In celebration of Cowbird's first birthday by Johnnie B Baker

In celebration of Cowbirdâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s first birthday

Table of Contents Stuart Cannell…….......................................3 Niall O’Donovan…………………...……...4 Margot Nobrega……………………..….…6 Bonnie Despain…………………...……….8 Barbara Shipka…………………..……….10 Susan Sink……………………..…………13 smashingstars………………..….………..14 Kiki Suarez………………..…….………..16 Katie Worden…………….………………23 Connie Assadi…………..………………..24 Ellie Challis…………………………...….26 Kathy Weinberg……………..……..…….28 Pat Shekhar………………………..……..30 Richard Keeling………………...………..32 Leilani Holmes………………..………….34 Séan Poole………………..………...…….37 Tracy…………………….……...………..38 Kathleen Cox-Turtletaub………….……..40 Tiana Gorham……………….……….…..42 Denise Fowler…………………..………..45 Connie Dunn……………………….…….46 Susan Perly…………………………….…48 David Sullivan……………….…………..51 Hawkeye Pete Egan B………….………...52 Eirik V. Johnsen…………..……….……..54 Geoff Dutton…………….……………….56 Nancy La Turner……………… …….….59 Lynn Fux………………………………....60 Diane Jardel……………………………...62 johnnie b. baker……………………….....64 Jean-Claude………………………………66 Dedicated to jaga n.a. argentum, who did all the legwork for this project. Layout and design by johnnie b. baker,. Cover photo - Rachelle Archer All work © 2012 individual authors

Stuart Cannell On April 18th 2012 I wrote my first story on Cowbird. Eight months on, I realise just how much it has taken over my life! It is a huge preoccupation, so huge that it works its way into every corner and crevice of my life. A moment rarely passes where I don’t think ‘Would that be a good idea for a story?’ or ‘If I take this picture, what story could I use it for?’ I honestly don’t know what I’d do without my favourite mammal-bird hybrid! It inspires me to write and read every single day. And though the site is neat and professional-looking and clear and user-friendly that’s not what keeps me here. What inspires me, what has continued to hold my interest and enthusiasm these past 230 days, are the people that write here. There’s so much talent on Cowbird, so many stories that make me smile or break my heart or lift my spirits or get me angry or just plain blow me away. And I’m so, so jealous of that. ‘Why can’t I do that?’ I ask myself. They make me want to always be better at what I do here, always improve, always keep my loyal audience reading my work. But most of all, Cowbird just gives me the chance to create amongst other great artists and writers, some of which I’ve collaborated with, and/or have become very good friends. And Cowbird friends really are the best kinds of friends to have.

Niall O’ Donovan "Níl aon tinteán mar do thinteán féin" An old Irish proverb meaning 'there is no place like home', which literally says: 'there is no fireside like your own fireside'

Cowbird is such a special place to me. Where the flames always burn bright in the hearth, where the door is always open, where friends can come and go, gather close-in on winter evenings to warm themselves, share a glass and a story, weaving the intricate fabric of our lives and experiences.

Happy Birthday Cowbird/ers

Written for Cowbird's first birthday, December 2012. ** Image courtesy of the Book Of Kells Early Celtic Irish ( ca.800 AD) illuminated manuscript of the four gospels in Latin.. The image represents St.Luke, one of the four evangelists.

Margot Nobrega Something good came into my life when my husband Leonardo told me about Cowbird, the high quality of the stories and pictures from all around the world. It was mid of February and I took some days more to request an invitation and join this nice community with a first story. So I did my first flight over Cowbirdland, a bit timidly but soon feeling welcome! Cowbird appeared to me when I needed conversation to feel able to share something of my life. It also have brought to me a sense of belonging to a tribe. I would describe Cowbird's place as a beautiful cockade with each writer as a colorful feather. I like so much the idea of Cowbird as a sagamore, a cacique calling everyone to speak one's own voice in the specific tone and accent, the beaks of the birds singing so dodecaphonic sometimes, while Earth spins our huge nest. Ruminant birds, we are, telling, watching, asking, waiting, thinking of every flavor and every colorful sound flowing from the wings, Every feather becomes a "saga more" in a cockade, quivering in the winds to spread vivid colors and tickles like words through a seashell reaching the ear. I wish to be back soon to the nest, my place to watch how the planet sends and receives messages from the whole tribe. Its the first birthday of our plumy cow hostess. The future is mysterious for us under the protection of this magnetic creature, like the adventure of joining it for the first time and talking to it. I hope it goes on in the happiness of feeding our souls and making us grow together, and being gently fed by the moments and stories whe share - a sweet surprise every day! Picture: Cocar Tamoio, from the site "Ă?ndios em Movimento" (www.indiosemmovimento.blogspot.com.br) 7

