Friday, May 7, 2010

Empty Nest


She's gone and the eggs too. The fierce winds of yesterday? A crow? Did she leave to eat and something swoop down on her undefended charges? Something drove her from the nest and took her babies too. I spotted it when I got home from work yesterday and it felt like a punch in the stomach. I felt the weight of the loss, a tightening in my throat, a hurried calculus to balance missing her with the reminder that Nature doesn't play.

Searching for the meaning, the omen, the clues, wondering if God had decided to renege on the blessing. The way I see it, the bird in the nest had brought my daughter back into my life after a painful estrangement, we were able to connect again around the magic of the little bird in my back yard. It gave a graceful space for the two of us to reconcile, to continue our relationship with new rules of engagement. A Mother's Day gift if there ever was one.

Still, the sudden disappearance of the hummingbird was a hefty price to pay.



Here she is


There is something magical about having a hummingbird nearby, nesting in a tree that has been struggling to make it. Not properly planted, my Fuji persimmon tree's poor spindly trunk just now supporting a nice green canopy and maybe even able to bear some fruit this year. Once a source of worry, the tree is now a perfect place. There may be hope for it after all. Maybe the good juju of this little bird will infuse the tree with new life, some course correction for what it is supposed to be but has fallen short due to lack of proper care and feeding.

Not like this nest and the little mother in it. Proper care and feeding. A reminder that we must do this for ourselves too, lest we lose our way. Feed our souls. Feed our minds and bodies. Giving life a chance to show itself off, the details of the Grand Design peeking through.

Sunday, May 2, 2010

Backyard Blessing


It's been a while since I sat outside on my patio. It's as messy and weather-worn as I've seen it, plants in disarray, weeds everywhere, dried leaves from as long ago as November still stuck behind the trellis. I know from experience now that I don't have the same spry energy that I used to to get out there on my hands and knees and make it right. That will have to wait for when I can afford a helper.

Ignoring the mess--a big deal for an anal-compulsive with an aversion to grit--I felt compelled to sit out there, to be silent and observant and let the day come to me.

I've noticed in the last several weeks that there are at least two pair of birds vying to make a nest of their own in the protected overhang of the patio eaves. Yesterday, sitting without any purpose except to finish Pete Dexter's wonderful new novel, "Spooner" and to get a vitamin D fix and tan my legs, the birds were very active, hopping about on the copper frame I had built to be a camellia bush support. The sun was hot but the air velvet, life was peaceful and full of promise and out of nowhere came the loud whirring of a hummingbird, chasing the other bird couples off the copper.

What's this, I wondered? Then I spotted it. A tiny perfect cylinder of a nest, all soft and cushioned, nestled in the crook of one of the branches of my Fuji persimmon tree. It was the hummingbird's nest and she was letting the others know to stay away. Through the afternoon I watched as the pairs of birds flew up into the palm tree, way up above the roof, keeping a respectful distance from the hummingbird. And in between the whirring and aerial mapping of her territory, the mother nestled tight into her nest, sitting with patient vigilance atop her eggs, alert to interlopers minding her time and her own business.

Ah, the cycle of life, I thought. When mothers serve notice to the world that they are doing their job, as best they can even when it doesn't always work out. Babies die or are eaten. They falter somehow or never learn how to survive. In the best cases, they thrive. All their mothers can do is to get them to a place as close to leaving and thriving as they can...and then let them go.

I have no clue if birds love their children, not in any sense that humans do. But the job is the same in either case. Feed the life you bear, nurture it until maturity, let them go. So, Happy Mother's Day to Gaia and all those who helped to sustain me, much as a mother would have. I'm sure like those eggs in the nest in my tree, we are grateful for the blessing.