The "Great" Migration

     Obviously, chickens have always had a special place in every sane person’s heart since the beginning of time, but I’m finding with each new calendar hung on the wall, my bird obsession grows. There was that little set back during my high school years when Mom and Aunt Hilda dressed up in giant turkey costumes and performed a dance at the family reunion that nearly shut down the whole bird thing for me, but miraculously an ember of fascination still burns within.
     When we were young and in 4-H, our club, The Holly River Hillbillies, took on the task of making housing for Eastern Bluebirds. The dads got involved and the sound of many hammers and wails of kids hitting their thumbs instead of nails filled the valley. Everywhere you looked you could see one of our bluebird boxes attached to a fence post. It was quite probable that through our efforts the bluebirds got off the endangered species list and to this day I feel a little sense of pride whenever one is seen flying around the farm. Another time our 4-H club built wooden bird feeders,  which proved incredibly rewarding as we watched birds come and eat outside our kitchen window when the snow covered the ground.
   In recent years mom and dad began sitting on the front porch during lunch and would count how many different kinds of birds they could spot. Now the entire family has joined the quest.  A kingfisher’s stuttering, hyphenated screech, and a charm of goldfinches flying against the backdrop of dark green Hemlocks are special treats. The occasional majestic yet casual flyby of the resident Blue Heron as it makes its way down the river is exciting, as is the new arrival of a Common Merganser Duck family!
     One of my favorite birds of all our WV farm visitors is the Barn Swallow. I know they are dirty birds and the barn floor under their mud nests is always messy, but their ability to control the insect population and the way they enjoy sitting on a fence in a misty rain are irresistible. I dare anyone to look away when they gracefully flitter about like little acrobats maneuvering unexpected turns and then dipping down to make ripples in the still places of the river…or when they swarm in harmony behind the farm machinery in the hayfield catching bugs that get stirred up.  And anyone who owns a farm cat has smiled watching it get put in its place by a parental barn swallow. 
   With melancholy, I recognize it’s the normal cycle of life that this time of year the barn swallows have all headed south for their long-distance migration from West Virginia to Central and South America where they can eat their fill of insects during our colder months before they return in the spring.  If the mere sight of birds doesn’t leave you in awe of their Creator, the feat of migration really should. Birds obey what God tells them to do and could not succeed otherwise (and neither can we.)  Jeremiah 8:7 “Yea, the stork in the heaven knoweth her appointed times; and the turtle and the crane and the swallow observe the time of their coming; but my people know not the judgement of the Lord.”
     The birds know their appointed times. The days get shorter, the weather gets cooler, and their food source gets scarcer. How will we know our appointed time?  Scriptures say “…now is the time of God’s favor, now is the day of salvation.” (2 Corinthians 6:2) Even if birds know the time--how do they know the way?  It’s wired in them to know the way…similarly, it’s wired in us to know The Way.  Jesus says in John 14:6 “I am the way.”  May we listen to our Creator and migrate towards Him. Birds aren’t really “bird brains” and we shouldn’t be either.

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