David, what a wonderful kingfisher essay, describing your thoughts and the ties that bind us to others, however subtle. Thank you! It brought memories flooding back to me . . . Just yesterday I stopped short in our living room, to gaze at a wonderfully large landscape painting on the wall. It portrays the farms and barns of the Dungeness valley with the Olympics for a background. Painted by my dear friend Howard, and earmarked for me before his passing just a month short of his 93rd birthday. It used to hang above his fireplace, surrounded by bookshelves, The barns, trees and mountains in this oil painting are true to life, and I've determined that it was painted from a spot in the Old Dungeness cemetery, just paces away from where he and his bride are now buried, together once again. I believe he painted it after savoring the scene over a decade of visits to Emily's headstone. He was an Army EOD officer, and later a Smokejumper with the Forest Service back in the day. Active, lean and spry into his 90's, A recreational sailor, hiker, painter and gifted narrative poet. I learned so much from him; loved to listen to him read with his deep gravelly voice. We'd sit and ramble for hours on his couch, about nothing, and about everything-- military experiences, smokejumpers and city firefighters, birds, the joys of being on the water. I noticed early on in our visits that his book shelves and mine were well over 50% identical. These days I have to be satisfied with images and memories, but they work just fine and are excellent food for the soul. RIP Howard, you done good.
Oops that got posted before I had a chance to say how much I liked that part about how we forget what it’s like to be playful. And I needed to read that and be reminded. The picture of you with the beautiful painting and a goofy grin was similar. Reminding me to lighten up. Play with possibilities.
Non-local, unbound by time and dimension, inter-species, multi-medium, slow, deliberate, playful… all my favorite ingredients for communication. This just made me so happy.
My dear, dear friend, you know when you have read something that touches your heart just so, and your throat gets all tight and you can't speak for fear of just blubbering and needing a tissue (or a sleeve) to wipe away the unexpected emotion? Well that was me earlier this evening, couldn't even see the words at the end for the tears...
I am a little more composed now, warmed and beyond, smiling my thanks at your generosity in writing a whole post — a whole post! I am honoured, truly — by way of a thank you for my incredibly humble gift.
You know, I found a four leafed clover on my wanderings this evening, I had an inkling something beautiful would be the result, so maybe, just maybe, I did indeed hear your whisper down the string, two cans, two friends, ear to ear across the ocean.
I do know that throat tightening feeling, that almost overwhelming sense of gratitude when someone you like so much sees you back and offers some bit of their attention and their very best intention to let you know that you are seen and that something about you compels them to go out of their way in kindness. There is this swirl of gratitude and maybe a bit of disbelief, and feeling seen, and affirmed, and…
It sometimes takes me a while to let the swirl calm and settle, before circling back to attempt to say something meaningful and true.
You’ve been one of the kindest gifts of the risk-taking that comes with trying to show up authentically on Substack, to speak from truth and share stories from the heart without being glib or Instagram shallow.
Your storyteller’s hearth and the table next to it, the time you carve out of your busy days to share a tale, and to listen intently… It’s a rare thing. You’re a rare thing.
What a wonderful thank you note, David. ‘Kids these days’—mostly never write thank you notes, even an acknowledgment of a gift seems sadly outdated, antiquated? But here you are, including us, allowing us a glimpse into this lovely camaraderie and mutual appreciation. You have such a beautiful and unique way of showing gratitude. No doubt Susie is blushing like the sunrise cresting the top of her hill. Hey, could ya unreel some string and throw it my way, I just cleaned out a can. David, I am including one of my favorite songs from what might seem an unlikely place, until… If you should be curious, there is a wonderful conjured image of our Kingfisher friend—one of my favorites, too, though I believe this is Susie’s Common Kingfisher, seeing it was written in England.
Lor, I was only half way up the hill when I stopped to read this, by the top not only was I blushing I was wiping away tears on my sleeve, silly old fool that I am!
I went in search of my Kingfisher (which is indeed the English type) down at the old pond over the weekend only to find the farmer has emptied it again... not a drop of water remained, there wasn't even a a duck paddling about in the sludge left behind. I will be lucky to see her at all this year...
How did you remember that song? I can't even recall the last time I heard it!
I always loved these lines...
"Hear the lark and harken to the barking of the dog fox
Gone to ground
See the splashing of the kingfisher flashing to the water
And a river of green is sliding unseen beneath the trees
Laughing as it passes through the endless summer, making for the sea"
For sure, I would have shed a few tears as well. Kind of like the time Adam Nathan named one of his 100 stories, Lor. Wow, come to think of it, that’s the closest I will ever come to walking the hill with you. Pink Floyd still plays loudly through our huge speakers (those are my favorite lines). I hope you were able to listen while walking. And while you are here, I wanted to tell you how gorgeous your painting is. Such a disappointment, maybe you will see your Kingfisher friend if it rains hard enough. I thought most farmers appreciate a pond on their property, unless of course it is in their planting field. Last vaca weekend? Enjoy!
