Poppy's Barn Owl

Poppy always reminisced about that old barn owl every summer that I came to visit. He told stories of its healing powers among the village when the black plague visited the earth like a veil of death. Barn Owls have a lifespan of around four years give or take their surroundings. This particular owl has lived for three decades, outweighing the extremities of earth's many changes. Poppy was fascinated by him. Daily he would go out and sit in the barn and have a chat with that old owl. I never understood it, but it was normal to us all since Poppy had done it for years. We figured to give the old man his perks, what else does he have to look forward to since MeMaw passed away last year?

I watched that old owl peak around the loft door. His gray face stellated in the sunlight. He had a regal stance about him sitting on his perch Poppy fixed for him. I was curious about his past story. Where did he come from? Why did he find this particular village and why did he stay after Poppy died? These questions flood through my mind, but without Poppy, I would never get the answers that I need. I dropped my eyes to the ground and stared for a long moment thinking of all the ways Poppy made my summers here magical. Running through the trees, swimming in the family pond, and cookouts and stories after dark. Mom told me that it was the same when she grew up here. She often smiled as she told stories of Poppy and her adventures. I smiled as a warm feeling hugged me like a blanket. “Thank you, Poppy. I needed that hug,” I whispered over my shoulder. I swung for a while watching animals play around me and then curiously walked to the barn.

As I stepped inside, I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, but I knew I had to find something. My fingers danced across the chair that Poppy sat in for hours talking to that owl. I missed him so much, but I knew that my memories of him would sustain my sad heart. Poppie’s sudden death shook Mom and me when we heard of his passing last week. I didn’t prepare myself for his death. Stupidly, I had the idea that Poppy was invincible and that he would be around for a long time. I looked past the age spots and deep wrinkles because this was Poppy. He wasn’t just an old man to me, he was my friend, protector, and place of peace. Whenever I had a problem I never went to Mom, I always called Poppy. His advice was gold. He would say, “Emily, you have to put your education first always. Boys and life will come next, but most importantly is your education. Gain a degree, become stable, and then worry about dating and marriage.” I cherished those words which rang through my memories right now as I am thinking about him.

The barn held many memories of Poppie's past life as well as his later years. Tears formed at the corners of my eyes as I held his box of records and especially after I saw his favorite album peeking from the middle. I pulled it out and placed it on the player, slowly dropping the needle in the middle to his favorite song. George Jones’ “He stopped loving her today,” rang through the barn and that old familiar sound gave me chills. I swayed as I hugged the album cover and remembered the night Poppy, Memaw, and I had a barn dance with a few of the neighbor’s and their children. That was the best night of my entire childhood. Memaw laughing her throaty laugh and the neighbor’s wife bending over slapping her leg in tears at Poppy’s line dance lead. Poppy brought to light and life everywhere that he went. Everyone fell in love with him no matter where he was. It had been that way since he was a teen. Poppy didn’t talk much about his home life when he was a child, but he hinted that it wasn’t an ideal lifestyle. I never pressed the subject, but have always been curious about what had happened. Memaw told me that Poppy’s past was painful and that he didn’t even talk with her about it. I shuddered as I tried to imagine what he endured.

Poppy and his brother Earl weren't that close, so Earl didn’t have anything to do with Poppy’s family. I would love to sit with Earl and talk about Poppy. He could fill in the blanks for us of Poppy’s teen years at least, the ones before he met Memaw. Memaw would have loved to have known a few good stories of Poppy’s past to pass on to her grandchildren in the memory book that she made for us about her life. As I dug through the old boxes I ran across a folder with Poppy’s name on it, ‘George Tyler Ganes.’ I laughed because I never knew his middle name was Tyler. Poppy never told me his middle name, now I can see why. It sounded like a boy bander’s name.

I opened up the folder and to my surprise Poppy’s school forms, army enrollment papers, and first job pay stubs fell out onto the floor. I picked them up and looked through each one, being careful not to damage any of them. They were old and discolored, like the old vintage paper I like buying from the craft stores. His school papers were filled with good remarks and grades and his army assessments called him a role model for his platoon. He received medals for many different things and even got the medal of Honor which was in a glass case in the house along with his others. I read on trying to collect as much information as I could about him. I put the folder back into the box and pulled out another. Again, this one was marked with his name, I pulled out the papers and began to read. This time it was about his lineage. I scoured through the papers reading about our ancestors and their history. I sat there for hours going through paper after paper until at last, I came across the paper that I needed to find. A story about that old barn owl.

