There are some things we inherit from our families without anyone ever sitting us down and formally passing them along.
For us, watching birds was one of those things.
One of Grandma Cooper’s greatest joys was watching birds flutter around the yard. My mom shared that same love, and somewhere along the way it became part of us, too. Even today, spring does not feel quite official until somebody spots that first robin. A cardinal appearing among bare branches can still stop us for a moment.
But Grandma had a favorite.
The mockingbird.
And knowing Grandma Cooper, I suppose I should have paid more attention to that.
Grandma’s Favorite Songbird
The Northern Mockingbird does not attract attention with brilliant colors. It is mostly gray and white, slender and rather ordinary looking until it opens its mouth.
Then everything changes.
A mockingbird is one of nature’s great performers. It can imitate the songs and calls of other birds, along with frogs, crickets and sounds it picks up from the world around it. Mockingbirds living around people have even been known to imitate things such as car alarms.
They sing during the day. Some sing at night. They can repeat a phrase several times before moving on to something entirely different, as though they have an audience and intend to keep it entertained.
Grandma loved them.
Perhaps she simply enjoyed their music.
Or perhaps Grandma saw something in a mockingbird that took me a few more years to understand.
“Bobby…”
Before I go any further, there is something you need to know about Grandma Cooper.
Nobody—and I mean nobody—ever said “Bobby” quite like Grandma.
She said it with a smile.
And when Grandma started a conversation with “Bobby,” I learned to pay attention. There was usually something coming after it that she thought I needed to hear.
My sisters still call me Bobby from time to time. When they do, I can almost hear Grandma.
One particular “Bobby” has stayed with me for decades.
I was already married. Vicky and I had two children. I was well beyond the age when I expected Grandma to hand me a birthday present. In fact, I do not remember her giving me a birthday gift for several years before that.
That is part of what made this one different.
There was no wrapping paper. No bow. No fancy presentation.
Just Grandma and a book.
Pilgrim at Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard.
She handed it to me and said something along the lines of:
“Bobby, I think this is something you will enjoy. Happy Birthday.”
That was it.
At least, I thought that was it.
Sometimes a Book Is More Than a Book
My military career was not without strife.
I did not talk much about it then, and I do not talk much about it now. There are portions of our lives we carry differently than others, and sometimes the people around us do not realize how heavy that load has become.
Somehow, Grandma noticed something others had not.
I was struggling.
I do not want this story to become a story about me or about those years. This is about Grandma Cooper and a birthday present.
Because looking back, I am not convinced Grandma was simply giving me a book.
I think she was giving me a way to begin looking outward again.
A reason to notice.
A reason to wonder.
Maybe even permission to rediscover some of the curiosity that life had knocked out of me.
That little distinction matters.
Why Is It Beautiful?
In Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, Annie Dillard asks a wonderful question while considering a mockingbird. Rather than becoming concerned with exactly what the bird is singing, she turns to the more important question:
Why is it beautiful?
There is enough in those four words to keep a person occupied for quite some time.
The Northern Mockingbird is not beautiful because it has the brightest feathers in the backyard. It is beautiful, at least to me, because of what it does with the world it has been given.
It listens.
It learns.
It remembers.
And then it adds its own voice.
A male mockingbird can build a repertoire containing a remarkable number of song types, and that repertoire can continue changing as the bird grows older. It hears the world around it and incorporates new sounds into its own song.
Think about that for a moment.
It never decides it has heard enough.
It never decides it is too old to learn another melody.
Now that sounds like something Grandma Cooper would appreciate.
More Than Once, Twice Even!
I have read Pilgrim at Tinker Creek more than once.
Twice even!
I could not resist.
Those of us of a certain age may remember Snagglepuss, Hanna-Barbera’s theatrical pink mountain lion. He had a wonderful way of adding an extra flourish to nearly everything he said.
“Even!”
I can almost hear him now.
The humor is appropriate here because I don’t believe Grandma intended that book to become something solemn that sat untouched on a shelf.
Books are meant to be opened.
Ideas are meant to be considered.
And life, despite its difficult chapters, is still supposed to contain some laughter.
That may be another lesson hiding in Grandma’s birthday present.
What the Mockingbird Eventually Taught Me
For years, I could have described a mockingbird by telling you about its gray feathers, white wing patches and long tail.
Today I would describe it differently.
I see a bird that spends its life learning.
There is something worth carrying into our own lives. We never have to reach an age when we decide we know everything we need to know. There is always another melody. Another book. Another person whose story might teach us something.
I see a bird that listens before adding its own voice.
Maybe there is wisdom in that, too. We spend an awful lot of time waiting for our turn to speak. Understanding another person’s experience requires something different. It requires listening long enough to hear a song that is not our own.
I see a surprisingly courageous bird.
Mockingbirds can be fiercely protective of their nests and will confront animals much larger than themselves when their young are threatened. Size does not seem to enter much into the calculation.
Grandma Cooper understood that kind of courage.
Dynamite comes in small packages, remember?
I also see adaptability. The mockingbird has learned to live alongside us, making its home in neighborhoods and cities as comfortably as many people do. A freshly mowed lawn can become its dinner table, with insects and berries nearby.
The world changes.
The mockingbird pays attention and changes with it.
But perhaps the lesson I appreciate most today is simply joy.
A mockingbird sings.
Morning or evening, spring or summer, perched high in a tree or sitting on somebody’s chimney, it announces its presence to the world.
Not every song has to accomplish something.
Sometimes there is value in singing because there is still a song to sing.
Grandma Knew
I have wondered over the years whether Grandma knew exactly what she was doing when she handed me that book.
Maybe she did.
Maybe she didn’t.
Grandma Cooper was not the type who needed to explain everything.
Perhaps she had read it and thought, Bobby would enjoy this.
But I know something now that I could not have known standing there with that unwrapped book in my hands.
She noticed me.
That may have been the real gift.
When someone is struggling, we sometimes imagine we need exactly the right words. Grandma did not give me a speech. She didn’t ask me to explain myself. She didn’t tell me how I ought to feel.
She handed me a book.
And inside that book was a creek, a natural world worth noticing, a mockingbird singing from a chimney, and a question:
Why is it beautiful?
Maybe Grandma was quietly pointing me back toward a world that still contained beautiful things.
Final Thoughts
All these years later, I still watch birds.
We still look for that first robin of spring. A cardinal can still catch our attention. And whenever a mockingbird decides the neighborhood needs a concert, I think about Grandma Cooper.
I think about learning.
I think about listening.
I think about protecting the people we love, adapting when life changes, finding our own voice and remembering that even difficult seasons contain moments worth noticing.
Most of all, I think about a small woman handing her grown grandson an unwrapped birthday present because she had noticed something in him that perhaps he had not yet recognized himself.
I have received bigger gifts.
I have received more expensive gifts.
I am not sure I have received many that lasted longer.
That copy of Pilgrim at Tinker Creek was a book.
But Grandma’s gift was curiosity.
It was a reminder to keep learning.
And perhaps it was her way of saying:
“Bobby, there is still beauty out there. Keep looking for it.”
I am still looking, Grandma.
Thank you.
The Cooper Shortcut Camping Journey Trio 😊 PlusOne!
YOU MAY ALSO LIKE:
Leave a Reply