They say the swallows fly 7000 miles from Argentina every spring headed for Southern California. Perhaps one day, on the flight south, Father Sparrow spotted the San Juan Mission located on the plains, next to the wetlands. “Whoa, guys,” he may have tweeted, using today’s vernacular. “Check out that pond full of mud, those orange groves over yonder full of insects, and the lovely bare mission arches. Let us, forthwith, suspend our travels and build our nests here.” And all the tired swallows flew down to feast and build their nests and raise their young. The weather wasn’t that bad, either.
So every year after, they returned to the mission on or about March 19th to spend a thrill-filled summer, raising a family and blessing the mission with lovely twittering songs until mid- October, when they headed back to Argentina.
Along came 1939, and Glenn Miller wrote a song, immortalizing the swallows and the town, bringing tourists to San Jan Capistrano to visit the Mission, built in 1776, to see the miracle of the swallows returning every spring on almost the same day. City fathers rejoiced, making merry with parades and souvenirs, food and song…and made money.
]When the swallows come back to Capistrano
That‘s the day I pray that you’ll come back to me.
Enter the development crews who noted the increasing public interest in the fair city. They drained the wetlands, built shopping centers and cut down the orange groves to build apartment buildings and housings. And the town grew. In 1990, the church noted all the expanding tourism at the mission. They decided to remodel those nasty old bare arches left standing after the 1812 earthquake, so they knocked down all the swallow’s nests to renovate…and the swallows stopped coming.
Despite frantic efforts to bring the swallows back to the mission, which now includes fake nests on the arches and piped in mating calls meant to woo the birds, it’s all for naught. Only a few sparrows come to the mission these days. Most nest under bridges or in the eaves of the taco stand down the street. They say it was a combination of knocking down the nests, draining the wetlands and taking away their food source. Do you think?
Authors: Don’t risk changing your writing from a genre that has been successful. “Forget Victorian Romance,” some may say, “Try Horror-Fantasy-Thriller-Sci-Fi. You’ll like it.” If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. That’s not original, by the way. Stick with what you know. If you love writing Victorian Romance, forsooth, keep writing it.
Regular Folks: Remember family traditions. Bake the marble cake with lemon icing that your son always asked for on his birthday−even if he’s 40. Put up the manger scene at Christmas− even if the kids won’t be home this year. And don’t forget the note in your husband’s sandwich. One bite and he’ll find the note, saying, I love you. Don’t risk changing the traditions that made your memories beautiful. Don’t drive away the swallows. They may never return.