Ah, the reward of silence.
We had a scare the other night. Screeching birds woke us up and we feared that some enemy had attacked our robins. In the morning all was quiet and we didn’t see Mother sitting on the nest. Melancholy set it. But then, there they were, both parents foraging for seeds and worms and taking turns feeding away. Just now I saw Mother satisfying three gawking beaks, while Father guards the territory.
Ah, the reward of silence.
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Mrs. Robin is still sitting; Mister Robin is feeding her. That’s what it looks like from here. Of course, I put it all in anthropomorphic terms. I like to think that Mister is doing his share, and we know that he’ll be helping with the feeding once the babes are hatched. Remember, “Make Way for Ducklings”? Mr. Mallard disappeared for the entire pregnancy but then showed up to show off his progeny. On the human front around here, once again, we are getting rid of stuff. Jim does a much better job than I do. He’s fast—makes a decision and goes with it. As I write (I could be tossing stuff instead of writing about it) he’s out in the garage getting stuff ready for our daughter’s yard sale in Pennsylvania. Actually, we could get rid of it right now; put a sign out, and it would be gone in an hour. Living across from the library there’s plenty of traffic and excellent parking. Oh, need I mention that all the stuff Jim has accumulated is from the put-and-take? It’s not even our stuff! What I am dealing with, however, is my stuff, mainly papers and books. I don’t have enough papers to warrant a dumpster, but the recycling facility at the dump will suffice. It also has a first-rate book exchange shed: and then there are friends, the yard sale, and the library book fair. I’m going to activate IT’S TIME TO GO; LETTING GO OF STUFF http://lettingofstuff.blogspot.com/ as a way to shame myself to get going. I’d rather write about it than do it. That’s pathetic, Bobs. I just want a simple life, not a stressful one. A robin in nesting in the rhododendron by the side of our house. It’s a beautiful thing to watch, to be privy to. There’s something mighty simple about it. For the most part, Mother Robin just sits there. Occasionally she gets off and once my husband saw Mr. Robin sitting with her. How about that for a tender touch? We starting noticing this about a week ago, so perhaps she has a week to go. Then the feeding activity will begin. Nature is awesome. When we don’t tamper with it, it seems to be simple. ‘Let nature take it’s course.’ But when we try to understand it and explain it in words, it shows it’s complexity. Fortunately, we backyard observers have the luxury of choosing to sit in mystery. Well, so do the ornithologists. Celebrate Earth Hour TODAY with millions of people around the globe by turning off your lights for one hour, beginning at 8:30pm. For more information, see www.earthhour.org/ AND www.worldwildlife.org/focusearthhour. Thousands of cities and towns in almost every country and territory in the world will participate. "Earth Hour is the single, largest, symbolic mass participation event in the world. Born out of a hope that we could mobilize people to take action on climate change." Yesterday was a bird day for me. On my walk I came upon a dead sparrow in the middle of the road. So peaceful, so asleep forever. I moved it to the brush by the side of the road. I don’t often think about what happens to the thousands of birds that I see in a single day here. All those gulls and merganser probably return to the ocean. But a single little sparrow? And what about the six Canada geese that took over the lawn here in front of the cottage yesterday? In the five years that I have been here, this is their first appearance before my eyes. I figure the rough weather disrupted their routine, but why this time? Why not during other storms? Such a mystery. Six geese are manageable, but what will happen to the thousands (no exaggeration) of geese that live by the little man-made pond near the condos close to my daughter? No sea to shining sea to absorb them into nature’s fold! Today my bird day continues. As I sit here writing, a little bird has alighted on the porch railing. A sparrow, or perhaps the purple finch that has been enjoying the nearby bushes. Come to think of it, this is the first year that song birds have spent time here. Another mystery. My sense of simplicity has much to do with context. Case in point: cleaning. Today at the cottage I did a little vacuuming and dusting. It was simple; the place doesn’t get very dusty or dirty and I’m not at all fastidious about it. Then off I went to the beach, which was cluttered with seaweed. A mess, but nature’s cleaning job, not mine. Nature cleans by moving seaweed around. Yesterday the seaweed was heaped in one small area of the beach; today it was spread all over; tomorrow, for all I know, there will be none to be seen. Scientists claim that nature’s ways are not simple. True enough. But as long as we don’t try to tamper and change them, they remain simply awesome to me. Every day I set out expecting to have the best-ever walk—and I do. Oh, sometimes I have to stretch the point a little, but not often. When I begin my walk I’m not always certain whether I’ll go to the long beach or head up to the lighthouse. Yesterday, on a cold, vitamin D3 walk, I found myself trudging along the snow covered roads to the Cape Neddick Lighthouse (locally referred to as The Nubble). There at the parking lot was a college-age man viewing something on the rocks through his telescope. A small crowd gathered as he invited each of us to take a look, at, did you guess it? A snowy owl. And how did I get this picture? With my iPhone; put the phone up to the lens and snap. This bird lover was involved in a bird census count sponsored by the National Audubon Society. I loved his enthusiasm and generosity. No question, he had found his passion and was following his bliss. Serendipity that I headed to the Nubble? I have no idea, but this was definitely a one-of-a-kind best-ever walk. Our simple window feeder turned into a simple squirrel feeder for a while this morning. In seems that last nights snow storm had given the squirrels just the necessary height to jump aboard. And then, for reasons unknown to me, it morphed back into a restaurant for birds; the squirrel hasn't reappeared. Sometimes I yell at them and pound the window. But today this cute little maverick won my heart. He’s gotta eat, too. As I drove up here the other day I promised myself that I wouldn’t take as many pictures of the sunrise. I must have 1000 stored on my computer, and that ought to be enough. But no; promise broken. Each view is the same, but oh so different--different hues, clouds, water, time and location on the horizon. Each sunrise is of the moment, of what is there, and what I see on this given day. The sun will never arise or appear again as it does today, which is why I sit for an hour and watch. Awesome. |
Contact me: bobbifisher.mac@mac.com
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