This: “It does me well to remember I am built from nature’s rules, not the other way around. While I owe her my life, she owes me nothing.” So worthy of recall. Thank you.
A season of hope and blood indeed, as we look on and wish, against all odds and against all logic for all younglings to survive and to thrive. Spring is a wise and brutal teacher. We had blackbirds nesting in the shed the last few years and wrens. The blackbirds nested in an old shortbread biscuit tin among all the clutter of the shed, and it was the perfect height for me to sneak in and leave my camera set up to video the parents feeding the chicks, over a week or so, until they fledged. I was able to get the most wonderful photos of one of the fledglings sat on the wheel of my rusty old bike. It was magical. I got some footage of the wrens, as well. I hope, desperately, they will return this year to delight me again. A beautiful read as always, thank you 💛
I lament and glory with you. so much, so hard. I saw 4 Dark Eyed Junco eggs in a nest , low in a wall planter in a quiet part of the backyard. I kept away from her space, the observant mother, shy and fierce in a tree if we got close. A few weeks later, I peeked and saw a foursome of newborns and let them be. I went to refill a feeder for the ravenous house finches and didn't hear her guarding, I peeked and the nest was gone --whisked away by a predator like a shopping bag of produce. She hasn't been back, I hope she wasn't part of the slaughter. A few days later, the nest-undisturbed-fell from the roof to the patio. Perfect, undisturbed, but empty. I found no feather, or babies, nothing. Truly undisturbed, but as you note, the content filling other chicks' bellies.
My weekly visit to the Orkney Islands, Rebecca, courtesy of your considered and concise descriptions...
One moment I'm listening to autumn rain by a sub-tropical Australian river, then a moment later I'm on an Orkney shore, braving the cold water to see what lies within.
All the seasons teach us something, but mostly we ignore them - beyond deciding what to wear today and where to go. Having written a lot of Summer beach poetry these last few months I'm now adjusting myself to shorter, cooler days, and a different scent on the air, and wondering if I have an Autumn poem to write.
When I read your descriptions of your island life, it makes me wonder what the air smells like....
Keep writing! Keep seeing! Keep living every moment....
Autumn rain by your subtropical river sounds delicious 💙 and oh, I think you most certainly have an autumn poem or two in you, Dave! Funny to think of your year calming down into shorter days and cooler air while the world feels like it is waking up here.
What a glorious evocation of spring in all her manifestations: life and death, birth and failure. I especially loved the description of the pipefish.
We have robins nesting on our floodlights this year. American robins which are unrelated to British robins, but are instead of kind of thrush. I've reached up my phone camera to peek into the nest when mama robin is away and spotted four perfect turquoise-blue eggs. This is hopefully a better location than when the robins nested in the cypress tree right next to the front door where the mother was continually being disturbed as we went in and out of the house. Those eggs did manage to hatch, but the nestlings all died, one after another. In the last few years cardinals have nested in our wild rose bush, deep among the thorns. I wonder if they'll be back when the bush is all leafed out.
It's possible something happened to the mother as it takes a lot to disturb them. I love blackbirds, but they seem to abandon common sense when it comes to building nests. A few years ago we had one build her nest on the fifth rung up of a ladder husband had left leaning up against the outhouse. He needed the ladder but put off the roof job until the blackbird family left. She didn't seem bothered by the proximity with a family of seven humans, three cats and a big dog and she hatched all her eggs. Inevitably, being blackbird chicks, they wouldn't stay put and we were forever catching them and putting them back in the nest, once at one in the morning in dressing gown and espadrilles when a cat tried to climb down from the roof. I put chicken wire round the ladder, top and bottom, but the chicks still managed to get out and kill themselves, two drowned in a water bucket, and I suppose cats got the other two. Heartbreaking.
Oh gosh that is so sad, but well done for your herculean efforts in trying to keep them going. Hopefully mama found a better place to nest in her next attempt...
P.S. When I finally got back to bed that night, the cat, which I had never seen before, responsible for the uproar was in our bedroom! We had to catch it and put it out the front door so it wouldn’t go straight back to the nest.
