We once had...hmm, how many, Armon?...perhaps as many as forty parakeets at once, divided between two outdoor aviaries. Oh, what splendid aviaries you built for the birds and me, Armon! Yes, folks, the aviaries were for me as much as for the wee feathered creatures. I used to take a folding chair into the aviary built like a gazebo, and there I'd sit, as quiet as a garden statue. I loved watching the 'keets, each glowing like a jewel. I saw which ones were outgoing, which were quieter, who was friends with whom. So fascinated with the happy task was I, I'd forget the Bible on my lap. Then I'd chide myself and read a while. (No, no poop ever fell on the hallowed pages.) For a few years we raised parakeets and sold the fledglings to Magnolia Bird Farm in Anaheim. How proud we were when an expert there told us we were doing a good job. Now, years older, Armon and I are happy to have a smaller flock. Here you see the last, five dignified seniors. The other day I asked my husband, "How do you picture the aviary a few years from now? Do you think it would be good not to have to bother with birds?" Armon thought a moment. "You know, I think I'd like to raise them again," he said. Hmmm. I'll have to think about that. Buying young birds again. Putting up nesting boxes. Separating fighting brides. Cleaning the poop and seed husks every week. Checking daily to see how the chicks are doing. Crying a little each time one dies. Seeing the jewel colors flutter about the aviary. Giving a home to pairs who will never have to have their wings clipped. Hearing our cottage garden fill with sparkling song. Hmmm. Yes, that could happen.
