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| I was listening to the Diane Rehm program on the local PBS radio station the other day when she was interviewing Andrew Blechman. Andrew had written a book about pigeons. Pigeons, which are actually rock doves, are fascinating creatures, not just “flying rats” as many city dwellers call them. If taken away from their nest, they will fly home at speeds averaging 60 miles an hour. A 600 mile journey will take them about 10 hours, which means they will be halfway home while we are still standing in the security line at the airport, shoes in one hand and photo ID in the other. They will make this trip without stopping for food or water, and can navigate it in daylight or dark, even blindfolded. It is still a mystery how they are able to make such a journey, but “bird brain” may not be the pejorative we think it is. Andrew told of one pigeon racer and his favorite bird, Marti. He once took her to a release point far from home, and anticipated her return as always. After three days of anxious waiting, but no Marti fluttering home to her coop on the roof of his home, he assumed the worst. A common fate of pigeons is becoming the meal of a hawk. He hoped his Marti hadn’t suffered. Two weeks later, Pigeon Man heard a scratching at the front door of his house. He was delighted and amazed upon opening the door to find his beloved Marti, unable to fly because of a broken wing. She had walked home. Diane asked Andrew what would compel a bird to accomplish such a journey. Andrew’s response was “Simply the desire to be home.” I guess we’re all a bit like Marti in some way, limping along pigeon toed with a broken wing, unable to soar but not yet hawk chow. We don’t see ourselves as heroic, but just another sojourner on the path to our memory of home, bandaging our wounds the best we can while scanning the horizon for a familiar landmark. Whatever our memory of home may be, we can be thankful that loving hearts await us there to open the door. |
| 79" high wood, paint |
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