Wow, all these stories touched me deeply. And the drawing is beautiful. Yes, spring is all of this and I'm torn too between waking up and going back to hibernation...
I love this. I definitely relate to all of what you shared so beautifully here. I want to pass on that the female pipefish, from what I understand, deposits unfertilized eggs in the brood pouch, and that is where the male fertilizes them... super fine point nerdiness here but I know you've got an appreciation for the science so figured I'd be that one girl who gets distracted by the least important detail.🤓
Oh thank you for letting me know!! I'm going to edit the piece now because I can't bear the thought of having the wrong thing written (from someone who also gets distracted by the details 🤓)
Well, now I'm trying to eat my lunch with a throat tightened by emotion. And grateful for it! Tears, yes, but also laughter. And a feeling of meeting a kindred spirit. Thank you!
The piece is gorgeous, and this dichotomy is what drew me to your writing in the first place. But let me just add that the EGGS are SO PERFECT. I want the eggs. Do you have prints?
Anyone who allows gorgeous and wretched to belong in the same breath is my kind of human. Though I didn’t need this essay to discover that! Your prose stuns and resuscitates every single time. And like spring, this one burst through me with insistent, celebratory force.
This: “It does me well to remember I am built from nature’s rules, not the other way around. While I owe her my life, she owes me nothing.” So worthy of recall. Thank you.
🤍
A season of hope and blood indeed, as we look on and wish, against all odds and against all logic for all younglings to survive and to thrive. Spring is a wise and brutal teacher. We had blackbirds nesting in the shed the last few years and wrens. The blackbirds nested in an old shortbread biscuit tin among all the clutter of the shed, and it was the perfect height for me to sneak in and leave my camera set up to video the parents feeding the chicks, over a week or so, until they fledged. I was able to get the most wonderful photos of one of the fledglings sat on the wheel of my rusty old bike. It was magical. I got some footage of the wrens, as well. I hope, desperately, they will return this year to delight me again. A beautiful read as always, thank you 💛
Oh this is just so magical, Emily! I so hope they return this spring too 🙏
I love this story and the clever opportunity to observe and wonder.
I lament and glory with you. so much, so hard. I saw 4 Dark Eyed Junco eggs in a nest , low in a wall planter in a quiet part of the backyard. I kept away from her space, the observant mother, shy and fierce in a tree if we got close. A few weeks later, I peeked and saw a foursome of newborns and let them be. I went to refill a feeder for the ravenous house finches and didn't hear her guarding, I peeked and the nest was gone --whisked away by a predator like a shopping bag of produce. She hasn't been back, I hope she wasn't part of the slaughter. A few days later, the nest-undisturbed-fell from the roof to the patio. Perfect, undisturbed, but empty. I found no feather, or babies, nothing. Truly undisturbed, but as you note, the content filling other chicks' bellies.
Thank you, I needed to tell the story.
"As if butchery could be swamped by buds."
Oh Leslie that is heartbreaking. I too hope the mother was spared and went on to have another brood. It is brutal and beautiful out there.
My weekly visit to the Orkney Islands, Rebecca, courtesy of your considered and concise descriptions...
One moment I'm listening to autumn rain by a sub-tropical Australian river, then a moment later I'm on an Orkney shore, braving the cold water to see what lies within.
All the seasons teach us something, but mostly we ignore them - beyond deciding what to wear today and where to go. Having written a lot of Summer beach poetry these last few months I'm now adjusting myself to shorter, cooler days, and a different scent on the air, and wondering if I have an Autumn poem to write.
When I read your descriptions of your island life, it makes me wonder what the air smells like....
Keep writing! Keep seeing! Keep living every moment....
Best Wishes - Dave :)
Autumn rain by your subtropical river sounds delicious 💙 and oh, I think you most certainly have an autumn poem or two in you, Dave! Funny to think of your year calming down into shorter days and cooler air while the world feels like it is waking up here.
What a glorious evocation of spring in all her manifestations: life and death, birth and failure. I especially loved the description of the pipefish.
