By Ruth Koehler

Special to the Dispatch

Young cousins and best friends.  Mary and Ruth enjoyed being together whatever the season or the reason.  Today was a beautiful summer day at Ruth’s family farm. After having a delicious lunch of Tina’s white rice and Finnish flat bread, they were ready for some action. “Delicious!” they exclaimed to Ruth’s mother Tina after eating.

“Let’s go out and play” said Mary excitedly.  

“I know just where to go” replied Ruth.

Running from the house, they headed toward the shed and took a right onto the grass path behind the woods.  There were always birds flying around this path with trees all around.  Mary enjoyed being out on the farm with Ruth, since Mary’s house was near town, about 10 miles away.  Here on the farm they were free to roam as long as they came home for meals.

As they skipped and talked, Mary often ran and even did cartwheels since she was gifted with athleticism and energy. “Come on Fussy” Mary urged Ruth’s cat who lallygagged along.

Their goal was to reach the end of the trail where a rock pile had been gathered by farmers clearing the field.  Small trees had grown around making it a fun place to play.

They hadn’t reached the rock pile when something in front of them caught their eye.  “Look!” exclaimed Ruth.

Mary picked up the still small bird saying “It might be dead.” They both stroked it gently to no avail. What a sad thing to come upon!  Fussy sniffed the bird with little interest. They decided it not proper to just leave it there. So they devised a plan.

They would go home, find a box and come back to bury it. Hastily running home, they searched the house looking for a proper box. Finding none, they decided to use a farmer’s matchbox since it would be the right size for the bird.  They took out the few matches from the box and put them inside a coffee cup.  Eager to please, Ruth said “I know where there’s a small shovel,” so they headed to the garage. They also took a tissue in which to wrap the bird.

Shovel, tissue and matchbox in hand, they hurried to their trail and bird.  There it lay just as they’d left it.  Mary carefully wrapped the bird inside the tissue and placed it in the matchbox.  She had always been a lover of animals and nature, so she shed some tears over this dead bird.

They slid the matchbox cover shut and walked toward the rock pile. After having some trouble with the top soil, they were able to dig a small hole.  They put the box in the hole and took turns covering it with dirt. They said a small children’s prayer for the bird and sadly walked home. They both promised to come back some day to again pay their respects.

This small funeral was their secret and they didn’t mention it to anyone for a very long time.

Ruth Koehler

January, 2025