Spring

March 23, 2015

Greetings from the scandal,

The Red Breasted Robin is the state bird of Michigan.  The robin migrates south during the winter months and generally its reappearance here in the Mitten State is taken as a sign that spring is not far off. 

Here is a little known fact that causes concern.  Back in the Carter administration, Congress authorized a large sum of money to bail out the faltering auto industry, and to prop up the weak tourism business in the Rust Belt.  Each year, several thousand cars are produced by domestic manufacturers, and driven to Florida by underemployed travel agents, former Bill Knapp’s employees, and discouraged Amway representatives. 

The cars are loaded with Vernor’s ginger ale and Koegel’s hot dogs.  Once in Florida, the contraband is sold in the parking lots of Stuckey’s restaurants to displaced Michiganians and a trustworthy network of polite Canadians who vacation there.

Once the inventory is cleared out, the drivers begin to collect robins.  The birds are attracted by the hot dog smell in each car and are fairly easy to lure into the back seat.  Every February, hundreds of thousands of robins are herded into the cars then driven back north to Michigan. 

By the time the drivers are past the Mason-Dixon Line, the birds have become restless.  Before long they are fluttering around inside the car in a panic.  This tends to put some stress on the people behind the wheel.  The drivers race north, weaving in and out of traffic, rarely using their turn indicators, rocketing through construction zones, cutting people off in merge lanes, braking for no apparent reason.  (This is how Michigan motorists got their reputation for bad driving, studies have shown.)

The drivers are equipped with prerecorded music to play in attempt to keep the birds somewhat docile.  ‘Blackbird’, by the Beatles, ‘Hummingbird’ by Seals and Crofts, ‘Fly Like an Eagle’ by the Steve Miller Band, and of course ‘The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald’ by Gordon Lightfoot, which has proven to put any living thing in a coma state.  (Referring to the physiological unconsciousness, not what Michigan is known as.  We are the Great Lakes State.)

When the cars get back to Michigan, they scatter from Battle Creek to Cheboygan and release the birds into the environment.  The birds are somewhat disoriented, and occasionally will fly into the windows of surrounding homes for no apparent reason. 

The drivers, in spite of being generously compensated, almost never sign up for a second season.

The cars’ interiors, obviously, have been ruined by the birds and are not fit to sell.  They are put on container boats and shipped to Cuba where they eventually become taxi cabs or makeshift rafts which, ironically, are floated to Florida.  A few cars make their way back onto U.S. roads, sold to less discriminating drivers.  You can usually spot these by the bumper sticker “I brake for garage sales’ or ‘My other car is a Yugo’ or ‘Ask me about my podiatry appointment’)

This artificial migration concept, first suggested by President Jerry Ford, was to get the robins back to Michigan early, to try to extend the tourist season.  Of course, the car makers and drivers get a piece of the action too, not to mention the Koegel/Vernors empire, which all trickles down to our local economy.  It’s how we have survived here for nearly forty years.

All paid for by your tax dollars.  Thanks Obama.

So, the robin’s appearance is an encouraging portent of spring, but one must look askance at the first few we see in March, especially those who have hot dog breath.  Generally we have to rely on a few other supporting indicators that winter is gone for good. 

In Michigan we repair our potholes in the roads by packing them with snow.  When spring arrives our road repairs melt, so the reappearance of divots in the pavement is a sure sign that warmer weather is coming. We also look for the first white legs at the grocery store, the reappearance of dog droppings formerly covered by snow, the first mole mounds to ruin the lawn, and the sound of the sump pump running. 

Spring will arrive when it arrives, no matter what astronomy says or poets wish or the calendar indicates.  I am going to try to be patient.  I know too much to be lured into false hope by the sounds of robins crashing into my windows. 

Hope this finds you bob bob bobbing along,

David

Copyright © 2015 David Smith

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