Bonnie Despain I was introduced to Cowbird by Jack Large, a high school classmate whom I had not seen for 50 years. We were not even friends in our small high school, but an online hello led us to discover many shared interests and a connection was made, literally from one side of the world to the other. We shared some of our own writing, and Jack suggested that I might be interested in Cowbird. A tremendous featherweight in terms of output and writing credentials among the people of Cowbird, I have appreciated the opportunity to participate with and learn from an amazing bunch of writers. The site has given me a reason to write and courage to share. I am in awe of the abilities and energy I see here. I have especially enjoyed the photography and art work accompanying the stories. This has encouraged me to record memories that are associated with places and activities that are important to me and record them in a way that photos alone would not do. In fact, our family has set up a private cooperative blog based on the Cowbird idea where we can store and share our stories. The amazing thing for me has been the tremendous amount of caring and support that has, in reality, made this a community of writers. Collectively, we have shared weddings and breakups, illnesses and deaths, vacations and new grandchildren, struggles of monumental proportions and tiny moments of delight, angry misunderstandings and forgiveness. This very diverse group of people of all ages, from many different countries, and with an incredible spectrum of life experiences has managed to maintain respect for the talents and the humanness that make us interesting. 9

SYNCHRONICITY is… Barbara Shipka …the experience of two or more events that are apparently causally unrelated or unlikely to occur together by chance, yet are experienced as occurring together in a meaningful manner. – Wikipedia Within hours of each other, another Cowbird writer and I posted stories about butterflies. Our stories are not just about butterflies, however. Rather, they are about the same variety of butterfly. And our stories are not just about the same variety of butterfly but they are about that butterfly as messenger and guide. So we could say it's 'just' a coincidence. But I sense it's something much Bigger. Almost from the beginning of my time of writing stories on Cowbird, I've had a number of such experiences. It's one thing to read and story and then sprout a new story from it…sort of in a "That reminds me of..." kind of way. A linear connection. But it's quite another to consider a subject for a story or to have a dream or to take a photo and then to have some version of that subject, that dream, that photo show up on Cowbird within the next day or so. A nonlinear connection. From the beginning it happened too often and to obviously for me not to notice. Thus, I have begun to keep track. So far, my list is in the double digits. Just using this butterfly story as an example, I had never seen this variety of butterfly in my life until the moment I took the photo the day before yesterday… And, until yesterday I had never before encountered the Cowbird writer who posted his story of his experience with the butterfly. Thus, even the NOTICING is an experience of synchronicity. And, in many cases, I 'just happen' to notice. Given the gift of 11

frequency I experience, it makes me wonder how many instances I haven't yet noticed... As I see it, the eye-opening conscious experience is happening via Cowbird. Cowbird is the medium. And Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m ever so grateful for that. However, it is not just ABOUT Cowbird. It's about a gift we're being offered. It's an opportunity to come to better recognize, become familiar with, and live into our quantum nature. Our Oneness. Photos by Barbara Shipka (USA) and Eduardo Orue (Argentina) Revised from a story posted on Cowbird on May 9, 2012.

Susan Sink I first saw a story posted on Facebook friend David Kodeski's page. I have never met David, but we have several mutual friends in Chicago. I had just had three 100-word stories about nuns published in an online magazine. The 100-word stories didn't really fit with my regular blog, but I wanted a place to post them as I wrote them. Cowbird was the perfect place. Few words. A photo. Sometimes I wrote other stories, more personal stories, again in a few words and with a photo. The stories lived on that space and I got to read stories by others. I read stories by people with whom I seem to have nothing in common. I love them and am grateful they share their lives with me. I read stories by two women with whom I felt a deep connection. I feel I am beginning to understand myself as a writer now, as a writer in the world at this time. I have never met any of the people on cowbird, except for the two I recommended join. And yet, I feel like I know them, and I feel known. Isn't that community?

smashingstars Cowbird is alive. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s like the front porch of a lively, thriving neighborhood. A neighborhood where people smile and wave hello and invite you over for some sweet tea or lemonade as you watch the children play. I first came to Cowbird to spark my creativity. I need something to provoke me into writing, since I want to finish some books I am working on. I liked Cowbirdâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s unique format and ease of use. Over time, I came to realize that so many events, experiences or feelings in the lives of others mirrored my own in some way, even though we are all from different worlds. Cowbird is the first site I have participated in that inspired me to really care about it and see it for what it is: a collection of beautiful stories told by amazing people. Are we all amazing? Does everyone have a story inside of us that is remarkable? I don't know. But at Cowbird, that seems to be the case. When I get Cowbird mail and see the faces of people who have read each other's stories, or published their own, or retold mine or others' tales, I get a warm feeling. Like meeting a stranger at a commune or something and knowing that even a stranger is a friend. No other online world has done this for me. Which makes me think that Cowbird is a very special place. Thank you for letting me be a part of it..

Remembering And Reconsidering Kiki Suarez I have read that the one object people first grab - apart from their documents - to take with them once a hurricane, fire, earthquake or other catastrophe strikes, is not their jewelry or other material valuables, but their photo albums. They feel that all their past, the history of their lives, their identity is in there. With these albums they can start a new life, show others, who they once were and where they come from as well as remind themselves of this. Do you remember, how much you can pay for a good photo - album, one bound in leather with acid - free pages? COWBIRD has become my photo - album. COWBIRD is my journal, my diary, my psychotherapy with myself. You my Cowbird â&#x20AC;&#x201C; buddies inspire me with your writings to remember small and often long forgotten moments of my own life like this one: 1. I observe a seagull. She hovers in the air just off our bedroom balcony. She flies against the wind, which nearly always blows in from the ocean and, with its exact velocity. How strong she is! I ponder her art of flying. I spot a shell in her beak. She suddenly drops it. It falls to the beach. The gull immediately flies down and picks it up again. She lifts with the breeze back up to where she had been before. It is as though an invisible elevator is at work. The bird repeats the procedure some ten times. Apparently she hopes the repetitive action will break the shell. The drop, though, is cushioned by the sand. The shell will not break open. A little further away, the beach is rocky. Why doesnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t she drop her cargo there? Perhaps she is too young to understand the different surfaces of sand and 17

