All in a row

By Christine Tailer
HCP columnist
 
We drove to town the through the upland fields. I was surprised to see three gray ducks hunkered down in the grass by the side of the road. I imagined they were heading south to warmer weather. I thought of my father.

His office was on the first floor of our brownstone row house. His clients walked up the front stoop, through the large, beveled glass doors, and he would usher them into his office, just to the right, off the main hallway. He always kept the office doors closed. He did not want anyone to enter without invitation.

My mother was not allowed to either organize or clean. My little brother and I were not to play on the green linoleum floor. We could not even peek in the door and look at his treasures, and treasures he had. A cannon sat by the front window. He told us it was from one of the Spanish Armada ships that had sunk in the English Channel in the 1500s. We knew that he was a bit of a story teller, but we believed him. How he acquired it, we never knew.

On top of a bookshelf sat a clock he'd designed and built in 1952. He'd been a clock maker when he met and married our mother. He sold many of his clocks, but he never gave any away, not even to family, until he met Greg. He knew Greg would be able to take care of the several clocks he gave him, and would keep them running.

His grandfather's early 1900s cavalry dress sword sat on his office mantle. That sword now hangs on the wall of a local historical society. I figured it deserved a wider viewing audience, though our grown daughter wonders how she's going to defend herself against the zombie apocalypse. I assured her that the sword is officially "on loan". She can always retrieve it should the need arise.

On his desk sat a large saber-toothed tiger tooth that he used as a paperweight. The tooth now holds my brother's papers in place. This brings me to the ducks.

They were lined up across the front of his desk in a perfect row. Two were Steiff stuffed animals, one was made of glass, another carved of wood and the last was a brass casting.

I remember just before I left home, and was heading off to school, that he invited me into his office. I felt privileged. He opened the double doors and ushered me inside. He beckoned for me to sit in one of the two clients' chairs across the desk from him. He leaned back in his chair. I sat forward, expectantly.

"Just one bit of advice dear daughter, before you leave. No matter where you go, no matter what you do, always keep your ducks in a row."

That was it.

I remember how he reached forward and picked up the little glass duck from the middle of the row. He turned it over in his hands and ran his fingers along its central seam. I could see that it was a sturdy glass casting.

He reached across the desk and handed it to me. I also turned it over in my hands and ran my fingers over its surface. I watched as he reorganized the remaining ducks so they were once again in a perfectly aligned row.

"This little duck is yours." The look in his eyes was warm. There was even the shadow of a smile spreading across his face, but his voice was serious. His message was clear. No matter what his purpose, humorous or serious, I would never forget to keep my ducks in a row.

I don't know what became of the Steiff ducks, or the brass or wooden ducks. Perhaps, a year or two later, he invited my brother into his office for a similar talk. I'll have to ask.

All I do know is that the little glass duck has followed me everywhere, to college, graduate school, and then on to law school, all the way from one coast to the other, until finally we landed in Ohio. That little duck has even acquired some friends along the way. A glass dog, a horse, rooster, an elephant, and a squirrel now keep the duck company, and yes. As I write, they are all proudly marching, in single file, across the back of my marble display case.

I listened to my father's advice. I've not forgotten, though perhaps I'm a bit of a rebel. Unlike my father, my row is not made up entirely of ducks. I do, however, make certain that all my little glass creatures are perfectly lined in a row.

Christine Tailer is an attorney and former city dweller who moved several years ago, with her husband, Greg, to an off-grid farm in Ohio south-central Ohio. Visit them on the web at straightcreekvalleyfarm.com.