David K. Leff, Essayist, Poet, Lecturer

Where Street Signs are for the Birds

Navigating our way through Union, Maine to a coastal destination recently, my wife Mary and I looked up at an intersection and were startled to see a sparrow pop out of a street sign.  The sign was a gable roofed duplex birdhouse with a hole and perch at each end.  Routed into the weathered wooden side and emblazoned in bright yellow was the name of the road.  Our surprise grew into delight when we realized that every street in this town of about 2,500 just 35 minutes southeast of Augusta, was indentified in this way.  Sometimes the birdhouses were supplemented with standard reflective green signs nearby, but other corners had birdhouses alone.  We grew used to seeing finches, sparrows and wrens at road crossings.  Straw and other nest materials often hung out of the holes.  At quiet junctures, I could hear the vibrant chirping sound of life inside.  We spent less than thirty minutes passing through Union, but the bird-box signs made it one of the most memorable moments of a weeklong trip.

Ralph Nader and My Dad's Corvair

It was the red 1963 Corvair that roused me.  There it was on a pedestal, as shiny as when it sat in a showroom.  The car is the centerpiece of Ralph Nader’s Tort Museum in Winsted, Connecticut, just over ten miles from my home.  In my brief visit there, I absorbed more about the relationship between personal injury suits and corporate indifference than at any time since my first year in law school over four decades ago.  Nevertheless, what struck me most were the memories of my father that unexpectedly and vividly flooded my mind as I wandered through the museum.  It was eerie how keenly I felt his presence though I don’t think Dad had ever been to Winsted.  He’s been dead several years and is buried over 3,000 miles away.