rock? Suddenly she flies out over the water, still holding the shell. I see how she lets it drop into the ocean. Is this an act of mercy towards her unbreakable catch? Or is it an act born out of utter frustration, such as when I do not like one of my paintings and I burn it in the fireplace? 2. Some other storyteller mentions SUPERSTITION and I suddenly remember this: My baby - son fell sick with a very high fever. I wanted to take him to the pediatrician, but a friend of my husband’s was visiting and stopped me. “Don’t go to the doctor, Kiki! My sister is a natural healer. I am sure the boy just has the evil eye.” Fear of el mal de ojo (the evil eye) continues to terrorize wide parts of Chiapanecan society. Babies and toddlers are thought to be extremely susceptible to el mal de ojo. The only protection against it, believers say, is a piece of amber. Almost every Chiapanecan baby or toddler has a little piece of this petrified resin hung around his neck or wrist. Not surprisingly, amber is abundantly mined in Chiapas. People have begun, however, to replace this natural talisman with far cheaper, artificial amber — simple plastic. Folk wisdom has quickly adapted, though, and has declared the plastic to be equally effective. Besides protecting her baby from the evil eye, a young mother will also hide her infant from the eyes of others. Chiapanecan babies are frequently covered with layers of blankets even in the hottest weather. People believe that if another woman looks at the infant with even an inkling of envidia (envy) the evil eye will attack the baby and perhaps even kill him. If a child does fall sick, a healer is the only person who can divine the cause. The parents must provide the healer with big 18

bushels of basil and a raw egg. The curandero prays and cleans the house of all evil energy by shaking the basil throughout the patient’s room and then, throughout the whole house. The raw egg is passed over the body of the sick person and then broken into a glass half full of water. The healer determines the cause of the sickness by the way the egg and the water mix. Prior to our son’s high fever, I had witnessed several of these ceremonies. Not once had the curandero declared that the evil eye was not the reason for illness. I was worried and skeptical but I did not want to close myself off to the culture and possibilities of my new world, so I agreed. Our friend’s sister arrived. I had imagined she would be an elderly Indian, but she was rather young and looked like any other modern Mexican housewife. She shook the basil around the house and passed the egg over my child’s feverish body. Finally, the egg was broken into the water. As I had expected, her diagnosis was el mal de ojo. I had not protected my little boy according to local dictates. He wore no amber. I never hid him from the eyes of strangers when I took walks with him. Instead, I carried him all over town slung in a shawl. He would sit on my waist and from his perch giggle and laugh with one and all. I’m sure the healer thought I had been a very irresponsible mother. She did not ask me to sacrifice a hen for a cure as an Indian shaman would have done. Instead she brought several kilograms of healing clay to the house and ordered me to stick our son into it three times a day. She would not accept any money for her service. To some extent the prescribed treatment was effective. Whenever I stuck Julian into the pleasantly cool clay, his fever went down. As soon as I took him out, though, his fever went up again. After ten days I did not 19

have the heart to continue and I called the pediatrician. He diagnosed a severe tonsil infection and prescribed antibiotics. After three days Julian was healthy and happy again. 3. Our daily constant encounters in COWBIRD make me grateful for the miracle that life is and showers upon us beside all the pain and suffering: One day Juanito went to a psychotherapist. His mother brought him there. He was ten years old and bald from the chemotherapy for his leukemia. Their visit had been urged by an aunt who had convinced them they should look for some help. Aside from his baldness, he seemed fine -- alive, and quite healthy. He looked at the therapist with huge, very curious eyes and explained that he liked to paint, and so the therapist sat down and painted with him. He created a colorful picture of a beautiful garden in which his mother stood beside his father, his sisters, the dog, the cat and some rabbits. Each gazed sadly up into a sunny sky where Juanito floated happily. This young boy, the therapist concluded, did not fear death. Indeed, he told her the only thing he feared was the chemo, which he received every Monday. Juanito believed it did not offer a cure; he did not want to go anymore. The therapist showed him some relaxation and imagination exercises which she hoped might help him relax during his next chemo sessions. Then the therapist showed his drawing to his mother. She immediately understood: Juanito wanted to be released. His mother cried, then she shook her head, â&#x20AC;&#x153;I cannot let him go!â&#x20AC;? She did not return for another therapy session, but sometimes Juanito stopped by and painted with the therapist. 20

