Bernadine Dunn

Bernadine (Bernie) M. Dunn was called home to our Lord on Thursday, September 4, 2025. Born May 11, 1931 in Roscoe, South Dakota to Stanis and Katherine Schmidt. Bernie was known as a hard and dedicated worker, a caring and loving individual, and was devoted to her family and serving the Lord. In January of 1953 Bernie earned a Cosmetology degree and in January of 1979 at the age of 48 she earned her GED from Green River Community College. In 1952 Bernie married Edward F. Dunn and raised eight loving children. When the youngest child entered school Bernie worked full time as a meat wrapper until she retired after 30 years. When asked what she wanted to be remembered for she said her children, grandchildren and great grandchildren. Bernie loved her family passionately and beamed with pride when talking about them.

Bernie was an active member of Sacred Heart Catholic Church and served the Lord on many committees and in many capacities including Sacristan, Eucharistic Minister, funeral committee, women's guild, and Annulment Advocate for the Archdiocese. Bernie had a heart for serving others and often volunteered at the Enumclaw Food Bank and was a regular weekly volunteer at the Enumclaw Senior Center. She was a beloved volunteer at Enumclaw Memorial Hospital for several years serving as a tour guide to pre-school children and helping her daughter make 250 white chocolate popcorn balls for hospital employees at Halloween. In her later years bringing communion to the Catholic shut ins was her passion and brought her great joy. She participated in a singing group that entertained the elderly at different senior facilities in Enumclaw. Bernie was known for her sense of humor, love of music, cross word puzzles and her competitive nature when playing bingo.

She was preceded in death by her parents, Stanis and Katherine Schmidt; brothers Joseph Schmidt, Paul Schmidt, and Martin Schmidt; sisters Lou Kilber and Delores Heilman; and her husband Edward F. Dunn.

Bernie is survived by her children Robert and his wife Mary, Jean and her husband Jon, Jane and her husband Mark, Richard and his wife Susan, Judy, Randy and his wife Liz, Jody and her husband Randy and Ray and his wife Barb; her sister Clarice Schmidt and brother Leo Schmidt and his wife Sally. She is also survived by 15 grandchildren and 32 great grandchildren all of whom she loved and adored. Bernie leaves behind a wonderful legacy.

A service and celebration of life will be held at Sacred Heart Church in Enumclaw, WA on Monday September 15, 2025. Rosary will be said at 10:15 am. The service will begin at 11:00 am with a lunch reception following in the church hall. Live streaming of the service will be on Sacred Heart Church's (Enumclaw) website. A recording of the service will be on their website for two weeks. Graveside burial will be at 1:30pm at Holy Family Krain Cemetery in Enumclaw for anyone who would like to attend. Donations in lieu of flowers can be made to the Sacred Heart Monsignor Farrelly Scholarship fund or to the Sacred Heart Church in Enumclaw, WA.

The "BIRD LADY" OF TWENTY-TWENTY

By Bob Dunn

The old house was the most worn one in the unpaved neighborhood. Standing long-vacant on a street in the poorest part of Yakima, Washington, the structure over the years had blistered and flaked away its coat in scabs, leaving far more exposed weathered boards than painted ones.

In the early spring of 1960 the family that would soon occupy the 2020 address consisted of two adults and six children, migrating to Washington State by train. Turns out the newly arriving tenants felt food, clothing, and blankets were a far more important priority than painting a rundown, single story, two-bedroom corner house. In a couple more years, two additional babies would occupy the 2020 S. 4th residence. Neither parent would have yet reached their 31st birthdays by the time child number eight arrived.

Edward was a Chicago boy. After high school he spent four years in the Air Force. The time was the Korean conflict. While stationed in Rapid City, South Dakota he met Bernadine, a pretty redheaded farm girl turned beautician. Soon thereafter, Ed and Bernie were married and commenced to making babies. Ultimately, their move to Yakima was premised upon promises of good employment in "the land of milk and honey."

Yakima in 1960 it seems had less calling for a government trained electronics technician than did the Dakotas. Ed on more than one occasion questioned whether Bernie's older brothers (themselves transplanted from the Black Hills) had intentionally lured their little sister westward to the south central part of Washington by embellishing the area's opportunities.

In order to feed his young and considerable family, Ed took on the only work he could find. By day he was a 'grease monkey'- a mechanic at a 24 hour truck stop; and by evening a digger of drainage ditches for a local packing plant that paid in ham hocks and wieners.

Bernie used her beauty school skills to cut hair and administer perms at the house while watching over her brood. Despite prayers and planning, their combined work efforts left hardly enough money for the family to get by week-to-week. The necessity of heating oil for the oncoming cold began to loom real. A nagging press of desperateness became more ominous with each passing day as darkening skies foretold winter's arrival.

On a chilly Sunday just before Thanksgiving an inexplicable feeling started to settle in, delivered by a wispy breeze from the north. It had a curious oddness to it as if an imminent change was bearing down. By late Sunday a strong and steady wind had developed against a purplish sky, accompanied by a decided arctic bite.

