There was a man named Adam Oliver Schuemaker the Third, but everyone called him Mr. Schue, even his wife Penny. Penny loved shoes, all kinds of shoes, and sometimes Mr. Schue thought that was why she married him, so she could be Mrs. Schue, but he realized that was silly. If Penny wanted shoes so much, she would have married someone rich, which Mr. Schue wasn't. In fact, he was rather poor, and Penny had to live with only five pairs of shoes: boots for the winter, sandals for the summer, sneakers for exercise, fuzzy pink slippers for mornings, and sensible black pumps for formal occasions.

Just as much as Penny loved shoes, Mr. Schue loved birdhouses. Not just any old birdhouses, but one-of-a-kind, made-with-his-own-two-hands birdhouses. He made birdhouses that looked like castles, like log cabins, and like Town Hall, and he sold them at his little store called "Birds Are Us." Penny had come up with the name; she was a lover of good spelling as well as a lover of shoes. When they first opened their birdhouse store, it did fine business. Almost everyone in town came to buy bird watching supplies that first year. They all came to buy their bags of birdseed, binoculars, and birdbath heaters, but they especially came for the birdhouses.

That was two years ago, before people stopped coming to the store, and Mr. Schue had to stop building birdhouses, because no one was buying them. He also stopped because he and Penny could barely pay rent on their Store and the little apartment above it that they lived in, let alone buy wood and nails and paint.

"If a miracle doesn't happen," said Penny one night, sitting hunched over a stack of bills and a calculator on the kitchen table, "we will have to sell the store." She twirled a number two pencil between her fingers. Along with being a shoe-lover and grammarian, she was also quite the mathematician.

"I thought you said the customers will come back," said Mr. Schue from where he sat on their old, sagging couch across the room. The couch was the single most uncomfortable piece of furniture in the little apartment;, but there wasn't anywhere else to sit.

When the problem had first started, when the customers first started to not come into their little store anymore, Penny had been the optimistic one, saying, “People will come back. They just have all the birdhouses they need right now. When their first ones wear out, they will come back.” After a while, when no one did come back, she said, “It's the Internet. No one wants to watch birds out their windows when they can watch them online. When they realize they miss Mother Nature, they will come back." But winter turned to spring, and spring turned to summer — peak bird watching time — and then Penny said, "It's the new Super-Mart that is keeping them away. No one wants to buy fancy birdhouses when they can buy them cheaper at a chain store. When they realize they miss quality, originality, and the good ole fashion charm of a family-owned business, they will come back." They were just a pile of excuses and dreams.

"I hoped, Mr. Schue," Penny replied. "I really did. But they haven't come back, and they are not going to come back."

Mr. Schue sat quietly for a moment. It wasn't a nice quietness, like when you are sitting on the beach or park bench. It was a sad one, like when you get the news your best friend is moving far away and you just want to wish it wasn't true, but it was.

"Okay," he said. "I will start packing up the store tomorrow."

Penny smiled at him, but it wasn't a happy smile. It was a smile that said 'I'll miss it too.'

The next morning, Mr. Schue had a stack of empty cardboard boxes sitting on the front counter where, when there was business, customers would check out. He began filling them with the leftover merchandise of the store. Penny had spent last night clipping coupons and counting how many cents they could save and was now out grocery shopping. When Mr. Schue was Stacking Bird Identification Guides, which are books that have pictures of all sorts of birds and information on where they live and what sounds they make, into one such box, there was a knock on the door. At first, Mr. Schue, ignored it, because the sign on the door clearly said "Closed. Forever." But whoever it was knocked again, this time louder and faster, so Mr. Schue figured he better check, in case of an emergency.

Outside the door, standing on the sidewalk, was a little girl maybe was or nine years old. She was not crying, but she looked very upset and was cupping something in her hands close to her chest.

"What's the matter, little girl?" asked Mr. Schue, feeling a little foolish for addressing her as little girl, but he did not know her name.

"This is the birdhouse store, right?" she asked.

"It was," he said.

"Huh?"

"It was. In the past, but it no longer is... in the present." The nameless little girl just raised an eyebrow at him.

"We're closed," he explained.

"But I really need a birdhouse! Because I found him, and his leg is hurt, and he needs a home really, really bad." The little girl opened her cupped hands to show him a bird like he had never seen before, and Mr. Schue had seen a lot of birds. It was no bigger than a sparrow or a finch, and if you didn't know, those are pretty small birds. Its head and most of its body was the darkest shade of royal purple, so purple it was almost black. Its wings were even more amazing, because the feathers looked like they had been woven out of golden thread. Mr. Schue was so stunned by the sight of this unusual bird that he forgot to be surprised that it was sitting so calmly in the little girl's hands and not trying to fly away.

"Wait here," said Mr. Schue. He went into his shop and pulled a little birdhouse off the top shelf. It was one of his more simple creations, just a little eggshell blue house with white trimmed windows and a black roof that had a hinge at its peak, so one could lift the right flap of the roof and look inside.

