A long time ago, the peacock was discovered in the remote rain forests of India. The dignified bird with such dazzling colors was declared to be sacred to the gods. For centuries they were allowed to roam undisturbed through the magnificent gardens of Indian royalty.
The Phoenicians later exported them to complement the imposing architecture of the Egyptian pharoahs. The Bible informs us that King Solomon used to order his powerful navy every three years to go out and restock his supplies of gold, silver, ivory and peacocks.
With such an exotic history, the last place one would expect to find peacocks is in the arid sandhills of Western Nebraska. In addition to riding horses and gardening flowers, my mom raises peafowl. Whenever I get back home, I'm awakened each morning by their haunting call. Every spring, I'm lucky to witness their extravagant, courtship display.
The image of these birds sweeping majestically across my parent's green lawn is an abiding memory. It's astonishing to me how the presence of a proud Indian Peacock can transform a humble farmhouse into the magnificent Taj Mahal. It's like paradise.