First of all, welcome and thank you to all my new subscribers! (And all the old ones, too!) Being chronically ill can be really isolating. Parenting young kids can also be really isolating. Late-stage capitalism/full-blown fascism? Isolating (and terrifying). The main reason I started writing about my life again was to build connection. I’m happy you’re here, and that we’re in this together.
As I’ve said before, spring can be a really hard time of year. In an effort to weather the literal and metaphorical storms, I’ve been trying to spend a little time outside every day. I used to do this by taking walks around my neighborhood, but that hasn’t been manageable lately, so instead I’ve been sitting in my backyard.
There’s one large tree in the yard, an elm. Every spring the branches frill with green buds, and when they begin to fall, my driveway becomes a bird buffet. For one week every year, I see white-throated sparrows, chipping sparrows, yellow-rumped warblers, and thrushes—in addition to all my usual backyard bird buddies, which include finches, juncos, woodpeckers, nuthatches, chickadees, mourning doves, cardinals, and (grumble) house sparrows.
Earlier today I saw a chipping sparrow (and heard a white-throated sparrow). It’s official: Bird Buffet Week has begun!
It was cloudy out today, and didn’t feel nearly as warm as the weather app said it was, but I spread a blanket under the elm tree, anyway, to sit a while with my yearly visitors.
For all I know, none of these are the same birds I saw last year, but they feel like old friends. After all, we’re in this together, too. As I watched them flit from branch to branch, I wondered how many generations of birds had come to this tree. How many will come after I’m gone?
I don’t know about you, but I find tremendous comfort in the reminder that my life is only a fraction of a flash of a moment in the great, unraveling snake of time. I find comfort in knowing that, with all I cannot control, I can continue to be a steward of this elm tree that feeds so many birds, as long as I am able. I can learn the names and songs of these birds, and teach them to my children, in the hopes that one day they’ll do what they can to care for them, and the rest of the planet, too. I want them to remember that, even when we feel the most alone, we are connected to an entire world, an entire universe. The birds, the trees, the bugs, the plants. This squirrel that stared down at me for ten full minutes (but thankfully did not pounce). We’re all in this together. I don’t suppose that necessarily makes us friends, but maybe it should.
Are you friends with your local wildlife? One of my goals for the year is to befriend a crow, but I never see any in my neighborhood. Tips and crow-sightings welcome.
Take gentle care, everyone. I hope some part of the universe feels friendly to you today, and that you have the time and space to lay under a tree.
