Every Birdhouse Gets a Name

I grew up around people who made things.

My parents were always building or crafting something. Shelves, decorations, little pieces for around the house. There always seemed to be a project going on somewhere. Mom could turn scraps into something worth keeping, and Dad could build just about anything if you gave him a board and a reason.

Looking back, I think they taught me something else too.

Everything is better with a story.

Whatever they made, it never just showed up. There was always a story that went with it. Sometimes it was funny. Sometimes it was frustrating. Sometimes it was about who it was made for. Years later, those stories were remembered just as well as the things themselves.

Later on, I married into a family where building something was a language of its own. My father-in-law was a master carpenter. He didn't just make things well. Once he started something, he was going to see it through. I honestly think he enjoyed giving things away more than he enjoyed making them, although he'd probably never admit it.

The project mattered, but seeing someone appreciate it mattered even more. I think that was the story behind the things he made.

I don't think I ever consciously decided to carry any of that with me when I started making birdhouses. But somewhere along the way, I must have. Giving each one a name gives me my own story to tell. Somehow it makes me feel connected, if that makes any sense at all.

The first one I named was Weathered Time.

It was painted a blue-green, and when it dried it reminded me of an old board that had been outside for years. It didn't look new anymore. It looked like time had already claimed it a little.

Looking at it, I wondered how many years it would take for a real birdhouse to weather naturally until it looked like that. A few moments later, I had a name.

Weathered Time.

So now that's pretty much how I find the name for a house. I look at the finished house and think about what I feel when I see it. Maybe it's the color, the grain, or the way the light hits it. Or maybe it just reminds me of something.

Once I have the name, I stamp it onto a small metal tag and fasten it to the front. And trust me, sometimes the letters aren't perfectly straight. Sometimes one gets struck a little harder than the next.

But it doesn't seem to matter to the birds.

Once the metal tag is on, the house feels complete. And I have my story.

Because without a story...

it's just wood and screws.