He held open the flap of the roof so that the little girl could place the amazing bird in the house. The bird seemed to find its new accommodations welcoming enough, but Mr. Schue did notice that as it wandered around the tiny space, it did seem to have a bit of a limp. Mr. Schue suggested that she take it to the veterinarian's office around the corner, but the little girl said she thought her new friend would be just fine now that he had shelter.

As the little girl wandered off down the street, Mr. Schue looked up I see Penny standing there a few feet away, two blue plastic bags full of groceries gripped in each hand.

"Mr. Schue," she said with a shake of her head, "you are the sweetest man I know, but you have no business sense." Then she came up to him and kissed him on the cheek.

Mr. Schue continued packing the next day. He spent a good part of the day hauling thirty pound sacks of birdseed from one corner of the store room to the other for no real reason except to move them. He was having a hard time letting go. But when he was done, he discovered that what he thought had been just a corner full of bags of birdseed, there had been a cardboard box. He did not remember putting it there. One, it was a silly place to store anything. He had just spent two hours moving birdseed before he even found it. Two, most anything buried under that much birdseed was sure to be crushed, but it wasn't. In fact, the box was in almost pristine condition, like it had been put there yesterday, but Mr. Schue knew that nothing had been put in the entire store yesterday. It had all been sitting around for a very long time and was covered in a layer of dust that looked like snow.

Curious, as anyone would be to find a mystery box they were sure shouldn't be under a pile of birdseed bags, Mr. Schue opened it. Inside was everything that was needed to build the most beautiful birdhouse: wood, tiny silver nails, tubes of fresh paint, paintbrushes, everything. Mr. Schue was shocked. Now, he knew he would have remembered buying and storing this. He was not a forgetful person, but he guessed he must have forgotten, because there was no reasonable explanation how the box could have gotten there otherwise.

A bird twittered at the open window of the storeroom, but Mr. Schue did not look up. Most people do not look around when they hear a bird trill, but Mr. Schue, as a bird-watching enthusiast, was not most people. He always looked, hoping to spy some new species or one of his old favorites. However, he was so surprised and perplexed at his discovery that he did not look up to check the back window of the storeroom, one he had opened in the middle of his bird-seed shifting because he wanted to invite a cool breeze inside, at the sound of twittering. If he had looked, he might have seen a purple and gold bird sitting on the sill, watching him.

Rather, when Mr. Schue was about to close the box, he was struck with the most wonderful idea. He should take a break from all his packing and birdseed-moving, time-wasting exercise and build one last, fantastic birdhouse. Who knew when he would get another chance, and with all the supplies at the ready, it would be a waste for him not to. So, after retrieving his tool box from behind the front counter, he began to work.

He worked straight through the afternoon, and all night too. Penny interrupted him only thrice. The first time to see what he was busy doing, and the second to give him a meatloaf sandwich for dinner. She knew it was useless, but it made her husband look the happiest he had in a long time.

The third time she interrupted was to say: "I cleared a spot in the front window for you." Mr. Schue glanced up from his work. He had been concentrating so hard that his tongue was sticking out between his teeth.

"Wha?" he garbled, before remembering to put his tongue back inside his mouth. “Sorry, what?”

"The front window," Penny said with a wave of her hand toward the front of the store, where the tall windows were perfect to display the best of the birdhouses for anyone walking down the sidewalk. It had been empty lately. "So everyone can see what they're missing out on: your wonderful talent."

"Thank you," Mr. Schue said. It was nice to know that someone believed in him even if the rest of the world seemed to have forgotten his existence.

The next morning, Penny found Mr. Schue asleep at front counter of the store, snoring away loudly. Next to him was the most beautiful birdhouse she had ever seen. It looked like a Southern mansion, with both a front porch and a balcony above it, both held up with white columns. The siding was painted the palest yellow that it seemed to glow like a sunrise. He had even made gray shingles for the roof and green shutters for the windows. It wasn't just a birdhouse, Penny decided. It was a work of art, and it was too bad that no one would probably ever appreciate it but them.

Mr. Schue and Penny carefully moved it to the spot in front window, even taking the time to rub the dust and smears off the glass at Penny's suggestion. "It looks best in the sunlight," she explained as her reasoning.

Around noon there came a knock on the front door of the store.

"Excuse me," said the man who stood there when Mr. Schue had opened it. "But is that birdhouse in the window for sale. It would just be the perfect birthday present for my sister." Mr. Schue was shocked. He had more visitors to his store in the last three days than he had in the last three months!

"Well, actually," Mr. Schue started, intending to explain how the store was closing and that the newest birdhouse was display only, his last landmark, his swan song, but then Penny showed up.

"Of course it is," she said with a charming smile, joining the two men at the doorway. "And it's a one of a kind piece of artwork. I'm sure your sister would love it." Soon later, Penny was at the register with the customer making the final transaction while Mr. Schue stood in a stunned silence. It was like he had forgotten that this store was supposed to sell birdhouses, it hadn't happened in so long.

