A Gradual Rebirth - May 2013

A lot has happened at the pond this month. I know I know, I say that every month but at the edges of the transition seasons it’s especially true. The Pond’s rebirth is a gradual one, allowing us the joy of bearing witness over many days. In looking at my May photo files, I’m struck by how the early May leaflets exploded into Memorial Day weekend lushness, providing camouflage for the grateful birds and their delicate cups of new life.  The next 2 photos of the causeway illustrate the transformation: the first was taken on May 2^nd, the second on May 24. 

 

As you can see, things have filled in nicely. Consequently toward the end of the month my photo files have fewer unobstructed bird shots, but that's a small price to pay for spring!  It had been a wet and foggy last part of the month, but the very end of the month is hot and humid, leading to even more acceleration of plant growth. The pond has the feel and look of a rain forest these days and that’s fine with me except for the boom in the mosquito population!  I console myself with DEET and the recognition that this time of year a new kind of flower greets every day.

We are welcoming back many more of our bird friends this month. The beloved red winged blackbird sings his familiar song from causeway and from the cattails down back. The orioles are back too, and my friend the chatty catbird, the little kinglet with his crazy song, the warblers, the yellow goldfinch, and many others. The tree swallow tries in vain to lift the swan’s bigger feathers from the water, but occasionally finds a manageably-sized prize to feather her nest.

I have enjoyed the return of several of the human visitors, familiar to me, to the pond as well. There is something nice about seeing the same people walking the pond morning after morning.  Folks often smile and say good morning here – my cousin actually refers to our pond as “Good Morning Pond” because of this. Every once in a while someone will strike up a conversation – what did I see today, or where did the spring go, some little pleasantry that gives me a better sense of who they are.  Since my work by necessity has me parked in a cubicle most of the day, I am grateful for the interaction with both nature and humans that the pond provides. And I feel a sense of community with the folks here. We may come down for different reasons - a place to escape to, to chat with a friend, to run around, or to experience a sense of peace and beauty - but the common thread that binds us is an appreciation for the many gifts our little gem of a pond provides.

Many have been anticipating the arrival of the spring baby birds, and have been checking on the swans’ nest way down back.  While watching the mother tenderly fuss over her eggs I’d hum a snippet from Amy Beach’s Peter Pan: 

“When the patient mother bird

Broodeth o’er each little one

Does she long to breathe a word

Of blue sky and golden sun?” 

(Peter Pan (after J. Andrews) for female Chorus and Piano, Boston 1923). 

Eventually we were rewarded with the sight of 3 adorable little cygnets gliding alongside their regal parents. Whoever wrote “The Ugly Duckling” obviously had never seen a cygnet. Precious and innocent, they depend on their folks’ vigilance, their own rapidly developing sensibility, and a huge dose of luck to survive. 

There are lots of other cute new arrivals at the pond. I heard at a party the other day that looking at a baby animal for 30 seconds improved people's moods. When I googled about this, I also saw a study that suggested it could make one more productive at work (see "The Power of Kawaii, http://www.plosone.org/article/info%3Adoi%2F10.1371%2Fjournal.pone.0046362). Double bonus! Have a look at this cute little duckling and improve your day. :)

Of course anyone who has spent time at the pond has seen that not all these precious newborns make it. Those of you who know me have heard me rail against the suffering built into Mother Nature's balance sheet of predator and prey. But as we always have a chance to choose our perspective, today I choose to focus on the absolute miracle that new life is, what a pleasure to behold. I wish the babies well.

So yes, as always the pond is changing - new flowers, new babies, the gradual change in seasons. It’s good to see that things change and that they can change rapidly yet the pond takes it all in stride. Something for us to aspire to perhaps, to remain constant whether we are in a historic February storm or on a bench in a soft spring breeze. To know that whether life feels good or bad that it will change and can change quickly, to rejoice in and appreciate the good without holding on, and to hold on when things are bad because we know that feeling good can return.  The cycle of life continues for us, and after us. In the meantime, the breeze is soft right now, the pond is alive with sights sounds and smells, so we may as well take a deep breath and join the sparrows in their joyous song: Spring spring spring!

We Are Everyone - April 2013

This month was supposed to be an upbeat and breezy blog. After all, April was here, we were all starting to thaw out, and an abundance of life was returning to the pond. I had tentatively titled the posting “Two By Two” because I was struck by all the paired off critters gracing the pond. Geese, ducks, swans and occasional young couples in short sleeves – certainly spring was here.  The many returning robins proclaimed as much with their caroling song. I was happy for their return, and the return of the goldfinch, red wing black birds, king birds, grackle, wood peckers and others. It was a great time for photography as the birds were back, but the leaves hadn't fully emerged to hide them yet. And it was a busy time, with lots of folks coming out to walk, bike, fish and in general celebrate the good weather. We even had a film crew at the Clapp School, leading to a carnival atmosphere and occasional traffic jams on a sunny and summer-like April 9th.