Two years later the aunt begged the psychotherapist to please visit Juanito and his mom at home. Juanito still was begging his mother to let him go, to stop the chemo treatments. He was fat now, swollen. The cancer had gone to his brain. It was difficult for Juanito to walk. His biggest pleasure was when his mom pushed him in a wheelchair through the nearby park. To try to convince him to continue with the chemotherapy, Juanito’s mother was threatening to halt their park trips unless he agreed to treatment. Only a few days before, Juanito had attempted suicide with a kitchen bread knife. His mother received the therapist with tea and cookies. Juanito was lying motionless on the sofa, covered with a blanket though one hand dangled free. The therapist took it and told him that she was there beside him. There was no reaction. Then she asked him to squeeze her hand if he heard her. She felt a pressure and remained with her hand in his. She understood: he was trying to pretend that he was dead already or will himself to die. The therapist looked at Juanito`s mother. For many years now her life had been focused on Juanito and his treatment. This was augmented with her fierce, continual prayers that he might be spared. To concentrate on her son, she had forsaken time with her husband and daughters. Now it seemed that her sacrifice had been in vain. Finally, the therapist gently suggested that perhaps it was time to stop the chemo. Juanito`s mother stared at the therapist, the tears welling in her eyes. She bit her lip until the tears subsided. “I am praying more fervently than ever. God will bring about a miracle. I know it!” The therapist felt Juanito’s hand move inside hers and knew that he was listening. 21

There was a long silence. “Maybe,” the therapist continued softly, “being with your child when he dies peacefully would also be a miracle?” That hit the mother. You could see it in her face; she understood fully. Again she pushed the tears back; again she bit her lips ”No!” she shouted with a shake of her head. “Juanito will be cured!” A couple of months later, the therapist drove by to see how Juanito was doing. A maid opened the door. “Juanito died yesterday in the hospital during his chemotherapy treatment. He died in his mother’s arms. Before they left for the hospital he had told me he hoped God would be merciful and fetch him." God finally had. The therapist, of course, was I. 4. Thank you for Cowbird, thank you all for helping me remembering my own life reading about yours!

Cowbird’s Gift Katie Worden “The trick is to find out what we know, challenge what we know, own what we know, and then give it away in language...We must be able to transform the raw material of our experience into language that reaches beyond the self-involvement of that person standing at the window, so that what we know becomes shared knowledge, part of who we are as individuals, a culture, a species.” This quote by Kim Addonizio and Doreen Laux sums up the essence of Cowbird for me. My life as been enriched as a person, as a human being and as a global citizen. As a writer I have found generous, gifted mentors that have validated, encouraged and stretched my abilities. And due to the vision and tireless efforts of Jonathan, Annie and David and Team Cowbird, I’ve seen that dreams not only become reality but that they change the world in ways we cannot begin to imagine. Cowbird has given the virtual world a soul and I’m deeply grateful to be a part of it as the experience ripples through future generations.

Connie Assadi Dearest One, As you approach a very special birthday I write you this letter to let you know how I feel about you. You have touched my life in so many ways in the very short time since I met you. Sometimes it seems as though I have known you all my life and when I look at the calendar and realize it has been less than a year I am astonished. I must say when I first saw you my jaw dropped. You are, of course, quite beautiful and there is always that. But I also sensed something important about you, something I could not quite put my finger on, something timeless and vital and so, so... compelling. I realized when I found you that I had unknowingly been on a quest to find you all along. You satisfied a hunger I had not known I felt and filled a void I was unaware of until your sweet presence saturated its depths. You introduced me to all your wonderful friends and now so many of them have become my friends as well-- artists and photographers, musicians and poets, storytellers and wordsmiths. They are great treasures to me and I love them all dearly. Your world, dear one, is primordial and exotic and radical, yet tender and fragile at the same time. I love being in its atmosphere. Your openness and inclusiveness make you wildly sexy, and even though I know it means you cannot be as attentive as I might like because there are so many others requiring your time and ministrations, I love that about you. I love everything about you, dear Cowbird. Yes, everything, even the unpredictability. Probably most especially that. Though so much swirls all around you and through you, you remain still, silent, enigmatic. Where did you come from before you were born and where are you going? Where are you taking us? Perhaps I will never know. But I know this-- because of you I now live a fiercer life. I look, live and love deeper, ever deeper. How can I ever thank you enough for this priceless gift? With love and gratitude, Connie

Ellie Challis Cowbird is a flicker, a flame, alive inside my brain. It has been an exciting platform for my stories, my thoughts, my prose. Cowbird is a warm touch in a rough world. It allows pen to paper, even though the pen is the keyboard, the paper an iPad. Every story I have written has given me the freedom to express all my emotions, however far they may have been from my heart. Only on cowbird can you truly be yourself and see clearly those around you. I love you cowbird, I do.

Kathy Weinberg Step right this way! The show is about to begin! Whatever you bring to it, that is what it will be! Isn't that the greatest show on Earth? Everyday is a birthday, each story a celebration. What will it be? Comedy Sir? Tragedy Madame? Young and old, all are welcome. Each story, every day is a tribute to Cowbird. But especially, today. ** ** ** Written for Cowbird's first birthday, December 2012.

