4.07 Final Migration

Elizabeth Ann “Betty/Liz” (Clemens) Duchi
1939 – 2004

Liz, Aug 1998

My sister Liz knew everything about everything—and what she didn’t know—she made up. Her library was lined with books from architecture, antique lamps and art nouveau to tomes on history, the human body and Henry VIII. She also had every field-guide on flora, fauna, and all things feathered.

Liz was an avid bird-watcher and the aristocratic and ancient crane was her favorite. A “craniac,” she could tell you everything about their habits and habitats, their migration patterns, and their courting rituals. She even knew their mating calls. The birds inspired her, weaving their nests into her daily living. A life-size bronze statue stood sentry at her front door. A delicately feathered watercolor flew on her plaster walls. Cranes perched on her shelves, danced on her Japanese robe and winged across her glass lampshade.

Every fall, thousands of greater sandhills streak across the Pacific Flyway, migrating in families to feed and roost in the safety of the Central Valley wetlands near the Sacramento River. They are one of the world’s largest birds, the males standing at a stately five-feet tall with a seven-foot wingspan. They are long-legged, long-necked and bustle-bodied, sporting ash gray plumage, a black chiseled bill, sleek white cheeks, and a bald red crown. Their trumpet can be heard for miles. Between feeding and roosting, they dance this peculiar choreographed avian ballet: first one crane starts out slowly, then a second, the tempo picks up, and soon the whole flock is hopping and bowing—wing flourishing and stick tossing in wild rap-like abandon. My sister loved their elaborate floorshow, cackling her delight.

Liz and Tony, Fallbrook

In February, Liz was diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer. In September, she had experimental surgery at the UC Davis Cancer Clinic in Sacramento. Two weeks later, she came to stay with me. Two weeks after that, pneumonia set in and I took her back to the hospital. Three days later, she died.

Just after she took her final breath in that cool early morning, her husband Tony stepped outside to call the family. Dialing his cell phone, there was an overhead cacophony of long drawn-out bugling and clanging so loud he was unable to converse. Looking up, his irritation turned to slack-jawed wonder. A feathered cortege of two-hundred greater sandhills passed directly over his wife’s top floor hospital room in single and V-line formation—first one string, then another behind the first, then another behind them, then another, and another, necks extended, legs and tails outstretched, the slow rhythmic beating of their wings vibrating the crisp October sky, incessantly declaring GAROOO-A-A, GAROOO-A-A.

As is their nature, the whole flock trumpets most raucously when concerned or alarmed. As was her nature, Liz was probably disturbing their flight pattern on her way out. Or maybe she was joining them on their migratory trek. Or perchance, the winged ones knew she was ready and arrived to escort their friend in style—blessing my sixty-four year old sister with an exquisite tribute and a final accompaniment.

*****

Anthony Leo “Tony” Duchi, Jr.
1937 – 2009

Aug 30, 2009, North County Times:
Anthony Leo Duchi, Jr., 71, FALLBROOK – Anthony Leo Duchi, Jr., died at his home in Fallbrook on the morning of Thursday, August 20, 2009 after a long battle with chronic lymphocytic leukemia (CLL). Tony was born on November 30, 1937 in an ambulance in the Callahan Tunnel in Boston, Mass. He was an entrepreneur who started and ran a number of successful businesses, including manufacturing of electronics, ham radios, defense products, and sporting goods. He was passionate about his many hobbies, which included boats and cruising, clocks, watches, antiques, cars, music, food, cooking and travel. Most important to him were his family and his many friends. He is survived by his four children and their families. He was predeceased by his wife of 46 years, Elizabeth Ann Duchi.
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My brother-in-law—with one quiet final breath—passed on Aug 20, 2009, just before the antique clocks throughout his Fallbrook home chimed 8:00 a.m. He also knew a lot about many things and a little about everything. He was passionate about his cats, his clocks, his cars, and his boats. He loved travel, antiques, and cooking. He was a true Renaissance man. He was Italian, hot-tempered and easy going. He was brilliant and had some blind spots. He was sharp-witted and sharp-edged, flexible and obstinately stubborn, simple and complex. He was well read, well versed, and well… Tony. 

© 2018. Catherine Sevenau.
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