Birdtown is right there on the map. I touch the point and read the word: Birdtown. The name even pops up on my GPS, which takes me there. But at the crossroads where I’m led, there’s only one home. I keep going, then turn around, hang a left, keep going, then turn around, go right, keep going, then turn around. In every direction I find no town.
Finally, I see a mail carrier coming over the hill, and I flag her down. If anyone would know, it’s got to be the mail carrier, right?
“You got an address?” she asks.
“Just says Birdtown.”
Her eyes widen with suspicion. When I try to explain what, exactly, I am doing out here in Lancaster county, her eyes grow even wider. So, I thank her for her time, and I go back to the crossroads. I decide that, since there isn’t a town, at least I will look for a bird.
But it’s my lucky day. I see a man standing in the doorway of the one home in “Birdtown,” so I stop the car and wave to him. When he walks out into his yard, I ask him if this is Birdtown, and he says yes, so I ask him how it got his name.
He starts talking, but he is standing too far way for me to hear him. I just keep hearing the word “bird” repeated a few times.
“So,” I yell, “there were a bunch of birds over there?”
He starts laughing. “No, man.” He walks closer, and now I can hear him. “Paul Bird used to own that store right there.” He points to a place where this is no store. “A convenience store, and everybody just called it Birdtown. It burned down a few years ago.”
I thank him for his time, and I pull over on the shoulder to jot down my notes. When I look up, I see a solitary crow perched in the topmost branch of a dead tree. The bird looks down at me with its big yellow eyes as if to ask, “What are you doing here?”
And so, I fly out of Birdtown.
Finally, I see a mail carrier coming over the hill, and I flag her down. If anyone would know, it’s got to be the mail carrier, right?
“You got an address?” she asks.
“Just says Birdtown.”
Her eyes widen with suspicion. When I try to explain what, exactly, I am doing out here in Lancaster county, her eyes grow even wider. So, I thank her for her time, and I go back to the crossroads. I decide that, since there isn’t a town, at least I will look for a bird.
But it’s my lucky day. I see a man standing in the doorway of the one home in “Birdtown,” so I stop the car and wave to him. When he walks out into his yard, I ask him if this is Birdtown, and he says yes, so I ask him how it got his name.
He starts talking, but he is standing too far way for me to hear him. I just keep hearing the word “bird” repeated a few times.
“So,” I yell, “there were a bunch of birds over there?”
He starts laughing. “No, man.” He walks closer, and now I can hear him. “Paul Bird used to own that store right there.” He points to a place where this is no store. “A convenience store, and everybody just called it Birdtown. It burned down a few years ago.”
I thank him for his time, and I pull over on the shoulder to jot down my notes. When I look up, I see a solitary crow perched in the topmost branch of a dead tree. The bird looks down at me with its big yellow eyes as if to ask, “What are you doing here?”
And so, I fly out of Birdtown.