Pat Shekhar Why am I here? Seems like a trick question doesn't it? Well let me try to answer it in part. The part that relates to Cowbird. I joined Cowbird at first, out of curiosity. And then I started liking it. It grew on me. I was thrilled when a few people started loving my stories. Well, who wouldn't? And then I began to get cold feet. Did they really like my stories, or were they just being nice, like in 'you scratch my back and I'll scratch yours' ? And how do I keep this up, along with my other commitments? Where will all this lead to? Is this like an open diary where anyone can peek in? where I can post my angst, fear and foibles? There is actually so much I can write about. You could do some armchair travelling while I take you on a magical tour of my vast country with its rich and diverse mix of culture, religions, food, weather, flora, fauna and tastes and habits that vary from region to region and from community to community. Actually I honestly wish I could follow more cowbirders and read more stories but then I won't have the time to write. Every now and then someone writes something that strikes a chord in me and I want to reply or sprout a story but then there's so much more reading to do, so much more to love. Alex, you asked if I could post just one story a day? It would be really great if I could do that but my fear is that the quality of writing may not be consistent and then maybe you and the others would stop loving me. And that's why I don't post so regularly. Cowbird has rekindled that spark of creativity within me. I feel like a co-creator of a joyous learning experience - even when the stories are about longing and despair. All of us are expressing ourselves in various ways with our tales of hope, anguish and courage. I watch your sparks turn into a flame and that encourages me to stoke my own fire. 31

Richard Keeling I came to you late, prodded by my Montana friend Martha. I was beguiled - still am - by your floating photographs and simple appearance. You provided the bones, the perfect bones, for me to flesh out my stories. No matter how coherent or incoherent. Always personal, always intimate, always friendly. I'm glad I found you, Cowbird.

Leilani Holmes Stories are powerful. Dark times when my mother was dying of a swift and vicious cancer and my life had crumbled. I was battling suicidal depression. Having forced myself to turn back from the initial trip out to end my life and turning to the help I knew was there for me if I could just bear it, I was left to hold on somehow until my mood turned around. It took far longer than I could possibly have imagined. Eight months in total before I woke up without immediately thinking to kill myself. I never knew I, who was so strong, could smack so hard into a wall of despair. I knew if I just held on that the mood would change eventually. It wasn’t the sadness or the mental pain that really got to me, it was the physical symptoms caused by the bleakness that I couldn't bear. I shook, my body wracked with shudders, I couldn’t eat or taste food, I couldn’t sleep. I was numb. I wasn't in my right mind and I knew it but couldn't do anything about it. Antidepressants helped me stabilise. I was treated by a crisis team in my own home to help me remain independent. My extended family was there for me constantly. I sucked up all the help I could get and continued to be there for my mother. But I didn’t want any of it really. I didn’t have energy or enthusiasm for the world anymore. Something vital had switched off. I’d subscribed to the latest project of an artist I liked. And every day his emails came into my inbox. A photograph with a written thought often more beautiful than the dreamlike image. In the first weeks as I lay stupefied in my bed, my iPhone the only conduit to something outside my own misery, I would hold on for the arrival of those emails. Often they were the only vibrant thing I saw for weeks on end as I sat in hospital rooms powerless to help my dying mother or myself. They were like a drug, small doses of life in my world of death. And they worked powerful medicine, seeping into my soul, 35 completing the broken bits of me.

After my mother died, I got my own camera and began to venture out and freeze moments of my life, examining them later for the story they held. Through the images I took I began to see the world again, only this time it was my immediate world and I was there walking in the stories, framing the bits I liked and disliked, making sense of them later. Eventually I came out from behind my lens and began to engage in person. I was a newborn story fawn, stumbling to get my legs underneath me so that I could remain alive and thrive. My filmmaker friends stepped in then and got me out on their shoots and along to workshops and meetings. Reminded me what I was and showed me what I could still do. And the stories of Jonathan Harris came daily.

Séan Poole I stayed far away from writer’s groups and workshops long before the Internet came along. I didn’t fancy the various clichéd atmospheres that seemed to pervade the few groups that I did initially explore in my high school and college days. I learned more about the craft from my obsessive reading of writers as diverse as Mark Twain, Emmett Grogan and Kurt Vonnegut and by attending Ray Bradbury’s library lectures than I did in any college course on creative writing. When I left broadcasting to work primarily at Renaissance Festivals, the Dirt Circuit, it was because I had discovered a niche and an audience for the wacky and sometimes seemingly outmoded poetry and comedy I was inclined to write. I’ve been invited to join a few different writers sites online. I generally decline. I did accept one invitation but soon tired of it. The feedback tended to be superficial and pretentious. I was mightily unimpressed. I initially accepted my Cowbird invitation but waited months before I began to post and contribute. There’s a grassroots, ‘down in the trenches of life’ sort of aura glistening around the writers and the work I’ve discovered here that fascinates me, intrigues me, keeps me coming back to read more.

Tracy Something good came into my life when my husband Leonardo told me about Cowbird, the high quality of the stories and pictures from all around the world. It was mid of February and I took some days more to request an invitation and join this nice community with a first story. So I did my first flight over Cowbirdland, a bit timidly but soon feeling welcome! Cowbird appeared to me when I needed conversation to feel able to share something of my life. It also have brought to me a sense of belonging to a tribe. I would describe Cowbird's place as a beautiful cockade with each writer as a colorful feather. I like so much the idea of Cowbird as a sagamore, a cacique calling everyone to speak one's own voice in the specific tone and accent, the beaks of the birds singing so dodecaphonic sometimes, while Earth spins our huge nest. Ruminant birds, we are, telling, watching, asking, waiting, thinking of every flavor and every colorful sound flowing from the wings, Every feather becomes a "saga more" in a cockade, quivering in the winds to spread vivid colors and tickles like words through a seashell reaching the ear. I wish to be back soon to the nest, my place to watch how the planet sends and receives messages from the whole tribe. Its the first birthday of our plumy cow hostess. The future is mysterious for us under the protection of this magnetic creature, like the adventure of joining it for the first time and talking to it. I hope it goes on in the happiness of feeding our souls and making us grow together, and being gently fed by the moments and stories whe share - a sweet surprise every day! Picture: Cocar Tamoio, from the site "Ă?ndios em Movimento" (www.indiosemmovimento.blogspot.com.br)