To receive a gift with thanks honours the person who gives it. It’s doubly honoured by sharing with us and with your local kingfishers. Or is that triple, quadruple or? All I know is that I feel honoured you both shared it with us. Thank you .
The celebration of friendship and the beauty of your friend’s colorful kingfisher brings me closer to the color of life when spring arrives here in the Pacific NW. I open your posts first in the morning! It’s a bulwark against the demonstrations of hate and cruelty. Terry Marie
David, what a wonderful kingfisher essay, describing your thoughts and the ties that bind us to others, however subtle. Thank you! It brought memories flooding back to me . . . Just yesterday I stopped short in our living room, to gaze at a wonderfully large landscape painting on the wall. It portrays the farms and barns of the Dungeness valley with the Olympics for a background. Painted by my dear friend Howard, and earmarked for me before his passing just a month short of his 93rd birthday. It used to hang above his fireplace, surrounded by bookshelves, The barns, trees and mountains in this oil painting are true to life, and I've determined that it was painted from a spot in the Old Dungeness cemetery, just paces away from where he and his bride are now buried, together once again. I believe he painted it after savoring the scene over a decade of visits to Emily's headstone. He was an Army EOD officer, and later a Smokejumper with the Forest Service back in the day. Active, lean and spry into his 90's, A recreational sailor, hiker, painter and gifted narrative poet. I learned so much from him; loved to listen to him read with his deep gravelly voice. We'd sit and ramble for hours on his couch, about nothing, and about everything-- military experiences, smokejumpers and city firefighters, birds, the joys of being on the water. I noticed early on in our visits that his book shelves and mine were well over 50% identical. These days I have to be satisfied with images and memories, but they work just fine and are excellent food for the soul. RIP Howard, you done good.
Blessings to you, dear Gary and to Howard. May his memory be a blessing.
a grin and the sort of playful nonsense kids deal in all the time before they forget how,
Oops that got posted before I had a chance to say how much I liked that part about how we forget what it’s like to be playful. And I needed to read that and be reminded. The picture of you with the beautiful painting and a goofy grin was similar. Reminding me to lighten up. Play with possibilities.
Thank you.
Lovely. A bright spot of beauty and grace and generosity in a darkening world.
Beautiful story telling. A pleasure to read. Thank you, David Perry.
Non-local, unbound by time and dimension, inter-species, multi-medium, slow, deliberate, playful… all my favorite ingredients for communication. This just made me so happy.
My dear, dear friend, you know when you have read something that touches your heart just so, and your throat gets all tight and you can't speak for fear of just blubbering and needing a tissue (or a sleeve) to wipe away the unexpected emotion? Well that was me earlier this evening, couldn't even see the words at the end for the tears...
I am a little more composed now, warmed and beyond, smiling my thanks at your generosity in writing a whole post — a whole post! I am honoured, truly — by way of a thank you for my incredibly humble gift.
You know, I found a four leafed clover on my wanderings this evening, I had an inkling something beautiful would be the result, so maybe, just maybe, I did indeed hear your whisper down the string, two cans, two friends, ear to ear across the ocean.
Kindness begets kindness Davey, always has, always will.
I am sending you a 'grand merci de tout mon cœur' back along the string, have your can at the ready!
Dearest Susie,
I do know that throat tightening feeling, that almost overwhelming sense of gratitude when someone you like so much sees you back and offers some bit of their attention and their very best intention to let you know that you are seen and that something about you compels them to go out of their way in kindness. There is this swirl of gratitude and maybe a bit of disbelief, and feeling seen, and affirmed, and…
It sometimes takes me a while to let the swirl calm and settle, before circling back to attempt to say something meaningful and true.
You’ve been one of the kindest gifts of the risk-taking that comes with trying to show up authentically on Substack, to speak from truth and share stories from the heart without being glib or Instagram shallow.
Your storyteller’s hearth and the table next to it, the time you carve out of your busy days to share a tale, and to listen intently… It’s a rare thing. You’re a rare thing.
So, yes, I know that feeling…
and I do hear you.
Blessings.
Susie is a wonder, says one old coot to another, and those jewels of birds agree.
Philip, did I ever tell you how I absolutely love old coots!
See me bobbing!
