The Plantation Garden gathered on Jan. 11 in the family home of Sara Flautt Wilson. I was giddy getting to return to this comfortable home designed with large rooms, tall ceilings, and wall and hall space aplenty for artist husband Geoff’s massive art collection.
While everyone else was minding their manners, I was running amok and dragging at least one friend with me up and down the long hallways until our program started.
Peggy Williams of Senatobia presented a most spiritually educational program on “Birdies of Mississippi.” I’m saying spiritual because Peggy has one of those faces that shows light: The kind of light that draws people to kindness and allows her to share her faith.
Peggy came prepared like a true retired television advertising and management professional with a TV and a cable from her phone to the TV that allowed her to flip through her bird photographs on cue.
In the audience were her two grandchildren, with their mother on a school field trip. I know they left being proud of their grandmother. She gave a testimony that when she retired seven years ago, she wanted to find a way to the Lord for others, that her light would not be hidden under a bushel but be allowed it shine.
Her interest in photography prompted her family to buy her a very nice camera. She already had a camouflage jacket, and putting it on and sitting still in her back yard allowed her to take amazing photos. One thing led to another and she started writing a weekly column for The Tate Record in Senatobia, “Birdie of Mississippi.”
Peggie is amazing with her camera and offers photos printed on canvas, photos of cards printed on note card with envelopes as well as beautiful dainty saucer-size dishes with black-oiled sunflower seeds to place in your window sill.
We have all seen the birdies of Mississippi. They are in our yards and trees. Peggy offered feeding needs and tips along with territorial information. Most importantly, I believe Peggy wants for us to open a kind heart, be grateful for God’s gifts and be mindful of the need to protect these gifts in cold weather with seed.
“Hope is the thing with Feathers,” by Emily Dickinson, 1891:
“Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without words, and never stops at all.
“And sweetest in the gale is heard, and sore must be the storm, that could abash the little bird, that kept so many warm.
“I’ve heard it in the chillest land, and on the strangest sea. Yet, never, in extremity, it asked a crumb of me.”
Being a Sunday school teacher, Peggy seeks to find Bible reference for her “birdies” as she writes her devotional book. I couldn’t help but think of her when I read this 1942 Robert L. Frost sonnet:
“Never Again Would Bird’s Song Be the Same, ” by Robert L. Frost:
“He would declare and could himself believe, that the birds in all their gardens round, from having heard the day long voice of Eve, had added to their own oversound, her tone of meaning but without the words.
“Admittedly an eloquence so soft could only have had an influence on birds. When call or laughter carried it aloft. Be that as maybe, she was in their song. Moreover her voice upon their voices crossed. Had now persisted in the woods so long. That probably it never would be lost. Never again would birds’ song be the same. And to do that to birds was why she came.”
When the meeting ended, we were treated to a table glistening of all things silver under a lovely chandelier on a table with a centerpiece of tulips all lined up in a hinged vintage French Lavoisier with 10 glass vases.
Co-hostess Jennifer Flautt made the yummiest lemon pound cake. Puff pastries filled with and assortment of sandwich-type filling added a delightfully light surprise.
Let me close by just saying this “birdie” program, home and couple truly reminded me of William Blake (1757-1827). William was an artist, a writer a poet and his focus often centered on religion with a tilt to whimsy.
“Three Things to Remember,” by William Blake
“A Robin Redbreast in a cage, puts all heaven in a rage. A skylark wounded on the wing. Doth make a cherub cease to sing. He who shall hurt the little wren. Shall never be loved by men.”
