ELIZABETH VISITS GRANDPA

Deep within the mighty Georgia pines there lived an old man with his wife Lydia. The old man’s name was Alexander Joseph Oswald. He was a successful business man who made his living growing oranges. He owned a large orchard near Savannah, Georgia. He sold oranges all along the East Coast; from Miami, Florida to Bangor, Maine. Alexander and Lydia had three children, James, Marcus, and Laura. The three children grew up and soon were having children of their own. Alexander and Lydia were very fond of their grandchildren. One day their granddaughter Elizabeth, who was seven years old, came to visit them, and this is what happened.

It was a beautiful summer day. The lawn had just been cut and the smell of grass was in the air. Elizabeth had been inside helping her grandmother bake bread. While they waited for the dough to rise Elizabeth decided to go outside and see what her grandfather was up to.

She found him working in the garage. He was fiddling with a strange wooden box. The box was rectangular in shape with little collums all the way around it. He looked up from his work and smiled at her.

“There is my little Lady.”

“There is my Grandpa,” Elizabeth replied.

She gave him a big hug. Then she looked at the box he was working on.

“Grandpa, what are you working on?”

“My dear little lady, this is a model of the Parthenon, the temple of the great goddess Athena. In the city of Athens, this temple stands on top of a mount. It can be seen from any point in the city. In ancient times, the people of Athens would parade up the mount to perform rituals and make offerings to honor the goddess Athenia—” Grandfather paused. He had a dreamy look in his eye, as if he was now beholding the grand temple. “But now it stands in magnificent ruin,” he finished with a sigh.

“Why are you making it?” she asked.

“Because, my little one, it is a thing of beauty and a token to the goddess. Even small and simple as it is. Look now, it is almost finished. I must wait for the glue to dry, then we can paint it.”

“Do you mean I get to help you?” She asked pleadingly with wide blue eyes.

“Why yes, of course my dear! Now let us go for a walk through the garden, ah?”

“Yes, let's go!”

It was a beautiful summer day, the sun shone brightly, the birds sang, and all was at peace. They walked through the garden, past a trellis of red roses. Then under a great magnolia tree with glossy dark leaves. They passed by the house where pink Azalea bushes bloomed. Their fragrant scent attracted many honey bees and butterflies.

Amongst all of the trees and flowers were many birds. There were bright red Cardinals. There were Humming Birds zooming about. A Red-head Woodpecker hacked away at a Live Oak tree. There were also many little birds who flew two and fro catching insects in the fresh cut grass. Elizabeth loved birds, every time they walked in the garden she would point them out and ask questions about them.

“Grandpa, what kind of bird is that?” Elizabeth pointed to a blue bird with black markings and a silvery chest.

“That is a Blue Jay,” he told her.

Another bird caught Elizabeth's eye, she had never noticed it before. “What is that bird in the bushes, with those yellow eyes and red feathers?”

“That my dear, is a Brown Thrasher.”

“It looks like a Mockingbird, are they related?”

“Well, in a way I suppose they are cousins. They can be found in the same regions, they are similar in size, and they are both mimids.”

“What is a mimid?”

“A mimid is a bird that can mimic other birds songs,”

“I wish I could do that,”

“Sing like a bird?”

“Yes, then I could go on singing beautiful songs all day long,”

Grandfather smiled at this. They paused for a minute to watch the Thrasher. The little bird scurried under the bushes and hopped from little branch to branch. Looking intently for insects to feast on. Its brown feathers blended in well with the dead leaves and branches under the foliage.

“They act so differently. The Thrasher and the Mockingbird. They don’t play the same,” observed Elizabeth.

“You see my dear, the Mockingbird is proud, he boasts in his many voices, and like a young man he is quick to show off his strength. See how he is perched high in the cedar, keeping a sharp watch over the yard.”

“Yes, I see him,” observed Elizabeth.

Grandfather continued, “The Thrasher, on the other hand, is a cunning and secluded bird. His rust colored feathers keep him camouflaged amongst the brambles. He makes his home in the lowest branches. He runs for cover if ever a predator is detected. You will hardly see a Thrasher fly out in the open. He prefers to stay hidden, and that is his greatest strength.”

They begin their way back to the garage. The glue was dry and the two began to paint the bird house. First they painted it white, then after that they began to accent it with red, gold, and blue. Soon grandmother was calling for Elizabeth. She quickly wiped her hands off on an old cloth and ran to the kitchen to help grandmother.

Grandfather gave a big smile as he watched her run up the steps. He then proceeded to sit down in an old office chair, and began to smoke his tobacco pipe.