The Heron

My husband and I had to attend a democratic thing. A dinner. No, correction. A "roundup." 

"What's a Democratic Roundup?" My husband asked the girls in the front office. That's what we call them, The Girls. Even though one is old enough to be our grandmother. They giggled at him. They always giggle at him. Even when he's throwing a tantrum - which sometimes happens. 

"It's where you wear your best cowboy boots and hat," the youngest of The Girls said. Only she said it where the word "hat" sounded like "haaaiit." You know, fake country, long and drawn out. "Then you eat BBQ and cornbread." Again, fake country. Long and drawn out. 

Turns out she wasn't far off. There was a "Best Dressed Cowboy," and "Best Dressed Cowgirl" award for the night. And we ate brisket with BBQ sauce. 

Driving to the "roundup" the two lane blacktop curves around, hugging what is like a wet meadow. Standing in the glassy water was a heron. I was driving, and caught just a brief glimpse as we sped past. I would not have seen the bird at all if my husband hadn't stirred in the seat beside me. "Here lately I've seen that bird every time I come through here." 

"I don't remember ever seeing that bird," I said. 
"I do, I've seen it every time lately."
"Maybe it's just you."

He laughed, "I'll call it Cooper." 
"Good ol' Coop," it was my turn to laugh.

Later, after dinner, thinking about the heron I Googled "heron symbolism." 

Apparently Native Americans believe herons represent the ability to move forward, they also represent lessons in patience.

Coincidence? Maybe. 

Then again, my husband is Native American.