Three Less Robins

on October 25, 2017 in All Roads Lead to Tucker Georgia

My Aunt Irene never owned a home or car, but believe me, she got around. A downtown person who worked at interesting places like the Atlanta Journal Constitution. She knew the bus routes by heart. Seldom called to announce visits, rather surprised us by stepping off the bus at the corner of Lawrenceville Highway and Main in downtown Tucker. Up Main Street, left onto LaVista, final destination, my house on Morgan Road.

She brought news with her. Her daughter, Doris, lived in a log cabin in Decatur. Cousin Anna and Aunt Tillie, lived in West End in a big high ceiling house. Exciting to hear about Atlanta and Decatur. Irene also had a fashion model daughter, Evelyn, who lived in the D.C. area; Evelyn’s husband, an editor for a news magazine. And Irene’s son, Danny, was a career soldier who traveled the world, married a pretty German lady.

Irene had worldly  connections.

Never got in a hurry. Irene was slow yet deliberate. Thorough and methodical. Whether cool or warm, she wore a long sweater with over-sized pockets. Sometimes a dress, but always big pockets. Her eyes sharp for a four-leaf clover, special acorn or an unusual rock. I loved to sit on the front porch listening to the goings on in my yard. I never saw it, until she pointed it out, then it was clear as a bell.

One spring I discovered something on my own. A robin building a nest. Mother Robin worked for days carrying twigs to construct a nest on my swing-set. I anxiously waited for Aunt Irene’s next visit to show off my find. I watched daily for her coming down Morgan Road, but no Irene.

One day three tiny blue green eggs appeared. A beautiful sight to behold, still no Irene.

One Sunday afternoon, I saw her strolling along, not a care in the world. I ran to meet her, grabbing her hand to hurry her along. She laughed.

“What in the Sam-Hill? Diane, don’t you want to see what’s in my pocket?”

“Not today! Wait ‘till you see what I found!” I led her cheerfully around to the backyard, by-passing the front-door greeting. “See that? Three eggs – robin eggs – not two – but three! I watched the mother build the nest and everything, and now, there they are, three tiny eggs!”

As I reached for the nest, Irene grabbed my hand.

“Must never touch.”

Sensing something wrong, I explained, “I waited for you. I waited a long time.”

Irene relaxed as her smile returned, though she held my hand firmly. She admired my rare find, then asked me a question.

“Where’s Mother Robin?”

I shrugged my shoulders. Then Irene led me to the back-porch steps. We sat there for a few minutes while searching the sky for the mother. It sprinkled rain. She sat there just like it was a sunny day.

“They’re robin eggs alright, Diane. What a treasure! But you know, you must never touch a bird’s nest …”

“What about the eggs?”

Especially the eggs.”

Why?

Irene didn’t answer right away, but turned her face up allowing the drizzling rain to wet her face.

“Have you ever wondered why it rains?” Irene asked.

“No, not really.”

“Everyone needs to know why the sky weeps. She spoke in a soft whisper. I drew close to hear.

“Well, Diane, sometimes the sky rains because the world loses precious beings, you know, the little ones.”

“Like robins?”

She nodded her head in affirmation.

“A mother robin will build a nest in anticipation of her children. Just like your mother prepared for your birth a few years ago. Those eggs are babies, but not until she sits on them for a good long while. That’s her job – the job nature gave to her. Oh, she may fly away, but she’s never far. I’ll bet you by George, she never takes her eyes off those eggs. But even if she’s not looking, she knows when a human has touched her nest. And when that happens, she will desert the eggs. They will never hatch, never become little birds.”

Why?”

“She senses danger and will not sit on a touched nest.”

Irene pointed to the fast moving clouds, “The clouds quickly spread the news.”

What news?”

“That a mother has abandoned her young …”

“She’s not ever coming back?”

Irene ignored my question as she spoke of the sky.

“And finally the winds cannot take the sadness any longer, and the sky opens up and down comes the rain.”

My heart was breaking.

“That is sad for the sky.”

Aunt Irene and I sat there on the back door steps in the rain, both sad. For we knew the world was less three robins.

Irene Voyles-Allen (my PawPaw’s sister) was a wonderful storyteller!

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