One of the good things (yes, I said good things) about the dramatic winter we’ve lived through is a strengthened sense of community that has arisen from this polar vortex. When adversity strikes, people help each other. If there’s overnight snowfall, our next-door neighbor, Steve Spangler, who has the only snow-blower in the proximity of several houses, kindly clears a path on the sidewalks of two or three neighbors, including ours. (Thanks, Steve.) Recently, when the temperature actually climbed into the 40s and rapid snowmelt flooded our street, my wife Susan and I waded through water to dig out at least some part of our plowed-over neighborhood storm drains.
Winter neighborliness extends to the least among us as well. During record-breaking seasons like this one, food is scarce for the wild creatures who share our place. Birds need to eat constantly to maintain their 106-degree body temperature—fluffing out their feathers is not enough to keep them alive. Susan regularly puts out seed near the stoop, and we end up with a small colony in our evergreen bushes in front of the house.
One day, a sparrow that was either confused, had an accident or was so desperate for food that he went looking for it anywhere, became trapped in our hollow metal basketball hoop pole. My daughter, Sylvia, was shoveling the driveway at dinner time after one of our many snowfalls. I stepped outside, and she said, “Is there something alive in there?” Sure enough, we heard skittering sounds coming from the pole.
Sylvia went and got Susan and my son, Nathaniel. Susan grabbed a flashlight and pulled out our 8-foot ladder. From its top, she shined the beam down the hollow pole where she saw the sparrow trapped inside.
We were planning to get rid of this old monstrosity of a pole when the weather warmed up, a process that would involve digging around the cement the pole was set in. It was getting dark, was below 20 degrees, the ground was frozen and snow was piled up against the pole: We weren’t about to dig it out.
I figured that “simply” cutting the pole down in order to release the sparrow was our only option. But I wasn’t sure how we would manage that. The kids grabbed a couple of hacksaws and started making very slow headway, but hand sawing wasn’t going to do the trick. Meanwhile, I rummaged around in our basement workshop, looking at what power saws and blades we had, but nothing was appropriate for slicing through a metal pole.
In the meantime, Susan called our neighbor, Bob Richardson, who has all manner of nifty tools. He was actually at another neighbor’s house and about to leave for dinner out, but within a few minutes, Bob was in our driveway with something small, circular and sharp (it was dark by then, and I never got a close look at what he had brought). In a matter-of-fact way Bob said, “There might be a few sparks,” and immediately our front driveway lit up with a shower of flowing gold that would have put an exploding box of Fourth of July sparklers to shame.
In just a few minutes Bob had cut through enough that we could tip the pole. To our dismay, the bottom of the pole was also filled with cement, and Bob had been cutting through that as well. In the meantime, Susan had fetched a box to hold the bird in case it was injured—I have lost count of the number of birds we have dispatched to bird rehabbers. She shined the flashlight down the long, dark tunnel, and Mr. Sparrow was still in there, clearly frightened.
The pole was not all the way tipped yet, so the kids and I all grabbed onto it and lowered it downwards. Within a second or two, the sparrow fluttered out of his tiny circular prison, no doubt relieved to escape even though it was back in the frigid Iowa winter night.
All told, we probably spent an hour on this little adventure. I realize that many birds will likely not survive this winter, and in the grand scheme of things, our efforts to save one sparrow were disproportionate to the suffering of many flocks. But we encountered a creature in distress, and no matter how small it may have been to us, its life was everything to it. The biggest kudos go to Bob Richardson for answering the call of his crazy neighbors, even as he was about to enjoy a nice dinner with friends. That’s what being a neighbor is all about.
Winter can bring about the best of community — when people band together for the greater good, to make stories that mark our days.
Thomas Dean will remember the winter of 2014 for the bird in the basketball hoop pole.
