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.