The First Bird-
In the spring of 1956, My parents moved from Brentwood further west into what was then a rather rural part of St. Louis county. Very close to the Principia entrance off of Clayton Road, was a narrow gravel road heading south between two farms. One farm was known for it's orchards and the other had a large cornfield. Honey Locusts sprouted along the edges of the road easement. The rise of the subdivision was about to begin but that is another story.
The house was built in the somewhat typical geometric forms of that time. Architects were trying new shapes and ours was a two story box at that time. The yard was quite rough after the construction phase and I'm not certain that there was ever anything like sod laid down.
The house was situated on a south facing slope, well above a creek which ran under a small stone bridge and the road which crossed there, led up a steep hill to my grandparents. Along that road, by the creek, grew 3 enormous American Elms, several cottonwoods and both White and Red Oaks. Carpets of Daffodils replaced all ground cover in the springs in that creek bottom.
Each farm in those days had a woodlot and some pasture. We were fortunate to have a neighbor who had allowed his pasture to become completely overgrown with wild flowers and multiflora rose. One section of that field held a bramble patch of black raspberries where I have always thought the local cottontail rabbits originated from the burrows which poked through the soil. A large mature woodlot to the east and one smaller, younger to our west and we were sandwiched in a paradise of habitat. Woods, fields, creeks and in the pasture to the south a horse to grow up with- to explore it all. Thousands of acres of rural St. Louis county- still very unspoiled - beckoned.
Wedged into these early memories which include PlaySchool on the Farm (also 1956) is a clear and focused one.
Outside the east door of the house, which entered the kitchen, and slightly toward the creek was an outside faucet. In the extremely hot and dry summer of 1956, sources of water were certainly needed by wildlife. Being quite new, a washer in the faucet had still not been seated properly. So below the lip, a small pool of fresh water rippled due to the ever present drip.
We were inside and I believe, for some reason, that it was August. My younger brother was walking well and I was all of 4 years old in my cowboy hat.
Dad and mom were both near the door and in an urgent but hushed voice "Boys, boys come quick and see…" My brother was in front of me and peeked around the rim being supported by Mom. I recall squeezing over him and peering around the edge too.
Some moments become exaggerated over time, but this one has now taken on an attribute of clarity and focus, as if I were seeing the moment for the first time through binoculars. There is nothing else but the small pool of water, male and female Bobwhite Quail and nearly a dozen tiny balls of legs and golden fuzz. Out of that were cute, dark eyes and sharp little bills drinking and refreshing. Brown and shimmering heat.
There is not an end to that particular moment and I've had that memory for many many years stimulated by the strong sense of looking over my brother. That one sense and the lingering power of the early wonder and thrill of birds have never left me.
Timothy R. Barksdale
3 August, 2012
