Class of 2005
Mount Blue High School
129 Seamon Rd.
Farmington, ME 04294

Attending:
California Culinary Academy

The old pigeon coop that sat behind my house had obviously had many additions. Every section of wood that had been added over the years was a different color, light blue, red and most of all, a dark green that engulfed the front. This coop, like every other pigeon coop, was a maze; one minute you would be with the young birds, then the old birds, and then you would end up in a room you could have sworn wasn’t there last week. As a child I remember being outside with my dad every Sunday and waiting for the birds to come home.

The anticipation was half the excitement, and as we waited, my dad would work the garden or tinker around the coop, I was always there right by his side getting in the way. The birds would usually come in one at a time and each time we spotted one, dad would run and get the grain then start the long, high pitched, whistle only recognizable by his birds.

On Sunday night Dad and I would get in the truck and drive to Kermit Bryant’s house where the Central Maine Pigeon club would meet. There were no other children, just old men sitting around talking about the next race, the big race coming up and the new rules. We would all sit around as Kermit announced the race results, telling us who had gotten the first bird and what times all the birds came in. I will always remember these old men; Kermit and Martin were always seriously talking about the new regulations and Lobo was always arguing with everyone and voicing his opinion.

Carl was full of questions, asking more than I, and Bruce always wore the same old battered red hat that I was constantly trying to steal, but only managed to snatch it once.
Sundays weren’t the only days that I was with the pigeons. Saturdays were a key day in the racing process. Saturday was the day that the pigeons had to be countermarked, crated up and ready to be shipped out.

The clanging sound of the countermarking machine will always be in my mind as it closed down on the pigeon’s outstretched leg putting on the elastic band. Placing the pigeons into the crates was always the highlight of my day, because I was being trusted to hold the birds and to make sure that they didn’t break loose. I remember one day when I wasn’t paying attention and one of the birds flew out of the crate while I was trying to put another bird in. The men tried frantically to catch the bird to put it back in the crate; they jumped up as it flew over their heads and tried to trap it in the corners of the old garage.

Eventually the bird flew up the staircase, through the loft and out of a window, after the event I didn’t put the birds in the crates for a couple of months.

As I got older I began to drift further away from the world of racing pigeons. I started hanging out with my friends more and my dad less. It seems like everything has changed, even the old coop. My mom has had the house re-sided and the old coop was taken apart and relocated. My dad now has a new coop that matches the house and looks like a small trailer.

When spring comes Dad is exactly the same as he has always been, getting his birds ready for the next racing season. He starts to crate up the birds every Saturday morning and take them for drives then he releases them. Sometimes he asks me to go with him and I usually do; it’s almost like when I was little. We get in the truck, which has changed as well, and drive about five miles away to Morrison Hill to release the birds then drive home immediately to see who gets home first, us or the birds. On some days the birds are already circling the house when we get home and on other days they are nowhere in sight. I usually get a soda and some candy out of the drive and Dad always says I talk too much, but I think he enjoys it.

These birds have affected my life in countless ways; I have met interesting people that I would have never met if my mom and I hadn’t tagged along to all those pigeon shows that my dad has gone to. Because of these graceful birds I have traveled all over the state of Maine as well as New England. Most of the pigeon shows have been in New York, and we have met a group of friends from all around New York, New Jersey, and Long Island. They have introduced us to many new experiences. When the men head off to the conventions, we, the women, go shopping in the city, and to plays. We have also gone to elegant weddings for the children of this group of friends and now we don’t just go to New York for the pigeons. I hope that when I get older someone in my family has a hobby similar to pigeon racing so that my children will be able to meet new people and have the experiences that I have be

By Paul Walsh
Paul@walshloft.com