GrandMary always knew we were coming before she saw our car. The guinea hens would sound the alarm, running and flying and squawking and raising a loud hullabaloo. It didn’t take much to set them off so they were not always reliable watchbirds.
Guinea hens are beautiful birds... black and white speckled with a touch of red in their combs. But beauty is as beauty does because they set the standard for the definition of birdbrain. Tiny heads, tinier brain...Every year about this time, I consider getting some guinea hens for one reason only... they eat ticks and we have an abundant crop this spring. Then I remember how they sound, the desire fades and I continue to pick ticks off the dogs and myself as usual. Remembering those pesky guinea hens prompted me to think about other watchbirds in my life. I have three guinea hen birds that protect and nourish my soul.
The first one is reading. I have a passion for words, their meaning, the stories they tell, the source from whence they spring and the wisdom that is contained in all writing. I have read great works and science fiction and mysteries and romance and sacred books. The first book I read in school, “Dick and Jane”, excited me as much as the book I just finished, “The Ecstatic Journey” by Sophy Burnham. Words, flawed and imperfect as they are, have power and possibility for the soul.
The second watchbird is creativity. I was the child who picked flowers for the table, drew endlessly, taught myself to sew so I could sew my own clothes, went back to college in my fifties just to take all the art classes I missed the first time around. Calligraphy, Zentangles, painting, drawing, sewing, writing... all lead me to a holy ground where God waits for me. It is my burning bush.
Hospitality is my third guinea hen. More often than not, God and angels show up when we have company, invited and uninvited. This weekend, children from College Park Baptist church in Greensboro are here with us at Sabbath Rest Farm. They are in awe at the “millions” of tadpoles in the syrup kettle, struck by the utter blackness of a cloudy night in the country, giggling with glee as they see chickens and gather eggs, conquering their fear and letting Junie B and Dixie take treats from their palms, running pell mell down the gravel road shouting their freedom from the usual. As our two very different worlds are shared in this hospitable place, I see and hear God in their joy. It is a lovely hostess gift, this joy, and my heart sings.
The ancient prophet Jeremiah was a watchbird for his people, trying to remind them to whom they belonged and what was required of them. One of my favorite verses, Jeremiah 6:16, says, “Thus says the Lord: ‘Stand by the roads, and look, and ask for the ancient paths, where the good way is; and walk in it and find rest for your souls.’”
Keep me close, Lord, so I might hear the guinea hens when they sound the alarm that calls me to come see You pass by on the good way. And give me a generous heart, Lord, so that I might share all that I am and have when you come calling as children and guests and unexpected company. I love you. Peggy
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