I do, I do… 💛
Smile
What a wonderful thank you note, David. ‘Kids these days’—mostly never write thank you notes, even an acknowledgment of a gift seems sadly outdated, antiquated? But here you are, including us, allowing us a glimpse into this lovely camaraderie and mutual appreciation. You have such a beautiful and unique way of showing gratitude. No doubt Susie is blushing like the sunrise cresting the top of her hill. Hey, could ya unreel some string and throw it my way, I just cleaned out a can. David, I am including one of my favorite songs from what might seem an unlikely place, until… If you should be curious, there is a wonderful conjured image of our Kingfisher friend—one of my favorites, too, though I believe this is Susie’s Common Kingfisher, seeing it was written in England.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2DAdWcsM7Po
Lyrics; Grantchester Meadows~Pink Floyd
"Icy wind of nights be gone this is not your domain" In the sky a bird is heard to cry
Misty morning whisperings and gentle stirring sounds
Belied the deathly silence that lay all around
Hear the lark and harken to the barking of the dog fox
Gone to ground
See the splashing of the kingfisher flashing to the water
And a river of green is sliding unseen beneath the trees
Laughing as it passes through the endless summer, making for the sea
In the lazy water meadow I lay me down
All around me golden sun flakes covering the ground
Basking in the sunshine of a bygone afternoon
Bringing sounds of yesterday into this city room
Hear the lark and harken to the barking of the dog fox
Gone to ground
See the splashing of the kingfisher flashing to the water
And a river of green is sliding unseen beneath the trees
Laughing as it passes through the endless summer, making for the sea
You write the best notes, Lor! The very best.
This one is so cool! Who but you would pull Pink Floyd out of the universe of magic and so effortlessly drop it in here? Wise and generous to a fault.
Wood Sprite and Sage.
Poet.
Friend.
Coming from the plant and bird whisperer by day, and the bard who told the tale of The Mooncatcher’s dream, by night—a very high compliment, indeed.
“Wood sprite and Sage. Poet. Friend.” Now, I need a Kleenex (or a sleeve).🙏
Lor, I was only half way up the hill when I stopped to read this, by the top not only was I blushing I was wiping away tears on my sleeve, silly old fool that I am!
I went in search of my Kingfisher (which is indeed the English type) down at the old pond over the weekend only to find the farmer has emptied it again... not a drop of water remained, there wasn't even a a duck paddling about in the sludge left behind. I will be lucky to see her at all this year...
How did you remember that song? I can't even recall the last time I heard it!
I always loved these lines...
"Hear the lark and harken to the barking of the dog fox
Gone to ground
See the splashing of the kingfisher flashing to the water
And a river of green is sliding unseen beneath the trees
Laughing as it passes through the endless summer, making for the sea"
Drove my mum mad singing them over and over...
I think I still have the LP in the attic even...
Thank you for the reminder.
For sure, I would have shed a few tears as well. Kind of like the time Adam Nathan named one of his 100 stories, Lor. Wow, come to think of it, that’s the closest I will ever come to walking the hill with you. Pink Floyd still plays loudly through our huge speakers (those are my favorite lines). I hope you were able to listen while walking. And while you are here, I wanted to tell you how gorgeous your painting is. Such a disappointment, maybe you will see your Kingfisher friend if it rains hard enough. I thought most farmers appreciate a pond on their property, unless of course it is in their planting field. Last vaca weekend? Enjoy!
wow
thank you for giving us this
I’m so glad you took a moment to listen!
o yes for sure
sent it to myself
to listen more later
when pink floyd
came to toronto n 1989
the city opened
the airport hangars
for them to stash
their giant blowups
they were so grateful
they scheduled another show
in their way back thru
tee hee I took my teen kids
to both glorious shows
I did not go to that show, but my husband did!
The flash, and if you are lucky, a song.
Gorgeous story and a sweet nod of thanks to your kind friend. Thank you for sharing her - and your heart-filling story - with us.
To receive a gift with thanks honours the person who gives it. It’s doubly honoured by sharing with us and with your local kingfishers. Or is that triple, quadruple or? All I know is that I feel honoured you both shared it with us. Thank you .
Absolutely lovely.
Oh my, her watercolor is gorgeous.
Ain't it, though!
The celebration of friendship and the beauty of your friend’s colorful kingfisher brings me closer to the color of life when spring arrives here in the Pacific NW. I open your posts first in the morning! It’s a bulwark against the demonstrations of hate and cruelty. Terry Marie
British Columbia, Puget Sound, the Salish Sea.... places like magic to me.
You are balm for the weary soul, you silly old coot. I aspire to be a silly old coot as well. Kindred spirits indeed.
Silly old coot...:-)
Endearing old coot...
A good story about a good gesture from a good friend.