Birdhouse In Your Soul

There’s a beautiful Asian folktale about a young woman bribed into marrying a bird, and through her dismay, burns his birdhouse to the ground. The bird-man immediately becomes desperate, shrieking, “How could you? The birdhouse was my soul!” And he’s immediately removed from the house, until finally the woman builds him a new one, and awakes, one day, to find him perched outside. She had, as instructed, dedicated the house to the soul of her husband.

When I first saw my little house in Pennsylvania, two things immediately came to mind: 1. Gingerbread, and 2. Birdhouses.

I’d made the decision to decorate the house with a bird-like theme, collecting birdy pictures and items from my travels.

Can't you see the striking resemblance???

It wasn’t until I’d moved in did I realize that facing the front of the house was the most elegant, aged birdhouse I’d ever seen. Looking into this birdhouse it’s difficult to argue that it indeed has a soul.

Not all birdhouses are created equal, mind you. Mine is obviously weathered, lived in, and, to use a real estate salesperson’s euphemism, “in need of a little love.” For months I’ve been thinking about the little house and wondering if and when the birds will come.

The most common birds of this area include bald eagles and humming birds, neither of which would be appropriate for my little house, but certainly beautiful birds to watch. The resident woodpecker seems content to pick and spot and knock-knock-knock all summer long. The wild turkeys make their daily hikes through the property in late summer, early autumn in groups as large as 20! Not sure where they’re going, but they seem to be, however wobbly, on a mission. Chickadees are very common for this area, and are such gorgeous little birds. I wouldn’t mind if a family of chickadees made my made my birdhouse their new home.

My neighbor advised me not to fill the birdhouse, as the black bear family have no problem climbing the trees to snack on birdseed. (Here’s a picture of my grandma “fighting” a bear at the World’s Fair many years ago.)

In Tuscany, I was once lucky enough to watch a family of birds being fed and weaned by their mother of the course of several weeks, growing strong enough to leave the nest just before I boarded my plane back to New York City.

It took me a few years to realize that my treasured birdhouse charm that I unearthed in Oregon…is really a tiny outhouse.

Does that mean that one woman’s birdhouse is in the eye of the beholder? I like to think so!