|Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons – photographer Ken Thomas|
Superstition rarely claims me. Black cats don’t scare me, nor does walking under a ladder. Four-leaf clovers bring me no luck because I’ve never actually found one. Furthermore, I do not consider the number 13 to be unlucky, just misunderstood.
So what flares my less-than-superstitious nature? Bluebirds.
Several years ago, while admiring the various birds flocking to the bird feeder just outside my kitchen window, two bluebirds perched to nibble. Ever seen a bluebird up close? They claim reddish-brown breasts, but the rest of their plump bodies—head, back, wings, and tail feathers— rock a brilliant purple-blue, brighter than any gem, and when the sun strikes their feathers the color dazzles one’s eyes.
These amazing creatures astonished me with their hue and then abandoned me, never to return.
This prompted Operation Bluebird, my years-long quest to lure that bluest of birds back to my humble bird feeder.
My husband, who after almost 33 years of marriage still humors all of my silly-assed notions—and I mean all of them, God love him—enabled me on my mission to find the birdseed most likely to entice bluebirds to our feeder. In spite of Googling, Binging, and visiting specialty bird and pet shops, nothing worked. The bluebirds refused to return. Every other type of bird—wrens, sparrows, cardinals, chickadees, finches, doves, and even the occasional blue-jay and red-headed woodpecker—dropped in to the Claro Birdseed Buffet to eat his fill. Bluebirds? Nada.
Until now. 2013. The Year of the Bluebird.
A beautiful duo fluttered to the bird feeder the day before New Year’s Eve. They came, they ate, and they stayed. After all my pleading, begging, and bribing, the gorgeous feathered creatures have blessed us with their glorious color. There are at least two pairs that feed regularly, and I never tire of watching them. Vibrant. Shimmering. Beautiful.
I sigh now just thinking of them. God must have been seriously tripping the day he created that brilliant blue. There’s just no other explanation for it.
I’ve already heard the Bluebird of Happiness jokes from my kids, so you can go there if you like but it’s already been done. And my husband dubbed me the Bird Lady of Lawrenceville, which is completely wrong unless amended to the Bluebird Lady of Lawrenceville, which then suggests to the unknowing that I own a school bus dealership.
But no matter. Those bluebirds are a good omen. I know it in my heart, feel it down to my toes. I believe it. Absolutely. And like all good superstitions, believing is what makes it real.
Bluebirds are my good juju. What’s yours?
See you next time –
P.S. Note to my pal Becky Povich: Bluebird, not to be confused with the lovely Blue Chicken which is also a source of delight. 🙂