Time to Fly!

For the past two days, the female and male swallows have been trying to coax their young ones out of the nest.  For two days, I’ve watched with fascination.

Mamma bird perches across the nest, on a light next to our door, chirping with encouragement.

Daddy bird sits next to the nest on one of the porch lights, flapping his wings, as if to show these babies how they must fly.

The little ones are curious.  They peek out of the nest, looking downward.  They stretch their wings.  They even get brave enough to stand on the edge of the nest.  Still . . . they won’t leave.

Today, I made the decision that I would brave their mother’s wrath, and went out onto the porch to clean up the poop.  What a mess.  Like white, sticky mud.  Admittedly, I had to duck numerous times as Mamma bird dive-bombed me.  I’m trying to live in peace with her.  But Lordy, she is protective.

The dove is much more tolerant of me.  She is still nesting in the ivy and as far as I can tell, no babies have yet hatched.  She calmly watched me as I cleaned up her poop today too.  Much less messy than the swallows, and at least the dove has the good sense to lean her butt over the nest and poop on the driveway.  In general, dove poop is just easier to clean.  Almost like pellets.  A sweep of the broom – and it’s gone. 

Really.  It’s time for these baby swallows to fly. I love watching them but I want my front yard back and I want a clean porch again.  Come on little ones.  Stretch those wings.  Go explore that big, beautiful world of ours.

 

New Life in the Garden

It is thundering tonight.  The rain has come, so I don’t need to water my plants.  Because of the lightening, the thunder, the rain, I’m at liberty to wander around my garden.  And to think.  About new life.

It seems our home has become a bird sanctuary.  We have a nest of swallows on our front entrance –their twitched shell built on top of our porch light.   The bird shit is amazing, and each night, I wash it off our porch, only to have a new pile there in the morning.   Well, I guess there is a life-lesson here.  A metaphor if I wanted to explore that one some more – especially as it relates to the cancer world.  Which is what this blog is about, after all.  But tonight, I really want to focus on new life.  Bird shit is one drawback to a nest on your front porch.  The next is that if any company approaches your front door, they are at risk of being dive-bombed by both the male and female parents.  It is risky business weeding my front yard, let me tell you.  More than once, I’ve ducked from the female coming directly at me. 

The baby birds are maturing and they now have feathers.  Each morning and evening, I watch Momma bird feed them.  The babies stretch their long necks out of the nest, waiting for Momma to deposit small, regurgitated insects into their tiny beaks.  As much as I’ve enjoyed watching the babies develop and grow, I’m hoping they fly soon.  My friend Cori and I are hosting a baby shower this coming Sunday at my house, and I don’t want our guests attacked by Swallow parents as they enter through my front door.  Also, it’d be nice to get rid of the daily deposit of bird shit.

Additionally, we have a nest from a pair of doves, thatched deep underneath the ivy that grows along our front stucco wall.  The mother bird is difficult to see, and after numerous pictures, this is the best I was able to capture.  Look for the gray image in the center of the picture.  We found one cracked (and empty) dove egg from this nest a few weeks ago.  Made me sad that the emptiness of the egg was most likely due to a predator.   Do birds grieve?  Why would they not?  Mothers are mothers. Fathers are fathers. Regardless of species.  As Tennyson said, “Nature red in tooth and claw.”

I find it amazing the dove’s eggs haven’t hatched yet.  After all, we are deep into July already.  But this is Colorado – and we always have a delayed season here. 

Two nights ago, I watched a gigantic dragonfly hover next to the swallow nest on our porch.  I couldn’t help but think of Jeffrey and Brian (from Jeffrey's Voice) -- two young men affected by cancer and taken too soon from this world.  The dragon fly is the symbol of the two boys as communicated by their mom, Nancy.  

And as I watch the sun set tonight over the butterfly garden, Jennifer Ronhovde Rotramel sits deep in my soul, fluttering her wings.  Reminding me.  About life.

Yes, new life is still bursting in the garden.  Even in the middle of July.  It’s important to take a time out.  To look at the babies.  To be in awe.  But also to be aware of how fleeting it all is.  The impermanence of this world.  As we get caught up in politics, in our jobs, in family drama, in aging, in money, in our health, in daily living -- it's important to stop.  To breathe.  To know.  This all will pass.  All.  Will.  Pass. And then what?

I turn to St. Frances of Assisi, who said, "It is in dying that we are born again into eternal life."  The garden affirms this mantra.  All we have to do is look with open eyes.  We see death each autumn and winter in the garden.  And then in the spring and summer, here come the tulips, the daffodils, the daisies, the roses, the columbines.

For all who are fighting cancer tonight, I leave you with the words of Genny, that I think encapsulate the meaning of all new life:  "Namaste."  The divine spark in me, sees the divine spark in you.  And that includes seeing the spark of life in little swallows and their parents, who are splattering their poop across my front porch.  Namaste, friends.  Namaste.