A long time ago there was a family of immigrants who came to America. They stumbled upon a small village of families who, like them, were immigrants. Everyone welcomed them in, found them housing, and helped them get started with work. This family was the Ganes family from Ireland. After months of settling in, Mr. Ganes was coming home from work one day, and as he was passing the home of a family he knew well, he noticed the lady of the house holding a beautiful barn owl. She was having a major conversation with this owl which sparked Mr. Gane’s interest as to why she would be conversing with an animal on this level. He walked over to the fence and yelled at the woman, “Hey, may I ask you a question,” he yelled? “Why sure,” she replied. “Why are you talking with an owl that seriously,” he laughed? She looked at him and then back at the owl. She stared at the owl for a while before she answered. “Mr. Ganes, my owl just said that it would be ok to explain briefly to you why I am having a conversation with him,” she giggled. Mr. Ganes thought that this lady had just gone off her rocker, but he was curious about her explanation, so he stood eagerly waiting.

“Well, firstly, my owl has the most intelligent conversations with me. Secondly, we talk about important things that need to be taken care of for the day, and Thirdly, he is my best friend. Do you not talk to your best friend, Mr. Ganes,” She asked seriously?

Mr. Ganes standing silent for a long moment stuttered as he tried to find the words to reply to this ridiculous explanation she just gave. All of a sudden she started laughing hysterically, startling Mr. Ganes. He turned and walked away without speaking a word. Mr. Ganes walked up the road toward his house shaking his head at what had just happened. When he got home he told Mrs. Ganes what had happened to which she laughed her hearty laugh, not amusing Mr. Ganes in the least. After she finally calmed herself, she sat down at the dinner table and asked him to recant the story once more for her. When he was finished she again laughed hysterically to the point she lost her breath and was slapping her leg. Mr. Ganes sat looking at her with a scowl, which made her laugh harder. He stood from the table and went into the living room to watch the news as she gasped for air.

The next day was the same. Mr. Ganes came up the road heading toward home and there sat the lady talking to the owl. He looked out from the corner of his eye and then straight ahead afraid of what may happen today. “Oh, Mr. Ganes,” she called from her porch. Mr. Ganes sped up and tried to act as though he didn't hear her calling him. “Mr. Ganes, I know that you hear me calling. You might as well stop and come on over here.” Mr. Ganes sighed and walked to the fence. “Yes, Maam. How may I help you,” he asked nicely? “You wanted to know why I talk to my owl right? Well, I told you, but you didn’t like my reason. May we start over,” she asked? Mr. Ganes stood there a moment and shook his head yes. She walked over with the owl on her arm and introduced the owl to Mr. Ganes. “Mr. Ganes this is Barn Owl. He is an amazing creature and full of mystery. When he warms up to you and gains trust he will talk with you too.” Mr. Ganes, still speechless, looked at the owl and noticed something unique about him. He had human eyes and not the eyes of an owl. Mr. Ganes, shocked, stepped back and gasped. The owl looked at the lady and she giggled. “You noticed his eyes didn’t you?” Mr. Ganes shook his head yes and stood frozen as she laughed her hysterical laugh once again. “It is ok. You will warm up to him. Everyone does.” Mr. Ganes finally gained his composure and pulled himself away toward home. He didn’t dare tell his wife this time. He knew she would have the same reaction as she did yesterday. He went in and acted as though nothing had ever happened.

