GONE TO THE BIRDS

It’s been a month now since I’ve been scampering, and I must say my walks certainly have a different rhythm to them. Whereas trundling was relaxing, scampering has been more aggressive and instead of being contemplative it’s more energetic. I like it! I have more vigour and more interest in accomplishing things now. Just recently, I tended the garden, finished the first draft of a one-act play, worked on my journal and wrote some poetry. Life has been very good.

I haven’t totally given up on being reflective though; it’s still an important part of my life – my way. So near the end of my walk I take off my shoes and try to listen to the earth through my feet. I’m not very good at it yet, but I continue to try. Terry Fox said: dreams come true when people try. So armed with my new mantra - failure isn’t about falling down, failure is about not getting back up again – I continue to try and to readjust to my new way. It’s a more harmonizing way and maybe that’s all Mother Earth is trying to tell me: take care of yourself dear one, and carry on.


Nurturing has been in my awareness a lot recently. After my dog, Morgan, died, I found I had a real need to transfer those instincts. The only others around were the birds, so they became “my kids.” Chickadees, blue jays and nuthatches came in the winter; rosy-breasted grosbeaks, northern flickers and cowbirds came in the early spring; and robins, grackles, hummingbirds, and purple finches visit these days.

Naming birds, I've found, leads to a curious phenomenon. I remember the first one I ever looked up in a book was the nuthatch – or “ass-up” as it is affectionately called. Before I knew its identity, I looked at it very carefully, noticing all its markings and observing its behaviour. But when I found it in my book and had a name for it, it seemed less remarkable. I don’t know why that is. So I tried to pay more attention to the chickadees over the winter, but even when I had them eating out of my hand, I couldn’t decipher one from the other. Sure some were skinnier or some had a rusty breast, but my untrained eye couldn’t find the key to their uniqueness. I will try again when I see them next. (Anyone have any suggestions?)

Another thing I’ve found curious is how different creatures come into my life and teach me different things. Birds really have taken over from my dog now. Sometimes Morgan would mother me and show me how to pay better attention, and sometimes I would mother her and comb her fur. Sometimes she would get me to groom her because she knew it would calm me down. It was quite a special relationship, and I feel that way with the birds now too. It’s so wonderful that they’ve built a nest in the fascia right outside my studio door. I can’t wait to see what hatches. Meanwhile, I’m right here if they need me – not that I’d imagine they would.
One of the most adorable things I’ve ever seen here are baby robins jumping out of their nest and taking their first flying lesson. Mom and dad were overhead keeping other birds and me away, dive bombing us if we came close. It was so cute how the chicks tried to run and take off. Mostly they waddled and did face-plants.

Another bird that has me intrigued is the turkey vulture. They're probably one of the ugliest birds in the world with their big, black bodies and little, red turkey heads, but I could watch them soar all day. I think they’re beautiful…and graceful…and free… and I feel that way myself just watching them. Boy I’d love to catch a ride somehow. Two came so close the other day, I thought they were going to offer me one, but they were just teasing. Here’s a poem I wrote about one of the lessons I've learned from observing them:


Turkey Vulture

To soar above…

All rules…

And expectations …

To soar above…


Maybe the next transformation of this column will be Flying Along the White Trail.

CREATING LIFE

Here it is May, again - a year since I wrote my first column.

It came about after a group of friends and I discussed what our dreams were and how we were going to go about fulfilling them. In first year media writing at Ryerson’s Radio and Television Arts program, one of our early assignments was a personal essay. I quite enjoyed that and thought it was something I was meant to do. But I got busy with other writing and soon forgot about it. This last year, fulfilling that desire, has been a dream come true. There’s nothing like doing what it is you’ve dreamt about and having the result meet the expectation.

I started trundling along the White Trail eleven years ago when I got my dog, Morgan. She, like most dogs, loved to snoop, so instead of forcing her to move at my athletic pace, I went along with her playful one. In so doing, I was treated to many wonders, many stories and many lessons. The most important insight was: All the answers are within; nature balances us so we can hear them.

Last year, as I wrote Trundling Along the White Trail, I searched and searched for answers, and the questions were: who am I, and why do I behave this way? I had lost a sense self: a sense of whom I was, and it was making me feel heavy, lethargic and numb. I kept reading books looking for answers, and the advice was there except I wasn’t doing anything about it. Nature, too, was telling me to struggle and emerge - everyone and everything was - and thanks to a bear, I finally got it.

I was out on the trail on a lovely day mid April walking with my shoes in hand, when thirty feet ahead, I saw a big brown guy the size of a couch scamper away. The bear had just woken up and would have been very hungry. It could have attacked me but it didn’t. I stood my ground and all of a sudden I noticed my heart was lifted and I was feeling very powerful. At that moment, I felt protected. I knew I was not alone and that there was more to life than what can be seen and touched. I had read about the oneness of all life, and understood about it, but I had never felt it like that before.

This knowing, this feeling of connection to a greater realm, was what I had been searching for. And now that I’ve crossed its threshold, it's time to come out of hibernation and start scampering on.

Joseph Campbell said: “Life is not a process of discovery. It is a process of creation.” So I started by renovating a sleeping cabin and making it into my studio. A friend donated a pullout couch to replace the bed, I found an old school desk and rug in the basement, the lamp was coming from the garage and I brought my musical instruments up too. Nothing matches, but that’s okay. I’ve always wanted my own space, and now I’ve got it. It’s time to get out the list of the hundred things I want to do in life and get on with them.

Reflection is a good thing, but only as a means to an end. At some point, I’ve come to realize, you have to stop thinking about what you want and start being who you want to be no matter what. The point of all my struggling was to define who I was and who I was not and then to emerge - to choose who it is I want to be. This act of creation is both far-reaching and humbling for it aligns me with the energy of life itself. Life is creation; creation is life.

So off I go alone now, picking up the pace - scampering into the wilderness. I have no idea what will come of it. This monthly column may wind up as a personal essay, a short story or even a collection of photographs and poems. Who knows? But isn’t mystery what makes life exciting.
DO!