When our car sped across the interstate, the scenery in Pennsylvania was in a severe winter atmosphere. Although it is out of season, I still can't erase the bluebird from my mind.

Just three weeks ago at Christmas, my father gave me a bird box he made. He has a special affection for those brightly colored animals, and he eagerly waits for their return every spring. Now I think, will he see another one?

This is a heart attack. This is the third time that my father has been ill.

When I arrived at the hospital at two o'clock in the morning, my family stood by his bed, and he was sometimes awake and sometimes unconscious.

Once, he looked up at his mother sitting by the bed holding his hand. "They want me to let go," he said, "but I can't. I don't want to. "

Mother patted his arm and murmured, "Grab me."

The next morning, the cardiologist waited for us in the waiting room. "He is still fighting," said the doctor. "I have never seen such a strong man."

When I left home thirty years ago, my youngest brother was only five years old. The relationship between our brothers and sisters is strained by distance and their respective obligations to their families. But dad needs his children now, so we stayed in the hospital. During the long wait, we recalled those years at home.

Dad is a miner and has never had a good day. He and his mother raised six children. At that time, a coal miner earned 25 cents for digging a ton of coal, but he had to load 9 tons every day. Even now, I believe we don't know most of the sacrifices they made for us.

I think of my father's hard-shell hat, and the carbonized lamp on the hat reveals a thick layer of coal ash. Dad's dark face and gray-green eyes are as big and smart as an owl. When talking, those eyes often glow when they touch your eyes because of pranks.

Every night when he comes home, he hurriedly takes a cross saw or pulls out a hammer. Dad can cut a walnut on his lathe and skillfully make a beautiful salad bowl for his mother. He can make a cherry wood table with a folded face and a tightly sewn drawer, just as he can make a fishing line threading machine with an old ballpoint pen.

Dad bought an ordinary two-story house from a coal company and immediately began to decorate it. This is the first house on the mountain with indoor toilet and hot water. He spent a summer digging up the foundation and installing a coal-fired blast furnace. We children will never shiver in the bedroom on a cold winter morning again.

We all like to watch him work. When dad needs something, we run to get it.

Dad brings the spirit of skillful craftsman to every job, hoping that Liuzi will have the same spirit. Every job needs to be the ultimate. Every tool has its own name. These are his principles, and we all live by them like dad.

Sitting in the waiting room of the hospital, I recalled an afternoon when my father was in the workshop a few years ago. He had retired at that time, but he had been making beautiful furniture. As a volunteer naturalist, I can't wait to tell him that Bluebird needs help.

When early settlers cut down forests to build farms, I explained that bluebirds multiplied and built nests on fence posts and fruit trees. But their habitat is disappearing, and now birds need bird boxes.

Dad listened to me, and his hand was gently rubbed on an oak board with fine-grained sandpaper. I asked him if he wanted to make a box. He said he would think about it.

A few weeks later, he invited me to his studio. There are three exquisite boxes made for bluebird on the workbench. "Do you think those birds will like it?" He asked.

"Very fond of me," I replied, hugging him tightly. Dad picked up those boxes. The next spring, Bluebird built a nest in his yard. He felt ecstatic.

Dad gradually became an expert on those birds. He often said that Bluebird is a sign of hope and victory, and is famous for his loyalty to his family. A pair of bluebirds can give birth to two or three nests every year, and the early bird can sometimes help feed the late bird.

After his illness, the arrival of the child must cheer his father up, because he gradually became strong and left the hospital on Valentine's Day. When I visited my parents at the end of March, I noticed that he stayed longer and longer in front of those windows facing the backyard. I know what he wants to see. Then one day, a bright color hovered around the nearest bird box.

"Oh, it's time for those naughty boys to appear?" Dad said.

A brilliant blue bird with blue head, blue back, blue wings and blue tail sings a courtship song with passion. We call him "caruso", which is the name of an Italian tenor. A female bluebird flew by, but didn't ask for a bird box. Caruso found another one in the field under the yard. It hovered over the new bird box and sang enthusiastically. The mother bluebird stays high in a distant place.

As the love story unfolds, Dad walks more and more frequently every day. I can see that his thin body has regained its strength.

One day, caruso got into a fight with an opponent to attract the attention of the mother bird. Later, this mother bird and another mother bird fought even harder. After that, the mother bluebird resumed her cocky gait, while caruso continued to sing charming reserved programs.

Suddenly, on a bright morning, caruso's courtship costume was reflected in the sky. The mother bluebird flew back to the nearest bird box and checked it thoroughly. Caruso sang around, and the mother bluebird finally accepted caruso.

Soon after, the mother bluebird began to lay eggs, one a day, until six were born. When hatching, caruso flapped his wings outside to protect the bird box.

Dad is good enough to go out now, but he still can't go to the backyard. He asked us to check the bird box once a day. When we came back, he asked, "Is it in the nest? Have those eggs hatched? Did you see the bird that had to show off? What's it called? "

"caruso, dad," I replied, "it has a name, you know." Dad's sly smile reappeared in his eyes.

When those eggs hatched, we marveled at the great efforts made by caruso and his companions to catch bugs and feed their babies. Their babies must be fed every 20 minutes.

At the end of May, the birds left the bird box. At this time, dad can go outside to see other robins in the field. My mother and I often look at him from the kitchen window. "He gave those bluebirds something," she whispered one day. "Now they sent it back."