Flights of fancy in the dark months of lockdown
Where in the world can I find a role model?
I’d like to take one with me, like a poem, into the cold, dark months of this next lockdown. To calm my mind. To numb me from the searing pain of not seeing my eldest son, not even once, in the year 2020, of my dad dying utterly alone last spring, of my frail mother alone in a seniors home. These are my empty-nester COVID-19 stories. A role model will show me the way — to block out the things I can’t control and focus on those I can.
My role model should be friendly, loyal, brave and smart. With a moral compass. Hmm, that narrows the field. And there are some nice-to-have qualities: Precise (to balance out the chaos and anarchy south of the border), athletic (because I like that), and modest (for who isn’t fed up with blowhards and braggarts?).
For inspiration, I look beyond humans, to the natural world. I cast my mind back to an early summer evening at the cottage. We had just arrived at this rustic, wild place, which is on a small, remote island in Georgian Bay. On this evening in July, I am walking along a wooden walkway to the bathroom, an outbuilding, carrying clean towels. Above me, in the trees, and around me, in the water, the wild birds are all atwitter. They flit, dip, hover, fuss-budget and thrash. And they call to one another. The toot of the loon, the squawk of the gull, the chat of the wren, the ert-er-er-eel, ert-er-er-eel, ert-erer-eel of the Eastern whip-poor-will.
Then I see a different kind of bird — silent and still.
It is perched on one of the posts of the outdoor shower enclosure adjacent to the bathroom, just above eye level. As I approach along the walkway, it does not move. It seems relaxed around me.
I don’t know at first that I am in the presence of greatness.
All the next day, the bird stays close by. It is companionable, with a friendly vibe. It participates in the various activities of cottage life, standing beside us on the grass, the rocks, and even on the windsurfer board. It is the perfect cottage guest — low maintenance and easygoing. Sweet and mysterious. I warm to it.
The bird has a grey head and a white beak, a downy purple bib, black and white wing feathers, red feet and a telltale green band around one of its ankles. It is so out of place in the wilderness.
I start googling. I find the Canadian Racing Pigeon Union (CRPU) site.
I smile at the name, picturing a union of pigeons, a collective of four-toed, feathered activists organizing to fight for better wages, improved benefits and safer working conditions.
The CRPU website has pictures of racing pigeons, so I positively identify the visitor. I learn that these birds sometimes stop to rest for a couple of days during a race, and that racing pigeons and homing pigeons are the same thing.
Our pal stays with us for two nights and then departs.
The more I learn, the more I like homing pigeons. They are incredibly resourceful, able to navigate through raging thunderstorms, live hydro wires, unknown terrain and hungry predators to fly back to their loft.
“You cannot beat them home,” says Mike van der Jagt, a retired police officer in Port Colborne, Ont., who has been racing pigeons since he was 11 years old. “If you drive somewhere and let 50 go, there will be 50 back in the loft when you get home. Every time. Basically, it’s 100 per cent. I’ve been doing this for 50 years and I still just can’t believe it.”
Mike says pigeons have amazing
memories. “My mentor in Penetang sold a pigeon to someone who lived in Tillsonburg. The guy in Tillsonburg bred it there for eight years. As soon as it got a chance, it flew back to Penetang. To the same perch in the same loft.” The distance is 288 kilometres.
Mike believes, based on location (an island halfway up the east coast of Georgian Bay) and timing (mid-July), the pigeon who stopped at our cottage may have been an experienced competitor on a long-distance race. Of course, he added, “the pigeons don’t know they are in a race. They just fly home.”
This one, he says, was probably
released, along with dozens of other birds, in a northern town such as Longlac, Hearst or Nakena, and was flying hundreds of kilometres to its home in southern Ontario.
“When they get home from those 500-mile races, they are considered elite birds, and are highly prized. It is a big achievement,” he says. Just like champion athletes, top racing pigeons are valued and valuable. In 2019, a retired Belgian racing pigeon named Armando was sold for $1.4 million to Chinese buyers, who were planning to breed him.
I learn from Mike that pigeons stay with the same partner for life, and I find this endearing. He says it’s not extraordinary for them to arrive home from a big race and check in to see that their loved one is safe from intruders, even before getting food for themselves. He adds that this is true of both males and females, and both genders race equally well.
I like that pigeons live as equals.
Another attribute is bravery. The story of Cher Ami, a decorated First World War hero, brings a tear to my eye. This little bird was part of a U.S. battalion that became isolated from other American forces, trapped behind German lines in October of 1918. Cher Ami was sent to headquarters with a message describing the battalion’s whereabouts. The Germans shot the pigeon down; he lost a leg and an eye and was shot in the chest. Cher Ami managed to take flight with his grave injuries and successfully flew another 40 kilometres to headquarters with the message dangling off his mangled leg. All 194 men were saved.
Wow. The source of my inspiration is beginning to take shape.
Next, I learn pigeons are intelligent. Almost as smart as baboons. In a study conducted by researchers at Duke University in Durham, N.C. and published in a prestigious scientific journal, pigeons were able to correctly identify words, even words they hadn’t seen before. Researchers concluded that the neurons in the pigeon’s visual system can code not only words, but also the statistical properties that define them.
Yes, the homing pigeon — smart, friendly, cheerful, courageous, loyal, quiet, kind to its mate, and gender equal — is my role model. Circumventing hazards, it always finds its way home.
For me this winter, home won’t be just one nest; it’ll be a place in the hearts of those I love, who are scattered about. When the weight of not seeing them begins to cripple me, I’ll hope to soar like brave Cher Ami and the pigeon who visited our cottage. Possessed of virtue, propelled by instinct and driven by love, flying home.