what time of year I’m in. We have no robins to give us a hint.
When Dad and Mom mentioned those cheerful, red-breasted birds, I thought of a summer visit to you and Grampa in the early 1950’s, when I was maybe four or five. While Grampa was tending his crops and livestock on the Rio farm, you were working for wages at the Del Monte Canning Company. You were cooking for the college boys hired for the harvest in the “pea pack” in Poynette.
Or was that in Arlington? In any case, I remember my father took me to visit you, and I can still picture your dining hall—a long, low, barracks-like building, not in the best repair. After the noon meal each day, when the field workers went back to work, you had time to sit and enjoy a cup of tea before you dealt with dirty dishes and your supper preparations. From inside the dining hall, we could look out a large window and see an old automobile, resting and rusting in retirement.
It was a Model A Ford coupe. Three wheels were gone, but one front, spoked wheel remained, causing the car to lean contentedly like a person on a blanket, a picnicker propped on an elbow. A thistle weed poked its fuzzy head through a rust hole in the running board. A leafy vine snaked around the steering wheel. The car had no glass in its windshield or windows, no lenses left in its headlights.
Looking out from the dining hall, my father remarked, “Buddy, I think someone has set up housekeeping in that old car. Let’s go out and have a look.”
As we approached the Ford, a robin flew from one of the headlights. She shrieked once or twice and settled on a branch in a nearby maple. “Let’s not go too close,” said Dad. The headlight body, shaped like half an egg shell, sheltered a neatly woven bowl of grass and leaves. Standing on tiptoes, I counted one, two, three, four little blue eggs inside. Hmm. What an unlikely place for a bird’s nest! Maybe Grandma Grossmann’s warning had been more than mere poetry. Maybe, if I pouted, I was indeed at risk for having a robin build her babies’ birthplace upon the ledge of my lip.
When a few days had gone by, Dad and I came down to see you at your workplace again. As soon as we arrived, I rushed to the Model A. This time I counted one, two, three, four wide-mouthed, naked, noisy little birds! My delight has endured to this very day.
I have my ups and downs, of course. I have my days of gloom. But, in a world brimming with wonders as glorious as newly hatched robins, in a world with grandmothers who have no patience for pouting, I seldom take long to bring in my lower lip and replace my scowl with a smile.
I love you, Gramma.
Love,
Buddy
|
I would welcome your thoughts on this page (or any of my
others). Write to me at the following address. Please
be sure to spell Grossmann with two n’s and
mention what page you are writing about.
Thanks! BUD GROSSMANN
|
Top of this page
|
|
This page was updated Sat, Apr 21, 2012, 9:22AM CDT
|
© 2012 by Bud Grossmann
|
|
|
|
 |
