Category Archives: Summertime

“Ah, to be 80 again!” My husband’s grandfather, Jim, wasn’t feeling well. His ribs hurt and he’d slept poorly, but he was glad to talk while his wife moved the morning’s orange juice and vitamins around the kitchen. He didn’t like being in pain, and he was honest. “How do you feel?” I asked. “Not good,” he answered, dispensing with both complaints and pretense.

So we adjourned to the living room to talk about birds, one of his favorite topics. “Crows are the smartest of the birds, you know.” I did know, because he loves crows, but I like to listen to him and he continued. “They have their own language. I shot that one myself.” He gestured toward a crow mounted above the refrigerator with a sign reading “Nevermore.” He did shoot that one and others, having lived, hunted, read, raised eight sons and retired on a farm in Virginia.

Later we watched from the window as a muscular black snake wound up a post and into a bird house, blue birds flapping frantically overhead. “Should I scare it off?” I asked, trying to find the right balance of rural acceptance and city-person panic. “It’s too late now,” he said. “He’s eaten the eggs.”

When Jim was finished entertaining, I bothered Bunny until she let me photograph her in the garden where she spoke kindly, and watered flowers.