Mr. Ganes decided to ask for a ride the next day so that he didn’t get caught by that crazy lady again today. He knew that he just couldn’t bear another encounter with her and that darn owl. As he passed by he saw her this time in the window laughing and talking with the owl who sat on a perch she had made him. He shook his head and turned his eyes toward the road. His buddy was talking so he never noticed Mr. Ganes looking toward the house. He dropped him out and as Mr. Ganes was heading up the walkway he noticed an envelope in the mailbox addressed to him. It was from that lady and strangely she put the owl's name on it as if he sent it too. Mr. Ganes sat on the rocker on the porch and read what she had written. To his surprise, it was a good letter and about some things he and his wife had been dealing with. It was detailed to the point Mr. Ganes thought his wife must have told her all this. He rushed inside gripping the paper and slammed it down on the table. “Why are you telling our business,” he shouted?! Mrs. Ganes looked at him puzzled, not knowing what he was referring to. He showed her the paper and as she read her eyes widened. “How does she know these things,” she screamed? “I don’t know. I found this in the mailbox just now. I thought you had been gossiping with her as you ladies do.” “I have not even had one conversation with that lady. I have walked by and waved, but that is it.” He plopped down in the chair and looked at the letter again. She must be spying on us. I will clear this up tomorrow.” Mrs. Ganes said nothing as she stood from the table to go fetch their supper from the kitchen.

As Mr. Ganes approached the lady’s house the next day, he was ready to scold her, but she turned around with the same grin that she always has. She walked over to the fence with the owl and looked at him. Mr. Ganes stood there waiting for her laugh, but she was calm and silent. The owl turned and looked at Mr. Ganes and that’s when he heard it. The owl had a voice and was talking to him as a person would. Mr. Ganes’ mouth hung open as the owl conversed with him about the letter. “You see, I had to get your attention. You didn’t believe her and the only way I knew to make you see was to send the letter. I knew you would be angry and stop by here today. It is hard to open up this secret to you, but I must. I need your help, “ the barn owl explained.

Mr. Ganes’ eyes bulged from their sockets when he realized the owl had just spoken to him and knew about him. The lady stood there as a go-between when Mr. Ganes couldn’t comprehend what the owl was saying. Mr. Ganes even wept at times as the owl spilled things in his past, just to show him he was real and that he could talk. He then began to explain the help that he needed. There was a certain oil that would help the owl not age as quickly as usual. The owl explained that it was located near the creek on Mr. Gane’s way to work. Mr. Ganes told the owl that he would get it for him tomorrow after work and bring it straight to him. The lady smiled and turned to take the owl back to his perch. The perch acted as a resting spot for the owl when he ached from aging. Mr. Ganes walked home and spilled everything to Mrs. Ganes. He pulled her by the hand down to the lady’s house to meet the owl for herself so that she wouldn’t think he was crazy. Mrs. Ganes walked up to the fence and waved at the lady. The lady came off the porch to officially meet Mrs. Ganes. “Hello, my name is Mary. It is nice to finally meet you,” the lady smiled as she shook Mrs. Ganes’ hand. “Hello, Mary. It is nice to meet you. My husband dragged me down here with a cockamamy story about your owl talking to him,” Mrs. Ganes laughed. Mary replied straight-faced, “he was telling you the truth.” Mrs. Ganes looked at her in disbelief and huffed. “You’re the one putting these crazy things in his head right?” Mary crossed her arms and scowled. “I am doing no such thing. He knows what he heard.” The lady walked to her porch, took the owl in her hand, and walked back over to the Ganes’. “Will you please tell Mrs. Ganes some of what you told Mr. Ganes,” pleaded Mary. The owl began to open up to Mrs. Ganes and as he did she stumbled back and onto her bottom on the dirt road. Mr. Ganes helped her up and dusted her off. The owl asked if she was ok, to which she shook her head yes. She had no words. Mr. Ganes grinned as the owl conversed with Mr.s Ganes about all things under the sun. Mrs. Ganes laughed lightly as the owl one her over. He had a way about him that left people astonished by him.

The next day Mr. Ganes went to the creek and found the oil the owl described to him in clear detail down to where he could find a bottle to collect it in. Mr. Games rushed to the house and handed Mary the bottle that still dripped with droplets of the oil. Mr. Ganes noticed that the age spots on his hand were slowly disappearing. He held his hand up to the sun and laughed when his whole hand looked like it did when he was in his twenties. “Oh my goodness, look at this,” he shouted! Mary came over and grabbed his hand to examine it. “Sure enough the oil has rejuvenated your skin. Do not tell anyone about the oil or what happened besides Mrs. Ganes. We trust her too.” Mr. Ganes agreed to keep it secret but didn’t know what to say about his hand. Maybe he could tell that his wife mixed a beauty concoction and tried it on him.