We have robins nesting on our floodlights this year. American robins which are unrelated to British robins, but are instead of kind of thrush. I've reached up my phone camera to peek into the nest when mama robin is away and spotted four perfect turquoise-blue eggs. This is hopefully a better location than when the robins nested in the cypress tree right next to the front door where the mother was continually being disturbed as we went in and out of the house. Those eggs did manage to hatch, but the nestlings all died, one after another. In the last few years cardinals have nested in our wild rose bush, deep among the thorns. I wonder if they'll be back when the bush is all leafed out.
Oh I wish mama robin well this year! And how wonderful to have cardinals in the rosebush. They are such spectacular birds.
I can't believe you saw a pipefish!!!!!! so jealous!!!!
I squealed!!! I almost thought it was a piece of seaweed but something made me look back...
Superb writing!
Thank you Iain!
Oh this was a contemplative joy to read 🤍
Thank you so much Kristin!
“A season of hope and blood, tenderness and butchery, babies, and corpses.” Swoon. This whole piece is probably my favorite depiction of spring.
🥰 ah what a lovely thing to hear! Thank you Holly!
I wish I could give you 1,000 hearts for that post! Birth and death in a microcosm. Thank you for writing. nora ann.
I'm so glad you enjoyed it! 🤍
It's possible something happened to the mother as it takes a lot to disturb them. I love blackbirds, but they seem to abandon common sense when it comes to building nests. A few years ago we had one build her nest on the fifth rung up of a ladder husband had left leaning up against the outhouse. He needed the ladder but put off the roof job until the blackbird family left. She didn't seem bothered by the proximity with a family of seven humans, three cats and a big dog and she hatched all her eggs. Inevitably, being blackbird chicks, they wouldn't stay put and we were forever catching them and putting them back in the nest, once at one in the morning in dressing gown and espadrilles when a cat tried to climb down from the roof. I put chicken wire round the ladder, top and bottom, but the chicks still managed to get out and kill themselves, two drowned in a water bucket, and I suppose cats got the other two. Heartbreaking.
Oh gosh that is so sad, but well done for your herculean efforts in trying to keep them going. Hopefully mama found a better place to nest in her next attempt...
She didn’t use the ladder again anyway!
P.S. When I finally got back to bed that night, the cat, which I had never seen before, responsible for the uproar was in our bedroom! We had to catch it and put it out the front door so it wouldn’t go straight back to the nest.
Oh my gosh! What a rascal 😅
Never saw him again either.
Wow, all these stories touched me deeply. And the drawing is beautiful. Yes, spring is all of this and I'm torn too between waking up and going back to hibernation...
Thank you Tania, I'm so glad you enjoyed it! 🤍
I love this. I definitely relate to all of what you shared so beautifully here. I want to pass on that the female pipefish, from what I understand, deposits unfertilized eggs in the brood pouch, and that is where the male fertilizes them... super fine point nerdiness here but I know you've got an appreciation for the science so figured I'd be that one girl who gets distracted by the least important detail.🤓
Oh thank you for letting me know!! I'm going to edit the piece now because I can't bear the thought of having the wrong thing written (from someone who also gets distracted by the details 🤓)
Oh phew, so glad my nitpicking did not offend you. 💜
Well, now I'm trying to eat my lunch with a throat tightened by emotion. And grateful for it! Tears, yes, but also laughter. And a feeling of meeting a kindred spirit. Thank you!
I'm so glad you enjoyed it Amy! And always thrilled to meet a kindred spirit 🥰
The piece is gorgeous, and this dichotomy is what drew me to your writing in the first place. But let me just add that the EGGS are SO PERFECT. I want the eggs. Do you have prints?
Oh thank you!! I don't have prints I'm afraid, I'm not sure how to do all that!
Anyone who allows gorgeous and wretched to belong in the same breath is my kind of human. Though I didn’t need this essay to discover that! Your prose stuns and resuscitates every single time. And like spring, this one burst through me with insistent, celebratory force.
🤍🤍🤍 your comments always leave me smiling!