Kathleen Cox-Turteltaub

You wonderful cowbirds,

You¹ve got my back You¹ve got my front You¹ve got my insides You¹ve got my outs

You¹ve seen my soul You¹ve seen my fears You¹ve seen my heartache You¹ve seen my tears

With all you¹ve seen With all you¹ve heard With all you¹ve given With all you¹ve shared

To all of you from inside out thank you for your love and congratulations on a joyous first year. 41

Tiana Gorham Birthdays. Yours, mine, and ours. December 8. Sagittarius, the Archer. Shoot straight, straight shooters. Traditional Sagittarius Traits Optimistic and freedom-loving Jovial and good-humored Honest and straightforward Intellectual and philosophical On the dark side.... Blindly optimistic and careless Irresponsible and superficial Tactless and restless I got to Cowbird through stalking the photographic work of my idol: Aaron Huey. I had contributed to the Honor the Treaties project through his Pine Ridge photos. I saw this sight and wanted to belong. Part of me always wants to belong... I wrote my first Cowbird story on 6 February 2011. Since, I have told 284 stories, made 4 collections, and been moved by 10,091 stories to click "Love." I met a fellow storyteller, G (Renee) when she passed through Boston on her way cross-country, and I have made numerous connections, including some odd ones in the 43

middle of the night by radio waves (Barbara!). I've made connections with 12 steppers, Katie and Pete, and fellow Massachusites, Jean-Claude. It's been quite a flight! Now I look for the stories behind the pictures and look for the point of view that touches me, moves me. The stories that tell part of my story or take me to new places I've never imagined. Cowbird is the travel agent who puts me on a plane, a boat, a horse, a donkey or a bicycle and takes me wherever it wants to... and I go willingly. Happy Bird-Day to Cowbird. Happy Bird-Day to you!

Denise Fowler Happy birthday Cowbird (from Australia) I discovered Cowbird when I was travelling in Canada. I was already blogging but Cowbird offered an opportunity to be more creative and reflective. Here was a world of ordinary people telling wonderful stories which impacted on me from the beginning. When I arrived back home it was a way of staying connected and sharing experiences. It helped me feel like I was still travelling. Still learning something new every day from around the world. I love hearing about the autumn colours, closing down the summer house, the long dark cold evenings, while summer appears on our side of the world. I love hearing the stories of family, and nature, and even grief, how people cope with the dying of their parents, their friendsâ&#x20AC;ŚI love seeing the beautiful photographs, the art, the poems. We all need a Cowbird to remind us that we are all the same wherever we are and whatever language we speak. We are also different and that is the beauty.

Connie Dunn Happy Birthday Cowbirders, 2012 When I joined Cowbird in June, I was in for a surprise. I joined as part of my commitment to ACE (Agents of Conscious Evolution) to evolve myself and perhaps be a butterfly that flutters her wings and has a bit of influence on our Earth journey. I was an apprentice in the lineage of Don Miguel Ruiz for 10 years and had learned to give up my stories based on fear that didn't serve me and change/reframe them to stories based on love. When we told our story it was with gratitude and love and there was a teaching within the story. And now I was at a place that told stories, and I didn't have a clue what to do next. I had never considered myself a writer or story teller, I'm a visual artist, so much of my writing was a rambling of my evolving as I put my thoughts together about what was happening in the world. I was welcomed with open arms by Cowbirders and got some loves, which greatly encouraged me to believe that perhaps I did have something to write about and I felt at home. I love Cowbird, with its quirks and bugs, as it makes it more 'human' and it is evolving along with all of us. What better place could I find than here with my Cowbird family, to flutter my wings and fly to the sky? Happy Birthday Cowbirders. Written for Cowbird's first birthday, December 2012. 47

THE COWBIRD WAY Susan Perly February, 2012: I sat in my work room, looking at my justcompleted novel manuscript, a copy of which was in the hands of a publisher. I was surrounded by tall piles of photographs I had never gone through, old prints and negatives; sketchbooks. The publisher said I’d have to wait months before he got back to me. What to do, now? I started sketching again. I began painting on my computer. I was on a quest, casting around for something; I didn’t know what it was. On Monday February 20, 2012, in the business section of the New York Times, I saw a small article in the Media Decoder column. It was an interview with Jonathan Harris. He spoke about his new Website, which he called “…soul food, not fast food.” He said the idea was to take a photograph and marry it with a personal story. The site was called Cowbird. I liked the name, Cowbird, sprightly, not pretentious. I loved the concept of the photograph/story union. The visual aspect was key, to me. I liked that you had to apply, to put in some effort to be part of a site. I had never been part of any social media. I applied the next day, without ever looking at the site. That’s me. On Monday February 27, I got an email from Annie Correal, inviting me to join Cowbird. The next day, February 28, I posted my first Cowbird story, “Peeping and Sleeping,” with one of my photographs. Chance met appointment. Opportunity met preparedness. I always read the business section, there was Cowbird. Cowbird beckoned; I had photographs aplenty; my hand was sketching; I wanted to write in a shorter form after a long time writing a book. The Cow mooed. The Bird chirped. I was ready. I jumped. 49