Mr. Ganes rushed home to show Mrs. Ganes his hand and tell her everything about the oil and what it did for the owl. She gasped when she saw his hand. “I want some of that oil, Clyde! Tell Mary to spare a few drops for me the next time you see her,” Mrs. Ganes requested. He shook his head no and explained that they had to keep everything a secret. Only a few select neighbors in the village knew about the owl. Letting out the secret would negatively impact the owl and Mary, especially if they found out about the oil. Mrs. Ganes puckered her lip and flopped down in her favorite chair. Mr. Ganes sighed and sat beside her going over once more how important it is to the owl to keep it secret.

“Emily, where are you,” Mom’s voice called from the driveway. I lay down the papers and walked out to meet her. “I was in the barn looking through old papers. I found some of Poppy’s old papers and get this, a story about that Barn Owl he loved so much. I was just reading it when you called for me. Mom laughed and hugged me as we walked back to the barn together. I showed her the first few pages of the story as I started back where I left off.

Mr. Ganes kept in close contact with Mary and the owl for years until Mary passed away leaving the owl alone. Mr. and Mrs. Ganes took the owl in and cared for him until they passed away. They made a will to their children explaining the importance of taking care of the owl and where to get the oil. That’s how Poppy ended up with him. He was one of the last descendants to care for the owl. The barn owl was up in age and nearing the end of his days. Poppy’s death didn’t make it any better for the owl and his delicate condition. I read the last bits and then looked through the box for any sign of the oil or instruction on where to find it. Mom picked up the pages I was finished with and lay back on some hay bales lost in the story, just as I was. I walked up to where the owl was perched and walked cautiously toward him. I held out my hand to show that I meant no harm. That’s when I heard him speak. “Good evening, Emily. How are you,” his old voice asked? I’m sure I looked silly with my gaping mouth and bulging eyes, but I was fascinated with him. I see why Poppy spent so much time out here. His eyes were mesmerizing as well as his beautiful wings. I stepped closer and sat in Poppy’s chair beside him. I watched Poppy sit there for hours many times talking with him. Maybe I could pick up and care for him now that Poppy is gone. “Yes, Emily. Poppy left me for you. You will be the last member of the family to care for me.” I felt saddened by his statement. “You can’t die, Owl. You’re precious to our family. “Emily, I am at the end of my lifespan. I have been alive far too long. I have endured many people that I have loved and Poppy was my favorite.” Tears fell from my eyes as I began to sob. Mom heard me and rushed up to check on me. Barn owl spoke to her as she came to hug me, startling her to the point she tripped over her foot and plopped down over a hay bale. “Did he just speak,” she stuttered? I nodded yes and wiped my tears. “He is as amazing as the story said he was, isn’t he?” He talked with us for a long while until he was so tired that he couldn’t hold himself up on his perch any longer. I carefully lifted him off and placed him in the bed Poppy had made for him. Mom and I left and went to Poppy and Memaw’s house to cook some dinner. It was late by this point, so we made sandwiches and lounged by the television in the den.

The next morning I sat up on the side of the bed and stared out the window at the barn for an hour before I got up. I wasn’t sure what to do about the owl, how to care for him, or how long he would live, but to honor Poppy I was sure going to try. While in the bathroom I searched the cabinets to find the oil from the story. I came across a small crystal bottle that had a foggy look to it. I wondered if it was The oil. I put a drop on the back of my hand and it immediately cleared up my bicycle wreck scar. “This has to be it,” I whispered. I rushed out to the barn to show the owl and ask him if this was the oil that was used to help him all these years. “It is the oil, but it no longer works on me. Some years ago it began to lose its effects. Poppy has just kept me comfortable as much as he could and kept me company. I have cherished these times with him. The oil will work on you and whomever else, but it will not on me. Thank you for trying to help.”

