My father (the military academy graduate, Rhodes Scholar finalist, and highly decorated Coast Guard Captain with two masters from MIT) has always done his own yard work. He excels at keeping the Saint Augustine lush and green. His methods are precise and proven.
His Type A personality served him well in the competitive ranks of the military system. I believe he would have been an Admiral or the Commandant if it hadn’t been for some Obama-era diversity measures. (That’s a blog topic for another day.)
This high-achieving, perfectionistic mindset has clashed with mine over time. Especially in my pot smoking hippie phases. When I became a Fort Bend County Master Gardener I gently encouraged him to stop Crepe Myrtle murdering. He has obliged.
But the excessive pruning has not entirely ceased. The sages are in squares. The boxwoods are in all right angles. And when a volunteer bush popped up between the bougainvillea lattices, instead of ripping it out or letting it take a natural shape, the Captain kept trimming and shaping and trimming and shaping. What started as a tiny little shrub is now higher than the fence line.
I can’t remember who called it the Penis Bush for the first time, perhaps my mother. Maybe my sister? Probably me. My father would never.
But it is very phallic, there is no denying it. Here it is after a tight trim.
In early April of this year a mockingbird couple (comment with your opinion, should we get a new state bird?) moved in to the shrub-to-bush-to-tree. My family watched the mommy and daddy carefully craft a nest in the very center around five feet high.
In mid-May the babies came. Three of them. We watched the parents zoom in and out and listened as the babies begged for food. They were a lovely addition to the dove babies nesting in the side yard fence.
So many birds!
Before my stepson suggested the Fort Bend Falcon as the name of this budding little enterprise, I wasn’t necessarily drawn to birds and their majestic ways besides the obvious bald eagle (USA! USA! USA!) I was more of an otter girl. But since I started reading and researching falcons, I have become entranced by birds, their symbolism and their mannerisms.
Last year at this time my partner of seven years dumped me for an even younger woman so I drove to my parent’s second home in Oregon for a few months where I was surrounded by nature, water, and birds. Lots of birds. Bald eagles, falcons, owls, seagulls, ducks, crows, blue jays, black jays, robins, finches, sparrows, chickadees.
There in what I consider to be one of the most beautiful places on earth — the land of cheese, trees, and ocean breeze, I healed, met my shadow, and found GOD.
I had been a self proclaimed atheist for many, many years after growing up in Independent Fundamental Baptist churches. Funny how those legalistic preacher people can be so good at destroying your faith. But there in Oregon in my pain, I found a gateway to God (I formally met him in the Hill Country… yeehaw, hallelujah, and how Texan of me) and in my search for guidance I found treasure in the shape of a book. No, not that book. This book:
Ornithography: An Illustrated Guide to Bird Lore & Symbolism
Jessica Roux is the author and the book is a delightful exploration of bird folklore, mythology and history, it details one hundred bird species with beautiful illustrations.
In Oregon, as Baker and I walked along the creeks, the river, the bay, the ocean, I would see a bird and go rifling through my bag to grab the book. What does that bird mean?
It occurred to me one day that if GOD is real and all knowing and all powerful then he can use a myriad of ways to communicate, including birds. So I started asking questions and he started answering. Here are a three examples:
ONE. I asked him for clarity on a business deal and the answer came immediately in the form of a rooster, a bird associated with betrayal. You know the story, Jesus predicted Peter would betray him three times before the rooster crowed. Roux in Ornithography notes, “Pope Nicholas I decreed that a rooster be placed atop every church in Europe as a reminder of the betrayal.” God then sent me over to a rooster themed bistro named The Roost where I learned how the owners had been betrayed by the exact person I was intending to do business with. Whew, thanks GOD!
TWO. I’ve always had a chip on my shoulder about my writing skills thanks to a particularly vicious English teacher/preacher’s wife I had the displeasure of learning under in high school. As I was struggling to begin writing my book I asked GOD for direction while at the Katy dog park. What flew into my view? A cardinal. What is the meaning of a cardinal? Confidence.
I howled with laughter. GOD is hilarious.
The name “cardinal” comes from the latin cardo, meaning “hinge”: something or someone upon which another depends. Roux writes, “Like a red-robed clergyman acting decisively and with authority, these regal birds exude a powerful confidence.” Alright, I’ll try a little faith in myself.
THREE. If you’ve read the bios on my website, you know I’m running for Governor of Texas in 2030 on the HEMP platform. I’m going to completely vet myself in a book to be released in 28’ or 29’. As I’ve been outlining the book, I’ve struggled with which stories to tell and the deep shame surrounding decisions I’ve made. My story is not unique or even special but it lives in the intersections of truth, politics, power, military, religion, sex, redemption and the United States of America. (Y’all stay tuned, it’s going to be out of this world!) One day while sitting on the banks of the bay, after spending weeks ruminating on a particularly devastating decision I made twenty years ago, I asked God to help me process the recurring emotions so that I can finally write about it. The wind picked up and on that wind flew in warring factions of crows and seagulls. I watched in amazement. Seagulls are associated with duality. Crows associated with cleverness. I would figure out how to write about the light and the dark. I will find the words.
Fast forward to last week, I was sitting on the porch, trying to wrap up a story when I noticed how quiet it was. My eyes were naturally drawn to the Penis Bush (y’all… it has been at least a year and a half) There near the tip, I saw a hawk on the fence line. I often see hawks on the fence line in Firethorne so it didn’t hit me why it was in that particular position. Part of me wishes I had kept recording, part of me is happy I did not.
I stopped recording, set my phone down and watched in awe and horror as the hawk hopped into the bush. The silence was broken by the screeches of the last remaining mockingbird baby. I watched as the hawk backed out and flew west, the baby clutched in its right claw.
What does a hawk mean? Intensity.
The large birds of prey are often associated and confused with falcons. Roux writes, “the two birds are seen as interchangeable in many cultures and their folklore frequently overlaps.” The fierce predator is associated with Circe “a tempestuous Greek goddess best known for exacting swift and devastating revenge. Her name means “circling hawk.”
What does a mockingbird mean? Innocence.
The northern mockingbird is a gardener’s friend that is known to eat pests but leave fruits and vegetables untouched. Their name “Mimus polyglottos” means many tongues. They are able to mimic other birds and have a “diverse array of calls.”
In the novel, To Kill a Mockingbird, the Maudie character explains why it is a sin to kill a mockingbird: “They don’t do one thing but sing their hearts out for us.” It is a metaphor for the plight of the wrongly accused, especially the victims of prejudice.
I haven’t asked GOD very many questions recently. I’ve been in deep community mapping mode for weeks. Also this Fort Bend election cycle was so stinking stupid with all the lawsuits and legal loopholes, I got a bit burned out on all the bullshit.
But as I watched the hawk fly west with the mockingbird baby and then watched the mockingbird parents swoop to both sides of the bush and cry at each other, I was reminded of why I am a falcon and why I am doing this work.
Intensity without purpose is destruction. Innocence without courage is vulnerability. Somewhere between the hawk and the mockingbird is the work of citizenship: protecting what is fragile while having the courage to confront what is not.
Nature can be brutal. It can also be clarifying. Sometimes the lesson arrives in the most unexpected places, like the top of an elongated shrub that my family insists on calling the Penis Bush.