Banner looked around for a moment then his eyes landed on Shelby. He nickered and tugged at the lead. The driver let him go at Shelby’s request, and he walked briskly to her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his mane.
“Welcome home,” she whispered.
I chucked, thinking, all is right in the world.
I have a million memories of her, most pertaining to the summer of ‘76. There was the time that a cardinal followed her around for over a week. Everywhere that Shelby went you could look for and find that beautiful red bird perched in a tree, or on a fence, or flying over her head.
Or the almighty hell my mother raised when she woke one morning to discover my sister missing, but quickly found her asleep out on the floating dock. She had snuck out in the middle of the night, rowed out with a sleeping bag, tied the boat to the ladder, and spent the night there. She was grounded for a week. And being grounded at the cabin for even a day was like being in jail for an eternity. But instead of complaining about it, Shelby used that time to make two bird houses with sticks and twine. They were crude looking, but sturdy, and once she was off punishment, my father helped her hang them high in trees. To the best of my knowledge they were occupied every year by robins and sparrows.
The memory I think of most often is the morning we were to pack up and go home. Mom and Dad were still sleeping at six o’clock when I woke to use the bathroom. I checked on Shelby. Her bed was empty. I assumed she was out with Scamp because he was no where to be seen.
Compelled to find her, I slipped on a robe and a pair of tennis shoes without socks and stepped out into the chilly, damp air. The dewy grass glistened from the morning sun. Chirping, flying birds accompanied me as I walked towards Banner’s field.
I stopped just short of the fence.
Moving away from me in the pasture was Shelby with Banner sauntering along one side of her and Scamp ambling on the other. In the early morning light they could’ve been a subject for Norman Rockwell. Sunlight bathed them and grasshoppers bounced out of their way as they walked.
But the thing that will forever stick with me was the butterflies. Dozens of Monarchs, Zebra Swallowtails, and Large Marbles fluttered, dipped and soared around them.
I read somewhere that in the Native American culture the butterfly symbolizes balance, peace, harmony, and love.
It seemed a fitting way to end the summer.
***
Shelby did some dating in high school and college, but never married. She claimed that her writing and work at The Haven made it impossible to pursue a relationship. I personally thought it was a conscience decision on her part to live the life of a recluse. Preferring to keep company with her animals and the earth.
Just as The Gypsy declared.
My Sister Shelby Page 2
