Living With Birds

Years ago, inspired by a trip to the demonstration gardens, we decided trees brought not only continuous beauty, but also, refreshing shade to one’s little plot of land, so we planted many.

The trees are maturing nicely and with this invitation, many species of birds have chosen to occupy the leafy spaces. Beauty is like that, it multiplies and invites. On a daily basis, I encounter birds. I hear them; I watch them and try to understand the rhythm and importance of their brief lives. I can deeply say living with birds has been educational, spiritually inspiring and because we have a hunting cat…. sorrowful. But this is the point of my blog.

It’s important to set down that the birds stay because the presence of a habitat. Nothing particularly compelling about me draws them. Yet, regardless that they need me not, and in fact, prefer my absence, I persist by paying attention, providing water, occasional seeds and aiding them in their times of crisis.

Life is cruel to birds. They're mauled; poisoned; shot by BB guns; they drown in pools; their nests are blown down by heavy winds and their dead humiliated bodies litter the roads. Why bother?

Torn by a guilty conscience about meddling in the lives of wild things and tired of fishing dead birds from the pool and hating my cat to a point of abuse, I have, in seasons, given up on birds; deciding it best that an arm’s length approach would preserve and protect me from the untidiness of it all. It works for awhile, but then I look outside, see the doves waiting patiently by the feeder and I can’t help it. The doves always draw me back. Beauty is like that; you have to be willing to accept it all in its fallen state.

Deciding to share life with birds is similar to deciding to share life with others of the human sort. At times a sense of comfort, connection and beauty exists in the co-mingling, but then the inevitable reality of the pain which belongs to getting involved with living things unfolds. This is the “Gordian Knot” for me which dominates much of my internal dialogue.

Sitting Here

Just sitting here, surfing the internet( procrastinating some needed studying for an exam), Gregg is on his way to pick up Serenity for a sleepover and Caitlin is into her last 30 minutes of her violin practice. She is playing, La Folia by Correlli and somehow I am inspired by the piece to write a blog spur of the moment.

Caitlin went to a very advanced music camp for ten days in Ottawa, Kansas where she was a VERY small fish in a big pond... and it brought her playing dramatically to another level.

I am fortunate to be serenaded by Corelli, Accolay and Bach in my own home. Being raised around classical music, I am therapied by it. Her playing is particularly on tonight.

Caitlin has become more emotionally involved with her playing in the last months. I think her music is helping her through adolescent issues. She is changing--- growing up, getting quiet(more than usual), testing boundaries and frequently challenging our double standards. Gregg and I run to each other for comfort, advice and blame pretty often these days as we try to navigate the strange waters. I hope we haven't screwed her up too much.

Bronwyn on the other hand........well that is another story. The only thing that comes to mind is Ballet, and mood swings right now. I do need to go in order to prepare for the onslaught of giggling, silliness and snacking that will take place when the sleepover begins. A little studying would be good too.


Good Night

A Good Sentence

"For as far as the light of God is concerned, we are owls."

Thomas Merton

Effortless

The most powerful thing about trees is that they make it look so easy; looking at them reminds me to avoid being a spiritual” try hard” or a spiritual “indifferent” because both extremes involve self-absorption.

Continuing Left and the Confirmation of Trees

Turning left seems at times to be my only connection to God lately.
Driving up this path as often as I do, I ask each time what are the trees saying today? They have been in a continuous state of transition since I decided to notice them. The last of the pink blooms have been overcome by crimson leaves. In contrast, their neighbors are easy and peaceful, flowing with green leaves. Sometimes I wonder why these trees were chosen to line this street. I do know these particular species tend to flourish easily in deserts providing beauty with the least amount of effort. That could be one reason.

In March, one of the trees was damaged by a reckless driver on a rainy afternoon and the loss of bark may cause it to die. Every time I turn the roundabout I check to see if it is showing signs of continuing or ending. If it dies, the gardeners will replace it. Though it took me a while, I began to notice there have been many replacements along the tree path. I had only ever paid attention to the mature and larger trees. Then one morning, I began seeing the sapling replacements and I wondered what circumstances brought them. It took a lot of left turns to learn how prejudiced my attention can be.