Nine months later, I have 204 stories to my nameâ&#x20AC;Ś. Alleys, oceans, war, light, secrets, books, rivers, marriage, photography, deserts, artâ&#x20AC;Ś. Part of my personal discipline has been to use only my own photographs or artwork with the stories. This has made Cowbird even more satisfying to me: the creative pressure, the decision-making, to match words and images. I love it. My creative soul is now bound up with the Cowbird DNA. (Photo by Susan, January 2012, nine walkways for the nine months I have been a Cowbird contributor.) You can find me at Cowbird.com/author/susan-perly

Happy Birthday Cowbird In a swirl of re-tell it on the mountain, in a twirl of who-do-you-love, whirl of the cowbird is tangible, feel it waving & curling my shore. I’m all smiles for this family, clan of the kindred heart, no love is something hardening, lots of it melting pot glue. Instead-of-me-seeing-me in my in-box ‘so-and-so loved your thing’, folk are re-telling one another, echoes right round the globe. This is my cowbird tribute, thank you to one & all speaking from your private place, sharing the whole wide world. David Sullivan

Hawkeye Pete Egan B A storyteller needs an audience. I am the son of a storyteller. I was one of his most encouraging audience members, and my interest and encouragement helped inspire him to write many of his stories and to compile a book of stories. His written stories then encouraged me to begin writing many of my stories. However, I needed an audience for inspiration and encouragement. My writing came in fits and starts. I would write my stories for awhile, then I would lose my energy and inspiration to write, without regular encouragement and inspiration. My executive coach told me about Cowbird. I applied, and waited a few days. I was accepted, and began to post my stories. I was immediately inspired and encouraged by people loving my stories and joining my audience - I posted 18 stories in my first 3 days on Cowbird. I realized how many good storytellers there were here, and began to read other stories, and join other audiences. I post, on average, 2 stories and read 40 per day. I never run out of energy or inspiration. This has been one of the busiest years of my life, yet I find time for Cowbird each day. The global connections with great storytellers is exhilarating to me, inspiring me daily. I’ve also begun to post my father’s stories on Cowbird. I post his stories verbatim, in his name, finding pictures to go with them. Broadening his “audience”, and see the Retells his stories inspire has reconnected me to him in a very special way, and being his “ghost writer” has helped me to improve my own storytelling craft. Sharing the last months of Mom’s life through stories carried me through a most difficult and poignant time of life. Cowbird is everything to me. It’s a family affair. 53

Eirik V Johnsen Early in December last year I heard about Cowbird for the first time. I asked Jonathan for an invite and was invited in on the 17th and told my first story (ÂŤThe tears of ChristÂť) a few days later. 220 stories later I celebrate my first cowbird anniversary, and am looking forward to another exiting year. Cowbird has become a creative outlet and a gentle, listening and learning environment for my own storytelling. My bias will always be images, but the storytelling requirement implicit in Cowbird has forced me to work more deliberately with text. This has been great for my own projects at http://www.mentalpropell.com as well. Thank you Jonathan, Annie and Dave for this wonderful opportunity. http://cowbird.com/eirik-v-johnsen

Toddling Along Geoff Dutton In the first year, babies learn to focus their vision, reach out, explore, and learn about the things that are around them. Cognitive, or brain development means the learning process of memory, language, thinking, and reasoning. Learning language is more than making sounds ("babble"), or saying "ma-ma"and "da-da". Listening, understanding, and knowing the names of people and things are all a part of language development. The way parents cuddle, hold, and play with their baby will set the basis for how they will interact with them and others ~ Child Development, Centers for Disease Control and Prevention Along with Cowbird itself, we cowbird authors are that baby. I guess that makes the proprietors our parents. They are nice parents to have, for sure, much nicer than, say, Mark Zuckerberg or Steve Jobs. Our parents don't give us a lot of rules or distract us with shiny toys as we learn to express ourselves. They don't sit us in singing circles, make us finger paint or give us puzzles to solve. We are expected to play nice and if we get nasty, cuss or stage tantrums, we hear about it. We're a pretty big family. There are more than 20,000 of us tots here. Thank goodness we don't all babble at once. It turns out that the average Cowbird author has two stories. How could that be? I have more than 100. A few of us have a thousand. That means that most have published zero or one story. Kids, where are you? I came to Cowbird last spring directly after hearing Dave Lauer speaking on public radio, explaining he had quit his job as a Wall Street "quant" to 57

become part of Cowbird. Dave took that amazing leap because he had an infant daughter whom he wanted to be able to tell what he did for a living without feeling ashamed that it was all about making big money. What I heard moved me to explore Cowbird and take up writing there. Up until then, I wrote occasional fiction, memoirs and posted articles on a blogs. Since coming to Cowbird, I have written more in the past six months than I did in the previous six years. Like Dave, I have a daughter I wanted to inspire. She was already writing a lot, and had published a book at age nine. It didn't take her long to become obsessed with making and reading Cowbird stories. I am very, very grateful to all the cowbirders who have noticed her work and encouraged her strong, clear voice. Her audience has surpassed mine, which I think is terrific. Cowbird has really helped her to engage with the world, make sense out of it, and stoked her compassion and creativity. Even if that were all Cowbird has done for me, it would be enough.

