The swallows….

Yesterday was the feast day of St. Joseph the Worker. A little research led me to the fact that it wasn’t until 1955 that Pius the XII declared March 19 his feast day. Hmmm, right smack dab in the middle of the twentieth century. How about that!

Besides fond memories of Capistrano in March (usually cold, well cold to a southern Californian)   I always thought of this as my dad’s feast day. There is a Saint James, the Apostle. His feast day is in July. But Mom always said this was dad’s. I think it was to drill into our adorable little heads that it was dad’s work that brought us all that we had. His dedication to the ethic of providing for his family was important, this was a way, as catholics we could honor dad. As a matter of fact when dad retired, none of us had a clue what he was going to do, until he told us he was going to fish. We were amazed. We had never seen dad fish, heard him talk about fishing, zip, nada, nothing.

And then he told us that as a child, his grandfather taught him to tie flies, wrap a rod and then go fishing in one of the lakes near Scranton PA. And that’s exactly what he did. He went to fishing camps in New England and in Northern CA.  He made his own pole rest so he could wrap a rod. Used the down from a duck I shot in the bay off Provincetown to make flies. He was, as always, meticulous, exact, tidy and patient.

When I was young the swallows returning to Capistrano was considered a miracle in honor of St. Joseph. They probably have a very scientific explanation for it now! Me? I prefer to think of it as a miracle–one that continually reminds me of my dad and how incredible he was!

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