Unfortunately, our light and breezy April, and all of us, were changed by the events of April 15th. As with the Challenger disaster, the explosion of the Columbia, and of course September 11th, we will forever remember where we were when we heard of the Boston Marathon bombing. We will remember the frantic phone calls we made, or being glued to facebook trying to get word that a friend or loved one was safe. The horrific images of the dead or maimed being carried out of the blast zone hollowed out our bellies. Some of us or our loved ones were injured. And certainly as the days passed, even if we weren't directly affected we likely learned that someone we knew knew someone that was injured – a friend of a friend’s leg was blown off, a friend’s client can’t hear out of one ear.  And how strange to learn that the dead and maimed figuratively lay all around us – residents of 'safe places' like Woburn, Winchester, Wakefield, Medford, Arlington.

What has stayed so strongly with me since the bombing is that it could have been any one of us, or any one of our loved ones. Some of us have even stood on that spot at previous marathons, or were planning to be at the finish line this year but got called away. The Fates chose randomly -  people just standing in the wrong place at the wrong time - and now their lives have either ended or have changed dramatically, and forever. Krystal Campbell, Martin Richards, Lu Lynne, Jeff Bauman, Roseann Sdoia, they are the every man and every woman. It is only by chance that you or I weren’t standing where they were standing that day. As so as so often happens in times of tragedy, the country came together with empathy and compassion to support the ones that could have been any of us, in an event that threatened us all. 

Because of the bombings it perhaps is not widely known that there was another, even more local tragedy that day. A canoe capsized down the pond that same Monday night and only one of the 2 occupants was found and rescued. The many blue and red lights twirling out of the pond’s dusk seemed an eerie reflection of what was happening in Boston.  No one goes out on a holiday canoe ride and thinks that they won’t come back. No one goes out to a holiday road race and thinks that they won’t come back.

 
The pond is calming to me, so that week I tried to get down there as soon after the bombing as I could. The day I made it down there, the wind seemed to be trying to scour everything clean, and distracted us with the seagulls wheeling over the causeway and our hair wheeling around our heads. Distracting us to give our hearts a break. The robins were there too and were a welcome balm to me. I remembered that Christian folklore sees the robin as the good Samaritan and visionary of the bird world. Supposedly the robin tried to ease Jesus’ agony on the cross by pulling a thorn out of his forehead, Jesus’ blood staining the bird’s breast red and blessing it. As I walked Gov. Patrick's words echoed in my ears, “the grace this tragedy exposed is the best of who we are”. Goodness and bravery and compassion  can shine through the worst of times and the robin’s presence comforted me and reminded me to be grateful for the good now and for the possibility of a better future.

In my as yet unpublished February blog, in an ‘imagined chat’ the heron bluntly points out that we are all at risk, but that humans try to insulate themselves from risk and pretend they are safe.  And of course he’s right but the bombing made it clear that there is no such thing as safe. The heron admonished me that owning risk makes us more grateful and kinder to each other, not so tied up with petty things. I think he’s right about that too – after the bombings fewer horns were honked, fewer swears were expelled, more doors were held open. When I saw the heron late on the week of the bombing he had dropped his typical regal air and, presenting himself wings down, exposed his scrawny-looking underside. (Different sources have labeled this behavior ‘gular fluttering’, a method of cooling on hot days, but as I recall that day was not hot at all.)  You, Heron, mighty symbol of self-reliance and self-determination, displaying the vulnerability you are wise enough to own. A vulnerability we share, but maybe try to insulate ourselves from and forget, until a tragedy reminds us.

There is time to protect ourselves of course, and mourn and regroup.  Time for empathy and compassion and support towards the ones that were hurt, feeling their pain, letting them know they are not alone. We realize it could have been any one of us and we try to treat them as we would have liked to have been treated. Yet time passes and wounds heal, and maybe not right away, but when the time is right we venture out again. The air so light and breezy still waits for us and embraces us, with our new scars and all.   The heron stalks into the water to fish, and the robin peers earnestly into the future, seeing perhaps a better tomorrow. 

placeholder2 - March

Hopefully soon!

placeholder1 Feb

Almost ready!