After selling the birdhouse, he decided to take a walk around the neighborhood. He had been in the stuffy, dusty store for far too long and had started sneezing away. Penny suggested that the fresh air would do him some good.

"Excuse me, sir," said a little old lady with pure white hair, interrupting his journey down the sidewalk. "I'm collecting money to help rebuild the homeless shelter."

"What happened to the old one?" Mr. Schue asked, curious.

"You didn't hear? If burned down. No one was hurt, thank goodness, but now all of the homeless people who stayed there are, well, homeless."

Mr. Schue put his hand in the pocket where he had put the bundle of dollar bills from his recent sale. He had been going to deposit it in the bank while he was on his walk. He pulled it all out and put it in the pail she was carrying. It hadn't been enough to save the store anyway - just enough to make life a little easier. However, the homeless needed it more.

'I'm the sweetest man I know,' Mr. Schue thought to himself, 'but I have no business sense.'

When he turned around to return to the store, he thought he saw a flash of gold and a smear of purple out of the corner of his eye. It reminded him of the little girl's bird from two days before. He hoped the little bird, and the little girl, were doing well.

Back at the store, he found Penny standing in the storeroom with her hands on her hips. She had found another mystery box. It was brand new and full of supplies. Mr. Schue joined her side and stared down at it in amazement.

"I swear," Penny said, "one moment this corner was empty, I turn around, and the next moment it's there. I think I must be going crazy. Did you know we had this?"

"This is either getting really weird," said Mr. Schue. "Or I really am forgetful and I just forgot that I was."

It seemed so obvious what he had to do: pull another all-nighter and build another birdhouse. This time, he made it look like a little thatched-roofed cottage that one might find alone in a mountain woods, complete with a chimney on the side. Just like the day before, he put it in the front window. This time, Penny went upstairs and made a sign to accompany it with paper and a red marker. It was worded in complete sentences, rather than fragments as many advertisements were. Penny insisted that customers appreciated it, even if it took them longer to read. She taped the sign in the window over the cottage birdhouse.

Again, there was a knock on his door around noon, just like the day before.

"My friend Joan got a birdhouse for her birthday yesterday," said the woman at the door. "Her brother said he got it here. It was quite lovely and almost instantly these exquisite purple and gold birds had moved in. I knew l just had to have one. I'll take that cottage-looking one in the window. Oh, by the way, l am an English teacher and I love how grammatically correct your sign is.”

Another sale was made and Mr. Schue realized that between the leftovers in each of the mystery boxes, he had more than enough to start on another birdhouse. Maybe it was a fool's hope, but Mr. Schue decided to run with his luck. Maybe people were starting to love bird watching again. He started working on a birdhouse that would look like the Greek Parthenon, a sleek building made up of columns of marble which he imitated with a good sponge-paint job. He even finished in time to actually remember to go up to his bed to fall asleep, rather than falling asleep at the front counter.

"Mr. Schue. Mr. Schue, you wake up this very instant." Mr. Schue grunted, rolled over in bed, and opened his eyes. Penny was standing over him. "Come on now, I have to show you something. You won't believe it."

Tired and groggy, Mr. Schue stumbled out of bed and downstairs the store while still in his blue striped pajamas and fuzzy slippers. "What is it?"

"Look," Penny said, pointing out the front windows where a large crowd had gathered.

"What are they doing here?" Mr. Schue asked.

"What do you think, Mr. Schue?" said Penny with the biggest smile on her face. Along with shoe-, spelling-, and math-loving, she had a great smile. "They want to buy your birdhouses."

"It's the weirdest thing," Penny went on to say. "Apparently these new type of birds have moved into town — purple and gold ones — but the only place they want to live is in your birdhouses. Crazy, huh?"

"Yeah, crazy," Mr. Schue muttered, still in awe.

"So, Mr. Schue, are we open for business?"

"Well," Mr. Shue said, looking out the window at the crowd. As hopeful as he was last night, he didn't want to give in to false hope. It could be just as well that as soon as this latest craze was over, no one would come to his store anymore, and he would be exactly in the same position as he was before. And then he saw it. A bird, a purple and gold one, swooping down and gracefully landing on the telephone wire outside. He couldn't be sure, but he thought that it was the one from the first day and that it was looking right at him, like he was trying to let him know that everything would be alright. Mr. Schue just shook his head. That was a crazy thought, of course.

He looked at his wife, "Mrs. Penny Schue, start unpacking."

Mr. Schue built birdhouses for everyone in town over the next few months. Due to Penny's marvelous advertising and book-keeping abilities, complimentary side effects of her grammar and math passions, they were able to set up a successful Internet business as well, and people all over the world started to buy "Birds Are Us" birdhouses, for the artistry as well as the fact that anywhere the birdhouses went so did the beautiful and exotic purple and gold birds. Penny and Mr. Schue didn't have to sell their store Or their apartment. In fact, they made enough money that Penny could buy all the shoes she wanted, within reason. However, she was much happier with the pink, high heel-shaped birdhouse that Mr. Schue made her for their anniversary.

And in the end, everything was alright.