June 1970

Crisfield is about as far as you can go without running out of land on Maryland's Eastern Shore. The purpose of the trip was to address some of the finest young Americans from the local high school classes who were being honored by Rotary Clubs. The riding partner wanted to talk about the League of Federal Recreation Associations in terms of both investment and insurance opportunities. He knew many had worked for the betterment of LFRA and had become somewhat discouraged and to a degree disillusioned.

My friend stopped at an antique shed to pick up some"depression glass." I saw a Martin House and thought it might look well and serve a purpose in my country vegetable garden. These birds live and work together in goodly numbers and close interdependence. They are not destructive and consume great quantities of insects, mosquitoes and bugs.

So, the Martin House found its new home at 2:00 A.M. and rested quietly in the yard. It had no inhabitants, no mobility and no reason for thinking it might in any remote way relate to this League business the two men had been talking about.

Then there came a fifteen foot hickory pole, a two by four and plywood platform, much lifting and a few nails. Now the house was up, overlooking the countryside and ready for tenants. It was early afternoon and there were two very much unresolved questions: Would the house stay on the pole if the wind blew? Would the Martins come?

By 4:00 P.M. there were two Martin scouts checking each of the 20 entrances and compartments. They heard the Bob White call in the pines below. The Robin sat peacefully on her nest with confidence each of the four blue eggs would be productive. A Cardinal sang from his bush where his mate was busy with her brood.

The Wren had hauled thousands of twigs into the winter feeder and could flutter wings and whistler like a flute with the pride of the mission accomplished.

The test was not to be long in coming. As the inspection of the Martin house continued and old sticks from another flock and generation were hauled away, there were flashes of lightening and the unmistakable rumble of the thunderstorm which had been predicted.

The duel of the jagged flashed was not an unfamiliar sight. Nor were the dark clouds. The Martins left the house and one wondered if they felt the insecurity and the uncertainty of quarters perched upon a pole.

The wind whispered through the pines. It spoke louder. Then came the rain, more wind and pellets of hail. The white pine grove rocked, the hail stones increased to the size of marbles and continued to beat down for twenty-five minutes. A large pine was twisted off some fifteen feet up. Another was broken in two and took a spruce with it.

The cherry in the garden was torn up. Gullies of water rushed by the house and the basement was filled to three and a half feet. The water couldn't run into the drain or under the door as fast as it was rolling down the steps form the backyard.

There were two more heavy cloudbursts and the garden was only a stripped down sea of mud where the strong and promising young plants had been. In the desolation and discouragement of it all there walked a man who had helped get it all planted, nourished, financed and on its way.

At this low point a Bob White called form the white pines. It was then I thought of the birds. The Martin House was still riding high, but would the Martins come back?

At the front of the picture window which the hail stones had pounded, the little feeder was standing the Wrens were safe. The singing told me so.

The news was not so good with the Cardinal. There was no longer a nest in the bush. The young were lost and the female was a distance away. The redbird sat on his limb and gave his throaty message of strength and assurance.

What about the Robin's nest in the pine. It was still intact after the coaster dip experience. But the eggs were gone and so were the parents. They must have given up! Then the first big surprise... One of the Robins flew up to her nest. She took the sting from her beak and began to weave it into the nest. There will be eggs next and then the brood. She still believes.

Back to the garden and the Martin house. It looks more black and white in the distance. Funny...only the roof was painted black. The rest was white...

The house is moving...or is it? There are no longer two Martins. There are now forty Martins! The Martins came back.

Nature has something to say to those who have worked so hard, attempted to accomplish in the face of real obstacles and given of themselves in the service for all federal workers. A little twister can provide a lot of inspiration. The Martin House is up and the Martins are building.

David L. Brigham
Executive Director