It was nearing the end of the day when we returned from our July 4th weekend trip to visit family in New York state.  After spending the afternoon sitting, either at the dining and chatting table or in the car, I was eager to unfold my legs and move around a bit.  The heat wave we’ve been having in Pennsylvania for a couple of weeks had relented a bit toward the end of last week; but now it is returning with even warmer temperatures, and there is not a drop of rain in the forecast.  One look at my vegetable garden told me that it was time, at last, to unroll the hose and rescue our future tomatoes from certain death by dehydration.  I stood at the end of the garden patch and let the artificial rain fall, first on one plant and then another.  Several minutes after my fabricated storm began, I noticed a streak of gray zipping from behind my right shoulder and across my path to the pear tree at the far end of the garden.  I was too startled to really take in what I had seen.  Then, less than a minute later, the streak returned.  It was my friend, the catbird; and he amused himself by flying through the spray of the hose several times before disappearing into the center of the apple tree.

It’s been years since any of my children were young enough to follow me to the garden and hope that the hose would stray their way long enough to cool them on a hot summer evening.  Mr. Catbird seemed to carry that spirit of playfulness in his darting trips through the water.  I finished my watering and next turned my attention to the raspberry patch.  I could see that the ripe berries were now two different shades of red, and I knew that postponing my picking for another day would mean that the darkest ones would begin to decay.  Container in hand, I decided to tackle the job before the sun disappeared from the sky.

I love to pick berries.  It takes me back to the delightful days of my childhood when my older brother and I would grab berry buckets and venture into the woods that grew beyond the cornfield behind our house.  We would follow the berry thickets for more than a mile, from patch to patch, following the glimpses of red or purple that speckled the green.  We would eat as we picked until the eating no longer was an issue, and then we would get down to business and fill our buckets with the sweet, delicious berries we would take to our mother.  We would march into the house, filled with the pride of the hunters who now brought food to share with the whole village.

The woods have long since given way to development; and when we settled in our house, one of the first things I wanted to do was plant some berries and fruit trees so that our children might have the experience of wandering outside and discovering the generosity of nature.  I wanted them to feel the gratitude for food that really does grow on trees.  Now my children are grown; and unless one of the grandchildren happens to come at picking time, I go alone to the berry patch.

I began to pick the berries; and as I reminisced, I noticed a bit of gray rustling on the ground in the center of the berry canes.  I looked in the direction of the rustling sound, expecting to see a mouse, and instead saw that my catbird was sitting only three feet from where I stood to pick and cocking his head from side to side to see what I was doing.

Mr. Catbird -- Berry-Picker Extraordinaire

“Well, hello there,” I said to him; and instead of flying off at the sound of my voice, he just sat there in the middle of the patch and looked at me some more.  This bird has come close to me before, but never have we been so comfortable with one another that he stayed while I talked and moved around.  I never changed my picking rhythm, but he seemed comfortable with the fact that I meant him no harm.

“Have you come looking for more berries?” I asked him.  ”Didn’t you have enough when you ate all my blueberries?”  I have long given up on having any more than a handful of blueberries from my two small bushes.  It seems that catbirds like the berries just a little greener and harder than human beings, and my playful friend has seen to the blueberry picking for several seasons.  He never bothers the raspberries, though.  Maybe it’s the thorns that deter him.  He certainly knows where they are!

He sat for several minutes and watched me work.  ”Would you like one?” I asked him.  I picked a ripe berry and tossed it toward him.  Before it hit the ground, it bounced off his little black feather cap, and I was sure I’d sent him flying.  Imagine my surprise when he sat completely still, saw the berry land, and picked it up in his beak.  He hesitated for a moment, still looking at me, and then flew away with his trophy.

I just love these moments when another creature senses that we can co-exist and comes close enough to interact — if only for a short time — with the two-legged one who shares his territory.  I left the berry patch filled with warm thoughts of my catbird.  I hope he made his way home with similar feelings for his human.