I love to watch the birds visit the gardenóall except the chickens, who seem to love tomatoes and beans. For their part, all the other birds in the yard seem intent on hauling away things I won’t be using anyway. Yesterday, I saw something fascinatingówhich I suppose is an example of how countrified I’ve become since moving to Iowa from the West Coast.
I saw a sparrow was hopping around the garden, apparently very intent on finding just the right piece of dry grass from the compost pile. I watched as he picked up and discarded at least a dozen pieces of varying lengthsóuntil I suddenly realized what was going on. His wife had sent him to the local home improvement store (my garden) to pick up a particular piece of building material to decorate their nest.
Of course, the sparrow knew deep down that it was a losing proposition. No matter what he brought home, he’d be back before long, standing in the return line to get a refund so he could bring home the right piece next time.
I could almost hear his thought process: “No, this one’s too coarse. No, this one’s the wrong coloróshe says she wants something in light green.”
Finally, after agonizing over it for a good five minutes, he made his choice and flew offóbut I knew he’d be back, sorting through the various blades of grass he’d passed up the first time. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. I’m only saying that’s the way it’s been ever since males and females first agreed that it might be an interesting arrangement to inhabit the same cave.
One day, Ugga looked around their cave in disgust, then said to Og, “Just look at this place! I can’t live with this old stuff another minute! There’s no doubt about it. We need all new rocks and skins.”
Being a dutiful husband, Og left the house, bound for the home improvement store, where they had rocks of all shapes and sizes and skins of every description and color to choose from. But just like that poor sparrow in my garden 100,000 years later, it didn’t matter what Og brought back to the caveóit wouldn’t be quite right.
It’s proof of the adage: “The more things change, the more they stay the same.”
However, before all the females of the species start firing rocks at me for using that analogy, let me quickly explain it definitely works both waysóand as usual, I know what I’m talking about from my own experience.
One year, I told my then-wife that I’d found the perfect gift for her to buy for my birthdayóa green plastic garden cart I’d found at the hardware store. When the big day arrived, she proudly unveiled the garden cart, but it wasn’t anything like I remembered. Although I tried to put on a brave face so I wouldn’t hurt her feelings, I’m afraid my disappointment was obvious.
She smiled feebly and said, “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t imagine this was the one you told me about, but it was the only green one they had, so I bought it anyway.”
I felt awful for ruining her surprise, so I suggested that we go back to the store together to exchange it. When we arrived, I led her straight to the garden cart I’d told her about, all shiny, utilitarianóand jet black.
The moral? Well, ladies, the next time your hubby returns home with a garter snake when you sent him for nightcrawler take-outótry to be thankful that he at least made the attempt. After all, that’s why the lines at the return counter are always so long.
Freelance writer and editor Gary Anderson has published four books of Iowa humor and inspiration. He also owns www.abciowa.com and a publishing company, Paradise Creek Books.|