Ed was at the truck stop near quitting time working in a grease pit beneath a semi, when he noticed a gray haired gentleman getting out of a mud splattered station wagon that had just pulled into the pumps. As the man approached him, Ed could see he was dressed in obvious hunting attire.

"Excuse me." The man said. "You wouldn't happen to know where some old duck hunters could drop off a limit of birds to be plucked and cleaned would you?"

People stopping and asking him for assistance wasn't that unusual, but even to Ed this query was odd. Apparently the man and three of his buddies were returning from a weekend at their duck club where possession limits of just-arrived northern mallards and Canadian honkers had been taken. "The migration's on," the man explained. "You can feel it!"

"Sorry, can't say I do," Ed said. But it got him to thinking. "You actually pay someone to clean your birds?"

"Sure enough. But the lady who used to do it for us moved away and we've been looking for a replacement."

"What's it cost someone to get birds cleaned?" Ed asked.

"Well, she charged us 50¢ a duck and 75¢ a goose. Cleaned, plucked, and bagged," he said. "We thought that was fair since we all hate doing it ourselves?"

"How many birds you talking about?" Ed asked his curiosity mounting.

"Well, four hunters with two days of greenheads, each. That's four a day, times two. Plus, two honkers each for both days… a bunch." the man said.

"Hmm." Ed responded.

"You did what?" Bernie asked incredulously as Ed tried explaining why he was dragging four gunny sacks of birds onto their back porch and what it was he had agreed to do with them.

"I figured that between the two of us and the kids helping, we could knock these out in a couple of hours." He hesitated before quietly saying the obvious. "Besides, we need the money."

Bernie looked at him for a long moment digesting his words. She started to speak, then, stopped diplomatically. Finally, she spoke.

"Yes, but what do you-- much less the kids, know about cleaning birds?" Her words were quietly restrained.

"You can teach me, uh, us." Ed said.

"One of the reasons I left the farm was because each fall I had to help gut and pick all the pheasants my dad and brothers shot, as well as the chickens and turkeys we raised; and the neighbors' too. If I never have to attend another 'plucking party' or stuff another down pillow, it'll be too soon," Bernie shook her head.

"Well, I've committed to it this one time. So you might as well show me what I need to do. They'll be here Wednesday to collect their birds."

So that was that: thirty-two mallards, sixteen geese. Water was boiled on a four burner range then dumped into a banged-up steel wash tub. As many birds as would fit were then covered for several minutes in the steaming water with a little dish detergent added. Bernie started systematically stripping the thoroughly soaked birds of their feathers in long pulling motions caring not to rip skin. It was readily ap-parent that the former farm girl really knew how to pluck birds. Bernie's fingers raced across the scalded feathers leaving bald, orangish-pink trails and patches of exposed skin. The ease at which the feathers appeared to fall off at her touch seemed almost like magic.

When a bird was completely picked except for wingtips and heads, it was cleaned. The deft touch she displayed with a knife as she swiped the bird open making an incision across its belly below the rib cage, then executing a quick scoop to remove innards to empty the cavity, made it clear she'd done this way more than a few times in her prior life.

Yet, as much as Bernie was a virtuoso in the business at hand, Ed was enthusiastically clueless. To every one bird Ed was able to strip 'sort-of' clean; Bernie would finish three, all absolutely free of feathers. Every bird Bernie opened up was expertly and quickly eviscerated; while Ed's efforts were ponderous and tentative as if he were engaged in some sort of junior high dissection lab. A little over half way through the pile of birds, he was dismissed altogether from getting in her way. He was relegated to the hot water detail while the older children, who'd been looking on with morbid curiosity, were assigned to gathering feathers and guts for disposal to the backyard burning barrels.

Feet, head, and wingtips were cut away next. The bird was then thoroughly rinsed and placed into another steel washtub to soak a bit in cold water. Afterwards, the birds were drained, placed into plastic bags, and twist tied shut. Three ducks to a sack; and the geese one bird per bag.

By late evening the operation had grown rather efficient under Bernie's direction. Finally, the last bird was bagged and put out on the back porch in an old Philco fridge. It had been long, hard, and smelly work, certainly more than "a couple hours". Bernie sagged with exhaustion. Ed massaged her aching shoulders and neck and gently kissed the places on her raw hands that had been punctured by bone shards.

"I'm sorry honey. It seemed like a good idea at the time. We won't do it again." he said.

"Good," is all she could tiredly muster.

On Wednesday just after school let out for Thanksgiving, a new two-tone Ranch Wagon pulled up at the house on South 4th Avenue. Both the Ford and its driver, a man dressed in a dark blue business suit, looked uncomfortably out of place in the neighborhood. Bernie and a couple of her toddlers met him at the door.

"Good afternoon, mam." He tipped his hat and politely introduced himself from the bottom of the porch. His name and voice were immediately recognizable from radio commercials periodically played on a local station advertising his area drugstore chain. "Can you kindly tell me-- am I at the right address for picking up some cleaned birds?"

"Yes, you are. I'll get them for you." She disappeared, returning momentarily with a large cardboard box laden with cleaned and bagged birds. "I got another just like it," she said disappearing again. The second box had a neatly inscribed scrap of paper taped to it. The bill.

