Whenever outdoors, he was watchful. A flash of bright feather brought a moment of possibility, only to reveal a bunting or goldfinch. His interest in all birds grew. At NC State Brody majored in biology before returning to Enka to teach high school. His interest in the parakeet remained, evidenced by the Audubon print hung on his classroom’s wall.
Although there had been reported sightings as late as the 1920s, the last confirmed Carolina Parakeet died in 1916 at the St. Louis Zoo. Fifty-three years. Yet there was so much wilderness left in these mountains, miles and miles of national parkland and large individual holdings. Several students had relatives who swore they’d recently seen panthers, though biologists claimed the big cats had also been absent for decades. Brody wanted to believe, even as astronauts gazed down on earth, recently left their footprints on the moon, that the world yet concealed some secrets. However, science demands evidence, his professor, Dr. Willard, had said, declaring that the Ivorybill Woodpecker and the Carolina Parakeet were extinct until proven otherwise. Unlike Saint Paul, the professor had continued, we cannot believe in things unseen. Now, on a Thursday morning before homeroom, Brody remembered these words as he stared at the green feather laid on his desk.
“It looks like it could of come off one of them parakeets,” Lester said, nodding at the Audubon print.
With many students, Brody would have thought it no more than some high-school prank, a dyed feather pulled off a souvenir from a Cherokee or Boone tourist trap, but though Lester was more interested in hunting and fishing than schoolwork, he was a quiet, respectful boy. Brody picked up the feather. Holding it by the quill, he moistened his free hand’s thumb and forefinger, rubbed the inner vane. No dye smudged his skin.
“What do you think, Mr. Atwell?” Lester asked.
“It’s not a bunting,” Brody said, turning the feather slowly, inspecting it with a jeweler’s attentiveness. The tinge of yellow on the outer vane was significant. Lester’s family had lived in the county for generations, so it could be an heirloom passed down from an older relative, or perhaps detached from a grandmother’s once-fashionable hat. However, as Brody brushed a finger across the feather, he found it not brittle with age but soft and pliable.
by Ron Rash, Salvation South | Read more:
Image: uncredited
