Fannie Flagg Shares Her Heartwarming Redbird Christmas Story

When I was a child living in South Alabama, my mother had a sweet friend named Frances Cleverdon, who resided on an oak-lined street in the little town of Magnolia Springs. I loved joining Mom on visits to “Miss Frances” in her beautiful old home on the river. Magnolia Springs was a true nature’s paradise, with so many varieties of birds and other wildlife. It was such fun to be there, especially around Christmastime when Miss Frances would dress up as Mrs. Claus and hand out toys and sacks of delicious homegrown pecans. Even after we moved up to Birmingham, my mother would plan a trip or two every year to see Miss Frances.

There’s a particular winter I want to tell you about—it was not a good one for me. I was grown-up and living and working in New York City, which is a long way from Alabama. My mother had passed away only a few months earlier, and I had become increasingly unhappy in my career. I was feeling rather lost. Needless to say, when the holiday season rolled around, I was certainly not in a joyful mood.

Then one afternoon, quite out of the blue, the phone rang. It was Miss Frances calling to invite me to spend Christmas with her in Alabama. “You need to come home, honey,” she said. And so I did. Although I had not seen her for years, I figured it would be better than moping around my lonely apartment. I managed to get a few days off from work and headed down to Magnolia Springs. It was a long and exhausting trip. When I finally arrived, it was well after ten o’clock on Christmas Eve night. She and I caught up for a while, but she could see I was tired. After a cup of hot chocolate, she showed me to the guest bedroom where my mother and I had stayed so many times before—the one with the pretty view of the backyard, all the way down to the river. But as I closed the curtains that night, the winter trees—their bare black branches blowing in the wind—looked as sad and bleak as I felt. I crawled into the big feather bed with a heavy heart, wondering why I had even bothered to make the trip. This was going to be a very sad Christmas, no matter where I was.

Early the next morning, I heard a gentle knock on my door. A smiling Miss Frances entered with a warm mug of coffee and set it on my nightstand. She walked over to the window, threw open the curtains, and announced, “Honey, I have a surprise for you. Come see!” Even though it was the last thing I wanted to do, I forced myself to get up and look out. What a spectacular sight. The dark, dreary yard had turned into a living holiday card. The sky was filled with big, fluffy, swirling snowflakes, and flocks of redbirds were soaring above the ground all the way down to the water.

I hardly had time to catch my breath when, all at once, a streak of crimson shot straight up in the air. A huge redbird landed right on the windowsill. He cocked his head, looked me right in the eye, and began jumping up and down as if to say, “Get up! Come outside and play.” He then flew back down to join his friends below. I was suddenly wide-awake. “Wow! Did you see that?” I asked. Miss Frances laughed and said, “Yes, I did. You know, your mother loved redbirds.”

“I remember,” I replied. “She always said they were her favorites. I wish she were here with us to see them.”

Then Miss Frances asked me something I’ve never forgotten. She smiled and responded, “Well, honey, how do you know she’s not?”

I spent the next few days sitting outside on her back porch, listening to the happy chirps of those beautiful creatures. They were just so fun to watch. Reminiscent of tiny clowns, they charmed me with their little black masks. Bright, cheery redbirds were everywhere that year. Even as we walked over to the Community Hall for the Christmas Day celebration, they seemed to fly along the street with us. 

Looking back now, I can truthfully say that when I left Magnolia Springs that holiday, the deep grief I had arrived with had disappeared. Someone or something must have known that trip was exactly what I needed.

I later learned that in many cultures across the world, going back thousands of years, a redbird sighting is believed to have a special meaning.

Early European settlers in America called them cardinals and said they were angels or spirits sent from Heaven as a sign of hope and comfort. Others view them as a visit from a departed loved one, sent as a reminder that you are not alone. I’ve even heard that some think they are a sign of good luck for the coming year.

Of course, we are all free to believe what we want. But for me, I will always think that seeing a redbird in December is nature’s way of saying “Merry Christmas,” straight from Heaven.