I am not a bird person. Don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy the pleasant background chattering of birdsong. It cannot help but lift your step to hear them sing when you notice to listen. But birds themselves do not move me. Except for one kind. This particular bird is not one whose sight is stunning to behold. They are very plain, actually. But their song is very haunting to me.
My penchant for the mourning dove began when I was a child. My grandparent’s house has always been the home of my heart. I still dream of it as a place of peace even though it has been owned by others now for many years and my grandparents have long since passed on. I still own a few things that they have given to me and I cherish them. My grandfather handmade a wooden rabbit ornament that still hangs on my Christmas tree every year. My grandmother sewed a baby blanket for me at my birth that is still in wonderful shape. I have given up keeping it in the linen closet because my five year old daughter continually pulls it out to cuddle with or use in her play. I have a random maroon scrunchie that is stretched out beyond usefulness that stays with all of my other hair doodads. I cannot bear to throw it away because my grandmother made it. I remember when she gave me several handmade scrunchies exclaiming that she couldn’t believe what people would pay for them when they were so easy to make. I also treasure the locket that was left to me when my grandmother died. It holds a picture of my grandparents on their wedding day on one side and a picture of them on my father’s wedding day on the other side. And I still wander the rooms of their home in my mind. I remember many small details that only a child would embrace: The uneven slope of the laundry room floor; the dim lighting of my grandfather’s workshop; the stiff, but oddly comfortable, drab couches in the living room; the porcelain knickknacks that were arranged lovingly in many corners of windows and cabinets; the hideously pink bathroom with matching toilet rugs; and the singing of the mourning doves when I would awaken each morning that I slept in their home.
Whenever I hear the mourning dove’s song, it stirs a comfortable place in my heart and sends me backward in time. But the song is sad, too. It speaks a plaintive, but continuing hope. I have never lived in a place where there was an abundance of mourning doves near my home. I have always occasionally heard or seen them, but never consistently. Happily, it seems that this is to change. Recently, a mourning dove nest was built and sustained in a potted ivy plant on my front porch. The fledglings have successfully hatched and launched. I now hear or see one or another almost every day. And for the first time today, as I was contemplating my life out on my back patio, I heard two of them singing in harmony. What a beautiful sound that truly is.
Comments on: "A Song For The Heart" (12)
Hi, Kellianne. I have two dove stories, but will share only the one. The other is too long and we’ll both be weeping by the time it’s done. You can ask me about it if you wish…
We have Finch food in our back yard and our trees are getting big, so we have all sorts of birds. A dove nest in our front yard just fell to the ground on Saturday. Two babies were found alive in our grass. We grabbed a Toms shoe box and placed the nest inside, and then my wife wedged the box back into the tree. I have been checking them since saturday night. The mother found her babies and has been tending to them ever since. It’s been windy here, so we’re crossing our fingers that they’ll soon be mature enough to fly away before the box comes down. If I get a chance, I’ll send you the photo I took.
Take care, my friend.
Hi Jimmy! Sorry it took so long to get back to you. Real life has been distracting… Do update me on what’s going with your doves! Also, I would like to hear your other dove story. Send it to me or the link?
Best to you 🙂
Loved this post. I am not a bird person either.. in fact, I slide my window shut at about 4:30 every morning when they start chirping and distrurbing my rest. How much more pleasant it would be to awaken to the soft call of your morning doves : )
Hi Shelley 🙂
Thank you so much! You must have quite the plethora of birds in your yard!
We have those doves here too. I always stop to listen to them. You are a treasure too Kellianne. Mentioned you in my blog today! http://legendsofgreenisle.com/2012/05/25/thank-you-an-appreciation-of-the-one-lovely-blog-award/ Have a wonderful weekend!
Connie, you are the sweetest. Thank you so much for your words and the nomination. I am very touched. Sorry it took so long to reply. Real life has been quite distracting lately.
O my dove that art in the clefts of the rock in secret places of the stairs let me see thy countenance let me hear thy voice for sweet is thy voice and thy contenance is comely song solomon 2:14 how many things store in our stony hearts in the secret places of our mind how our soul can take a song back to the faces and voices of our lives you are blessed they made a nest in your heart long before your front porch
Beautiful words, Ed.Thank you for that.
I’m an avid bird watcher who enjoys seeking out exotic varieties. But the sound of the simple Mourning Dove sings the song of home to me, too.
Glad to touch some memories for you, Alle 🙂
I love the beauty of Doves and the peace it brings to your soul…I think of angels…and Gods love for us♥ Kellianne, you always have beautiful words 🙂 ~Rachel
You always have such touching comments, Rachel. Thank you and blessings to you.