"You did a beautiful job on these", the man said inspecting the birds through the plastic. "No pin feathers or anything. This is very good work. Thank you. You're a life saver."

He took the piece of paper from the box, glanced at it, and then reached into his suit pocket. He removed his wallet and pulled out a twenty, then a ten, and handed them over to Bernie. "The change is yours too," he said. "And if you're willing, I've got another bunch of birds we shot this morning that could really use your help." He sheepishly pointed back at the vehicle parked in the graveled street.

A look of indecision and angst immediately spread across Bernie's face. She looked down at the hard earned money in her hand. Then into the faces of the children clinging to her pant leg. Then out to the street where more work awaited if she waivered from her resolve. She tilted her head upward at the sullen gray sky. "Getting nippy," she said.

"Yes mam, it is. Won't be long before the snow flies," he said.

"Gonna be cold." she half said to herself. She sucked in a big breath. He looked at her expectantly. Moments passed. The man reached into his pocket and pulled out two lollipops, the kind with a string loop encased in the candy.

"Would it be all right?" He held them and gestured toward the tykes. She smiled and nodded. The man handed them down into two eager and happy little hands, greeted by very squeaky "thank yous". Bernie finally shrugged.

"OK. Sure. Why not? Bring 'em on." And he did.

Within days it became quite obvious the drugstore owner had told his hunting and gun club friends about his find. Other late model cars with affluent drivers began winding their way to the corner house at 2020 S. 4th Avenue requesting help from the "Bird Lady". By Christmas, word of mouth had generated a steady stream of bird hunting customers who brought waterfowl harvested from throughout the area. Sunday late afternoons and early pre-work Monday mornings proved to be near traffic jam times for bird drop-offs after a weekend of hunting; to the point it was nearly a neighborhood spectacle.

Autos jostled for parking spaces in front of the house, while hunters or sometimes their wives waited in turn on the porch to either deliver birds or to pick up cleaned ones, and more often both. It was not unusual at its busiest, to see over 20 neatly segregated piles of game lining the back stoop marked with slips of paper identifying the name of the hunter and the number of birds to be cleaned and paid for. Telephone numbers were unnecessary since there was no phone to use at the corner house on unpaved 4th Avenue.

Within short order, most of Bernie's children knew their assignments and became adept at performing specific assembly line tasks to assist in processing the game. Every little bit helped on those days when it looked like the "Bird Lady" was doomed to be overcome by piles of webbed feet. The younger kids were in charge of chasing down loose feathers and dragging birds to where they would be scalded and then stripped clean by Bernie. The oldest boy, age 7, was taught how to safely strop a keen edge to a butcher knife used to remove feet, wing tips, and heads of plucked birds, and how to make and keep a strong pot of coffee brewing for mom. The boy and his 6-year-old sister were also in charge of "pulling innards" from birds Bernie had deftly incised. That chore was relegated to the back yard under the dingy yellowness of a single porch light. Gut shot birds emanating a gagging, spilled bile stench that permeated the air and everything else around, soon became second nature.

For her children, the whole undertaking was a backdrop for lessons in biology and life, long before they would actually take any formal science classes. Bernie was ever mindful about stealing minutes of opportunity to use as educational moments. There would be no squeamishness in her children as she explained what an esophagus was and how a stomach worked in connection with entrails.

On any given weekend it was almost certain that the back stoop would have a laid-out collection of as many different kinds and varieties of ducks and geese and other fowl as central Washinton had to offer.

There is no question the birds that year were financially critical to the welfare of her family. Equally significant to Bernie however, was the invaluable learning component that was represented as well. The hunters who came to be her customers were largely successful, articulate, and intelligent professionals and business people from around the area. Included were doctors, a pilot, dentists, attorneys, a drive-in owner, and the like. As the late model cars and their owners drove away, Bernie never wasted an opportunity to point out to her children that schooling, good grades, and hard work would provide the opportunity to do or be whatever. Her vision for her children's future never wavered from 20/20 acuity.

Bernie conducted her bird cleaning business for two more successive seasons. At the end she had a cadre of regular customers who kept her busy, and then some. At all times these outdoorsmen treated her and her family generously and with respect. When she decided her bird cleaning days were over, the extra income that was generated was no longer necessary to save her family. Nonetheless, the year after she stopped, she continued to have people with birds rolling up to the house at 2020 S. 4th Avenue who had not yet learned she had 'quit the business'. No amount of begging ever convinced the Bird Lady to come back out of 'retirement'.

Epilogue

Bernie Dunn turned 94 years young before her recent passing. Her eight children continue to be inspired by her spirit and grit. All have gone on to successful careers resulting in two registered nurses, an administrator, an engineer/construction company owner, two construction superintendents, a U.S. postal inspector, and a lawyer. Each of her children, including her many grandchildren, and over a dozen great grandchildren were the pride and legacy of her life.

And Bernie, well, she reminisced occasionally; modestly insisting it was the birds that saved her family. Her children know better however. The birds had help.