THE BIRDHOUSE LESSON

The "dog days" of August came with a booming storm; by noon it was 98 in the shade.  

And now what?

School was still 4 weeks away and I had done everything a kid could possibly do who was an only child.  

Too hot for a game of ball at the gravel field at the end of Third Street.  Too hot for some foul shot practice.  Too big to play under the sprinkler - that was kid's stuff.

It was hot.  

Nanny, who never complained about heat or cold,  just moved her ancient Sears and Roebucks fan a bit closer and said she was thinking about a "cooling" supper.  That meant egg salad on toast and ice tea at my house.

The crickets had even taken a break - South Millville was baking in silence.  

And now what?  

I ran through my short list of stuff I could do as I stared at my shelf of games.  There were few kids my age in walking distance and riding my bike this day was out.  I had a couple of cousins that were nearby but they enjoyed beating me up more than "playing" with me.  So...?

Because I had spent a lot of time alone I was used to playing board games by myself - Parcheesi, Ropes and Ladders, Go to the Head of the Class, and the never ending Monopoly - but playing against oneself had a big downside - you always knew who was going to win.  I pledged right then and there that I would not play another board game this summer - unless it rained one day.  

Now what?

How I had wished for summer to come - but now I yearned for school again - boredom is a horrible thing at 8.  And even for grown ups too I would learn later in life.

And then I had a brilliant idea.

I searched in the miasma of my rolltop desk for my Cub Scout handbook and found what would not only give me something to do, but it would also earn me my woodworking merit badge.  

I was going to build a birdhouse. 

A great thing about my grandfather, he always had some scraps of wood and glass jars filled with tacks, nails, hinges, brackets and hooks on his workbench in our big garage.  I had everything I would need.

The plans according to the book seemed easy.  It was a box on a base with a roof.  How hard could that be?  I would learn that it would be hard.

Honestly, I was lousy at math and measuring took math (like in a comic book a light bulb went on over my head).  I would "fake it". 

This would be something I would do well into my adult life.  

Why measure when I could just do it "by eye" as Pop would say (he only went to school to the 4th grade.  He didn't like to measure as much as I did.)

I guessed at the length of the floor plank and sawed off a hunk, next came the 4 sides of my little house.  This was coming along really well.  

But the roof was next.  This wasn't going to be easy.    I cut and tried a bunch of things but just could not get the "slope" right.  My discarded pieces started to pile up.  Then I had my second "brillant idea" of the day.  A record breaker for me.  I realized that the roof didn't have to be in the shape of an "A"; birds don't care about the architecture style; they just want to lay eggs out of the rain.  

I solved this math problem with a slanted flat roof - the rain would just roll off.

Nanny visited the garage with a big glass of ice water.  I was a drenched carpenter hard at work.  Nanny always knew what I needed - uncanny.

Now I came to the final piece of this Cub Scout puzzle - the round hole for the bird to access their new habitat. The handbook related that the size of this hole dictated what kind of bird would use the house.  There was a chart.  Sparrows = 1 and 3/8th;  Finch = 2 and 1/2 inches and so forth.  There was a (* ) which advised that the Cub Scout should observe birds found in his natural environment or seek help from the Cub Master on the next nature hike to make the decision what species would be best suited to abide in this house. 

 Yikes, we would not have another hike for months.  I could not wait that long.  Matter of fact, I reasoned, that's when the birds fly south and my handiwork would sit idle until Spring.

 I picked the first bird on the list - the Robin.  

I loved the blue color of their eggs, even though I did think of them as fairly mean birds  But how big of a hole for a Robin?  The chart called for: 1 and 1/8th of an inch diameter.  Gads this is summertime - not school time.  I had made a vow not to think at all for the whole summer and now on the hottest day of the year I was being required to do just that.  

Finally, after pondering this problem much like Pythagoras must have worked to prove his equation - I gave up.  Picked a drill bit at random from the rack and cranked a hole through the front of my aviarian edifice.

I nailed, glued, sanded and swore some - until my labor was finished.  I had created a very crooked birdhouse - but all by myself.  

I painted it white and added something not called for in the plan - with some black enamel I printed "ROBIN'S ROOST" on the slanted roof.

Later that night Pop helped me mount my work on the top of one of the poles that held Nanny's clothes lines.  He said, "you did a good job" - and smiled his proud of me smile.

That birdhouse weathered many hot days, snows and storms as it sat on its perch  For decades it waited for a guest,  until a hurricane blew it down one Fall.  But never did a bird of any kind ever reside there.

Until this day I wished I had paid more attention to measuring that entry way. 

Many hot summers would come and go but on that day I found that measuring would always be the start of most things I would try to accomplish -  and a task that was best to do well.