Presently, there is new activity in the corridor of trees. For weeks now, the gardeners have been pruning the trees. They’ve worked in small numbers consistently. To accomplish their task, they taper the paths of travel to properly provide the room for the large limbs to safely fall. I like this narrower path because it slows me just enough to see the gardeners and their workmanship. It’s interesting to me that I never witness the action of the cutting itself. I only pass along after the fact observing the laborers at rest as they sit beside the large piles of branches in their shade hats talking happily to one another. I respect their labor because in it they are connected to the real things. I should pay attention to this more.

The newly thinned trees have created a fresh picture and feel along the path and I take this as a possible new lesson to think about.

On one hand, I would be blind to not notice the scars that remain after substantial numbers of members have been removed. I learned once that the ways one can improperly prune are by, first, cutting the wrong branches and second, not handling the space left by the truncation. If the scar is not treated carefully, rot will develop under the wound and either weaken or destroy the tree.

On the other hand, thinning also has allowed for greater visibility down the road; more light passes between the boughs. Each plant now appears as an individual and I notice the uniqueness and the similarities in the markings on the bark and branching patterns. Perhaps the replacement saplings will now have more light to interact with and increase themselves. My mind returns to the trees before the workers came. The canopies were heavily entwined, wide and without boundary. I, and probably other creatures, enjoyed the effect, but I am not a caretaker of trees and there may be limits to this over-connection.

The bigger picture now reveals the intent of the workers to make the central core of branches heighten and not widen. I know trees naturally do both of those things on their own, but it is important in certain seasons to emphasize one over the other. Eventually, the branches will naturally draw closer, intermingle and grow heavy again, but now the focus is up. Those central ones will go up easily without the responsibilities of the fullness and wideness of previous seasons. Birds build nests in the higher central places too. As for the separated branches, I believe they will, in another form, be put to use to nourish the soil in some way or another.

Not mentioned before are the trees in the community that still stand in stages of leafless dormancy, but it will take more left turns to understand them.

Palmer's Journal

I will miss his entries. Though I didn't know him, his story and struggle helped my faith. I feel his life was so full of love and dignity. It spilled over into mine many times. I never fathom these hard things, but tonight I am very certain and secure that God is total love and peace because those are the things palmer's Journal taught me...

Turning Left

From October of 2005 until now I have taken a left turn on a tree lined street. As far as the eye can see there are two species of mature deciduous trees planted next to one another-- so close really that their branches intermingle.

Last fall, when the strong winds undressed the boughs, I noticed the many evacuated nests peviously occupied in leafier months. Seeing them, I felt God was letting me in on some secret. Nature is like that, energy and life going on, but quite hidden from awareness.

Some times it is 5:30 am when I turn left and the singing of varieties of birds inhabiting the trees is so loud that it competes with the music I am listening to. I am forced to turn down my selection because the vocalists demand an audience. Their compositions are pretty frenetic--- not as harmonious as my Bach partitas, but they contain a greater legitimacy-- more primal joy.


The first time I entered this sort of hall of trees I felt the potential for many teachable moments. Creation has a way of lulling you away from things that stunt your transformation. It seems to quiet me, yet awaken another dimension of awareness. I like being in that place. I like noticing that leaves come bright green, small and touchable and that pink blossoms may erupt violently on only one tree leaving all its other naked neighbors quite envious.

My latest teachable moments have stirred while observing the dramatic changes taking place on my pathway. Maturity is the latest lesson. Some people, like the single pink blossom, just burst out. But people are not trees and though they look mature on the out side, they can be undeveloped on the inside. It is a task, I am sure, to catch up. Sadly, I think some people never do. I’ve observed that the loss of innocence is sometimes the cost of maturity. I ask God,” Is this necessary---is it avoidable?" Can a botanist prevent a tree from bursting? What would the consequence of that be? I’ll just have to keep turning left and pay attention.