In a Virginia downpour, I pass a fence lined with hundreds of wooden bird houses, all different and meticulously made. At the driveway, there's a sign scrawled, 'Antiques.' An older middle-aged man in a thin, sleeveless, plaid button-down shirt comes out of the old house beside it, shaking his rain boots before slipping them on.
"My daddy started the bird houses, and then he started takin' me out. Drive around in the woods, find some old house already on the ground and take the wood. Then go find a picture of the place, and model it up. See that one? Good history, there. Out of all the deputy sheriffs, the only one killed lived there up the top of the store. Died there, too.
"I've always loved the old buildings. My aunt left me a barn and land. I'm doin' my dream that I had ever since I was a teenager - turnin' that old barn into a house. And Food Lion's payin' for it. You know those stores? I bought stock cheap after the whole rotten meat thing in '92. When it was found out they were pouring bleach on old chicken breasts to make 'em smell okay? I bought in. Waited and sweated, and the stock started movin' up.
"I'm decoratin' now. Lined an old 1820 Indian canoe with zinc for my bathtub. Lined a Hoghead tobacco barrel, and it's my hot tub. Got two guest rooms downstairs, one with a bed that's an old carriage, with a custom-built mattress to fit. It's got a lever that you pull and it spills you out in the morning.
He grins. "And my couch is an old Cadillac hearse. Got a twelve foot 1910 mahogany flattop coffin for my coffee table. Must've been a big man. Coffin's also good for quick clean ups. I'm a pig. My aunt surprised me once but I shoved all my junk and loose clothes inside it before she got to the door. Knew she wouldn't think of lifting its lid.
"Mama hates it, refuses to step foot inside. But I slept in the hearse and it slept good! So did the coffin! I told Mama and she said, 'Well, maybe you'll be buried in it!' She says coffins are made for one thing and one thing only. She's old-time. I want to live there, but Mama's sick and hates the thought. I teased her and said that one day I'd say 'We're goin' to Lynchburg!,' but take her to the barn. She told me, 'Once you stop that car you'd better run.'
"My alarm system out there's four donkeys, all jacks. Sam's the oldest, he's a grouch. I go outside every morning marvelin' that my dream is coming together, and tell Sam I wish he could come inside and take a look around.
"The birds? I've got 800 birds. Yes I do. Peacocks, peahens, turkeys, all of 'em." He crosses his index and middle fingers together and grins. "Me and peacocks are like this. I hate snakes, and they hate 'em too. Once Shania Twain and a line of cars come down the road, her whole entourage, and she bought up sixty pounds of feathers. Then one day Mama and me are watching TV, and I say, 'Look at what that girl's wearing! She made earrings from our guinea hen!'
"My favorite birds? I've got a twenty-four-year-old goose. He's friendly. Sorta loud. He loves Little Debbie snack cakes, and on his eighteenth birthday I made him a double-layer chocolate cake. A minute later that cake looked like a lawnmower hit it. He doesn't like bugs much, and I sympathize. Eating bugs isn't fun, especially grubs. I will wait until it's a necessity."