Nancy LaTurner Happy Birthday, Cowbird. My, how you've grown! In your first year of life, you have brought us together, we citizens of the world, to form a new community of creativity where we can share our insights, joys, pains, triumphs, and wisdom. We represent many nations, ideologies, religions, and lifestyles. In Cowbird we find a haven for fulfilling our creative urges and expressing our most compelling thoughts. We meet and grow to love those who are on the same wavelength. We encounter and learn to respect those who march to the beat of a different drummer. Cowbird welcomes all of us and encourages open expression. Even mixed metaphors are allowed! As long as we respect the rules of fairness, Cowbird provides a lush pasture for the nourishment of writers, artists, photographers, and musicians -- a delicious feast for storytellers dedicated to personal truth and the exchange of ideas. For me, Cowbird provides a lifeline to the rest of the world. My husband and I spent over twenty years living in eight countries and traveling to many others. Since retiring to New Mexico, USA, I've missed the stimulation of daily contact with a greater variety of cultures and viewpoints. Cowbird invigorates me by restoring a connection that I thought might be gone forever. Congratulations, Cowbird. I'm happy to join the community that takes great pride in your accomplishments and wishes you many more wonderful years.

Lynn Fux This picture represents for me exactly the space Cowbird has begun to occupy in my life. A magical space, quiet, content and warm and very very safe, delicious and just waiting to be explored. I am a newbie to Cowbird, just a few short weeks but I feel as if I have lived and loved and cried and laughed in this family forever. I actually came by Cowbird via a webzine called NETTED BY THE WEBBYS. It was advertised but when I checked it out I received a message saying site closed until Monday. Usually this would have just put me off and I would have forgotten it. Instead I book marked it and remembered to check it out the following Monday. I have no idea what pulled me but I tested my wings and in a few days learned to feel comfortable flying. Best of all ,not the stories, artwork or even the photography, but the people, the friendship the love. I think Cowbird was something the 60's would have been proud of inadvertently sprouting. Love to all and Happiest of Birthdays Cowbird/ers Picture from a friend: Didier Trolle, Isle of Skye

Diane Jardel The only outlet I had before I was introduced to Cowbird by Kate, my sons girlfriend, was posting my poems on two LinkedIn strands. How wonderful it was to be able to combine two passions, photography and storytelling on a site that shared my own principles, and was so easy to use. I met some wonderful people. In the early days I corresponded with Annie if there were any glitches on the site; and I was very grateful when she chose my first loves story, about meeting my husband as a Cowbird Daily Story. For the past nine months I have been posting photos and stories about my family, as well as poems and observations about my wonder of the world. I have felt the freedom of talking about my life to a group of open minded people who accept that everyone is equal, no matter what their background is. I linked many of my stories to the â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Outsidersâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; saga but now on Cowbird I do not feel discriminated against. Publishing my stories on a Cowbird, such a beautiful and professional site, has caused me to pause and retell my family history sifting out the negativity that in the past has weighted me down. Now I can look back and write my story in a positive frame of mind. I also appreciate all the wonderful gifted people, with whom I have connected through their stories as well as on our Facebook page. This year has been a gift for me. It has been a flowering of my true creativity. Thank you Cowbird for enabling me to do this. 63

johnnie b. baker I used to write because that was what I did, ever since I was five years old and learned how to form sentences. Short stories, poetry, unfinished novels. Then I started grad school, and I wrote more than ever, on Hitler, on Islam, on Russia, on history. A couple hundred pages on Azerbaijan from 1923-33. But then grad school ended, and I stopped writing. Cut to February 2012 and getting dumped by a girl. I decided it was time to start writing again, not academically, but for myself, for artistic expression. But I say I’m going to do a lot of things and never follow through. Then someone I know posted a link on facebook to a story she wrote. I clicked and was taken to Cowbird. The (old) format called to me and inspired me, and I started to write. Not poetry, not fiction, not history, but stories from my life. I began writing about old girlfriends (coming off another break up after all) but quickly I moved onto other subjects. What I realized as I wrote about past experiences was that Cowbird had become my therapist’s office, where I could confess all sorts of things, the good, the bad, and the ugly, both major and minor. It made me reflect on my life and my experiences and choices, and to come to a better understanding of myself. And yeah, I’m pretty screwed up, but I do have some redeeming qualities. Life being what it is, there are times I have lived on Cowbird, and there are times I have lived somewhere else. But I always come back, like I’m returning home. Cowbird forces me to think, forces me to write, forces me to create. Even when I have stepped away, I see Cowbird on my bookmark toolbar and it reminds me – Write! Think! Grow! Thank you Jonathan, Dave and Annie for giving me a place to create. Thank you Shannon, Peter, Robyn, John S., Katie, Kristen, Hawkeye, Tiana, the Susans, Alina, Becky, Margot, Shane, Angie, Richard, Jari and all the others that I have loved and have loved me but I can’t list right now (this has devolved into an Oscars speech), and Alaska for bringing Cowbird into my life. Photo of me by Nick Ianelli.

Cowbird, hallowed ground where listening is intensified. I listen therefore I am. Jean-Claude