“Kawuneeche Spring,”

By Marty Coffin Evans © 2014

A loud thump and crash interrupted our quiet lunch. From our picture window overlooking the headwaters of the Colorado River we peered over the sill.

“Oh dear, another bird just flew into the window.” There on the flagstone patio lay a small Pine Siskin on its side.

Had the impact killed it? Was it stunned or dying?

We watched a few minutes wondering about its fate. A gentle breeze ruffled the small grey-brown and yellow feathers on its side.

It looks like it’s breathing, we thought.  “I’m going to find out,” my friend Donna said.

Out she went and carefully scooped up the little bird.  With a tender motion, Donna began stoking the back of its neck from the base of its head down to the shoulder and wing area.

As it remained quiet in her hand she waited for it to gain strength to stand. All the while she continued the gently stroking.  With a little wiggle, the Pine Siskin moved enough to step onto on her finger.

“Here, want to hold it?” Donna asked. “Put your finger out and it’ll move over.  Keep stroking the neck. That stimulates a little nerve at the base of the head.”

Gaining a strong footing it began moving its tiny toothpick size feet to different places on my fingers. With alert eyes, it looked around this new perch.

As storm clouds rolled in, accompanied by claps of thunder, we kept stroking this young bird.  Soon heavy rain drops began pelting us. We kept stoking the Pine Siskin until finally, wet enough ourselves, we placed it carefully on the nearby picnic table.

There it sat near several growing puddles of water. “It will fly when it’s ready,” Donna explained.

Sure enough, after a few wet moments, our little Pine Siskin fluffed its feathers, hopped to the edge of the picnic table and took flight.

We watched our little rescue fly off toward the verdant beauty of the Kawuneeche Valley leaving us with a sense of satisfaction, relief and happiness in knowing our small part in helping its return to a bird’s life.

June 2024

“Old Faithful” 6″ x 11″ Gouache, Copyright © 2023 Donna Lyons

By Marty Coffin Evans

Sometimes in attending a memorial service we gain a special insight into that beloved parent when family members share their remembrances. My friend’s daughters spoke eloquently in sharing their mother’s gifts, causing us to listen a little closer and perhaps learn something about our own lives.

These daughters wanted to live with their mother’s determination and style. They both admired how she could get things done and saw her power in being resourceful. This intrepid traveler mother shared her gift for organization with her daughters.

In their family, the idea prevailed that parenting travels across generations from parents to grandparents. This may seem logical but for these daughters, it had added importance as they shared many intergenerational times.

They were raised to know that they were smart enough to do anything they wanted to do or be.  Sounds like their lives had no ceiling with a “skies the limit” philosophy.  How challenging, and possibly a little frightening, for them realizing the world was there for the taking.

In their home, they learned their mom could fix everything.  She would soon send them out into the world again.  No doubt, that might have required dusting them off, wiping away their tears, and sending them on their way after a hug or two.

Their mother’s touch was a comforting and caring one. Her daughters saw she had a million ways to be a great mom and spiritual guardian. What a role model she was for her daughters.

On occasion, we may have said or heard others comment about “sounds like my mother.” Perhaps in saying this our love for our mothers goes on for countless years.

What special gifts do you remember from your mother or someone in that role? If possible, why not share your remembrances with them now for all to treasure.

Copyright © 2014 Marty Coffin Evans

May 2024

“Patty’s Ditch,” 6″ x 9″ Gouche, Copyright © 2023 By Donna Lyons

By Marty Coffin Evans

Robert Frost recognized this in his “Mending Wall” poem.  Fences keep us out of others property, contain our “stuff” and sometimes just separate us from each other.

For four years, our neighbor, an early morning riser, threw the newspaper over the fence each day when she returned home from walking her dogs. That tradition just changed when she moved out of the area for a new job. I still look for that paper and realize she’s walking her dogs on different streets thousands of miles away from Boulder.

We would laugh that we’d lived some of life’s major changes side by side separated only by that fence. We looked out for each other, shared in watching our homes when one was away and picked up mail or papers as needed. That’s probably a pretty standard list for being a good neighbor. Children learn about being good neighbors when they water or mow lawns, shovel walks and help when asked.

We’re often tempted to find our childhood homes, which provide us with a quick trip down memory lane. We recall the playmates, their parents, and the especially nice neighbors.  As adults, it may be interesting to see our old neighborhood and how someone’s redone our landscaping, remodeled or repainted our former home.

As the miles and years begin to separate us, good neighbor times remain ready for a quick reminiscence. Getting together helps us reconnect with times past as we reflect on both life’s changes and the joys experienced while being the best of neighbors.

Copyright © 2007 By Marty Coffin Evans

“Multicolored Reflections,” April 2024

“No secrets,”  6″ x 9″ watercolor, © Donna Lyons 2015

By Marty Coffin Evans © 2016

Not long ago, I picked up the paw print of our little white poodle, Scooter. Baked into a round piece of clay and located beside his name and print was a small red heart. Our vet provided this momento following Scooter’s passing.

Having this paw print got me thinking about that concept.  While tangible, his prints were on our hearts and lives.

If DNA were needed, his prints could be found and verified on the car’s ignition switch, where he’d managed to step as we drove to the vets for the last time together.  The car stopped midway down the driveway as a result of this step. Laughing, I put the car back in gear and started it again.

Did we need a little fresh air for that trip? Here again he “helped” by putting one of his paws on a control, opening the window behind me. Dusting for his paw prints in the car could easily have shown his constant desire to assist in driving or was it just getting a better view out the front window?

We’ve heard the phrase about something being imprinted on us.  Perhaps this action refers to an early influence or impression, most likely by family members.  Experiences may be imprinted in our memories of both the good and not so great. Their impact may remain with us and contribute to how we live our lives. Patterns may even emerge from this imprinting.

A popular picture shows footprints in the sand. Along with this image, a story describes the person being carried by our Lord when times became tough.

No doubt we leave prints on other’s lives much as they do on ours. Whether literal or figurative, their impression is lasting and quite often treasured. I know mine are.

March 2024

“Mountain Morning Memories” By Donna Lyons © 2022

By Marty Coffin Evans © 2019

The couple in front of us sat quietly side by side listening to the concert. Gently, she reached over and took his right hand in her left. No words were spoken but the tenderness shown spoke volumes.

A little time later, she carefully rubbed his shoulder, patted him on the knee and gave him a long look to be sure he was still okay. His response, nothing verbal just a quiet acceptance of her loving gestures.

What story existed here for this elderly pair? How did he come to be sitting in a wheel chair? What mental or physical conditions brought him and them to this point?

We’ll never know the answers. We only watched these tender moments of caring. We didn’t intervene in their sharing rather, just watched and smiled.

What a picture of love they portrayed. While I don’t remember any of the music played that evening in this charming chapel, observing the little scene in front of me remains.

Without their knowing it, this senior couple shared their own special world, quietly and  ever so tenderly. The focus of their care – each other. More accurately, her care and concern for him most likely with no thought about what others might see, wonder or say.

Had we been able to see their faces, what might they have shown? Did laughter lines reflect life’s happy moments? Did signs of sadness and fatigue overcome their countenance? Did they live lives of hardship or ease?

These wonderings must remain as just that – wonderings. Setting aside these questions, for a short period of time, we had the opportunity to observe this couple living out their vows – “in sickness and in health” combined with to “love, honor and cherish.”

Certainly, that should be enough for that musical evening.

February 2024