In memory of…

The picture of the swallow is not the bird in the story but one of a barn swallow I took some days later. As I was leaving town on another adventure, I was driving on a bridge high above Coeur D’Alene Lake, where many tree swallows were swooping and flying, most likely catching mosquitoes or other insects. Just as I came up the hill, there was a swallow headed straight for my car as if it were a kamikaze fighter. At the last moment, it zigged and I zagged, letting out an “aaaah” of relief.

Some time had passed, and we pulled into a Montana rest stop when a lady walking toward our car—who had intended to proceed to the restroom—stopped. Bent over slightly and squinting, she stared directly at the front of my car. I automatically thought, “Oh no, we both zigged and a collision was the result.” She looked at me, and as I was about to get out of the car, made a motion with her finger and thumb about an inch apart, moving them back and forth as if doing charades.

I got out and said, “Dang, I did hit him.” There were two wings jackknifed into the grill. Her husband walked over, and she said, “Look.” He replied, “What, did someone give you the bird?” as he pulled the little body from the grill. Surprisingly, it came out in the shape of the space where it was jammed. As he walked over and put the poor bird in the trash can, I said, “Thank you.”