I smiled sadly and sat down in the chair beside him. “How can I help you,” I asked? The owl sat there on his perch for a while. “Your mother is sick. Has she told you about it yet?” Taken aback, I couldn’t answer him. I grabbed my chest and felt panic fall on me like a blanket. “What do you mean,” I muttered? “She has a spot of cancer in her chest. She found out last week when she went for her annual checkup. The Doctors told her that with the treatment they may be able to get it all and clear her of it, but they also told her it was a fifty-fifty chance. “She hasn’t told me anything yet,” I cried. The owl stretched out a wing and touched my knee. He calmed me instantly, but it drained him to the point I had to catch him and place him in his bed. He was out like a light. I looked out the loft door toward the house and felt a lump in my throat. I was unsure how to bring up the subject with mom. Maybe I would let her come around to tell me.

I ran toward the house and into the kitchen where she stood making breakfast. “Mom, you didn’t tell me. You didn’t tell me anything about it,” I cried. “Emily, what is it?” “Mom, you have cancer don’t you!” “That owl told you, didn’t he!” “Yes, because obviously, you kept it from me. I am glad that he did. Mom are you going to die,” I screamed? “Emily, stop it. I have a good chance to beat this with treatment. I will go next week to hear my options and which treatment would work best for me,” she calmly explained. I cried in my hands and shook so hard that my bones ached. Mom came over and hugged me tightly telling me to calm down. I couldn’t calm myself. I broke out of her embrace and ran out the door, down the dirt road, and onto the walking trail, Poppy had built. I ran and ran until I could run no more. I popped a squat in the middle of the trail and breathily hugged my knees to my chest. Tears streamed down my cheeks and onto my white shirt. I watched the sun setting over the mountain in front of the trail. Fireflies lit up around me, reminding me of the times I had with Poppy here in the summer.

That night I sat in the barn for a long time talking with the owl. I asked him if he could help Mom and get that cancer out of her body. He assured me that there was one more task he must do and then he would pass on, but he was unsure if it was that. I dropped my eyes to the hay-covered loft floor and sobbed. I was too young to lose my mom. We still had plans that we haven’t fulfilled yet. A travel bucket list that was left unchecked. I pleaded with the owl to try helping her. He agreed that he would try and that if he could not, maybe the oil would help her remove that cancer from her body. As he said that I picked up the bottle from the rail in the loft and rushed to the house to tell her to try it. She went into the bathroom and rubbed it on the knot that protruded beneath her skin. We waited to see if it would shrink, but as the minutes passed there was no change in the knot. Tears streamed down both our faces as mom dropped the bottle into the sink. “It didn’t work! The oil is a lie, it has to be. It isn’t even helping him, why would it help you! It’s too old! I will go find out where to get the oil and get you a fresh batch,” I yelled! Mom told me to calm down, but I rushed out to the barn to get answers from the owl. He told me that the oil spout dried up a long time ago.

The bottle of oil we had just poured out was the last of it. I kicked the hay bale in front of me and stomped toward the stairs. “Emily! Come back,” he demanded! I huffed and walked back to him. “There is still hope, tell her to come out here for a moment and I will try healing her.” I ran to the house, grabbed her hand, and pulled her to the loft. He sat up tall, breathed in, and stretched out his wing. Mom touched it with the tip of her finger and with her right hand, she held the knot on her chest. She cried as she touched his wing. She rubbed her chest hoping for it to shrink and I anxiously waited to see if it had. Mom’s right hand fell to her side and she let her finger fall away from his wing. The owl fell onto the floor and gasped for air. In a panic, I scooped him up and held him. “Please don’t die. I am so sorry that I asked you to heal her. Please, don’t die, Owl. Poppy would be so disappointed in me for doing this,” I shrieked. “Emily,” he whispered in a frail voice. “Poppy denied himself his healing because I told him about your mom. Poppy had lived a long life and he wanted to give his daughter a chance at life if I could help.” I sobbed and as my years fell on him, he seemed to catch his breath. He stood up on my hand and looked as though he had just caught his second breath. I was amazed by what I was seeing. He jumped onto Mom’s shoulder and nestled his head on hers. His wings cradled her head as he embraced her for a while. I saw a strange glow come over her and then heard a thump. The owl fell to the floor and mom jumped up gripping her chest screaming, “It’s gone. It is gone!”

I was a ball of emotions as I scooped him up and held him in my arms. He looked so peaceful laying in my arms. “What a way to go,” I whispered to him. I will give you an honorable burial tomorrow, one that Poppy would be proud of. You will live on through tales we tale throughout the generations. Farewell my friend, rest in peace.