The World Is Full Of Loveliness

Ruby's tree
Ruby under her tree

A couple weekends ago, I noticed our dog was staring a little too zealously at the dwarf blue spruce tree near our back patio. Ruby counts that tree as her personal property. Since the first night that she arrived at our home, a tiny border collie puppy accustomed to life outdoors, she’s claimed ownership for that tree and used it as a protected spot for sleeping. She guards her tree like an old man sitting on his porch and waiting for the next interloper to happen by so he can angrily shout, “Get off my lawn!” But in the spring, nearly every year for the past 11 years, a few renegade birds have chosen to brave the threat of dog, and employ the dense, weighty branches of that tree, branches that barely sway in the wind and provide excellent coverage from rain, as their prime nesting spot. In years past, many nests have been built, many eggs have been hatched. One year, our dog Buddy made a meal of two sparrows from one of those nests and broke my heart. I didn’t care if he was a bird dog. That was bad form. The sight of Ruby staring with a bit too much interest into the middle branches of the spruce gave me PTSD. There were more birds there. Birds Ruby was interested in ingesting.

I shooed her away and started poking around to determine the source of her interest. About midway through the tree on the back side, I found her draw. There among the clustered branches was a Eurasian collared dove sitting on a nest. It eyed me cautiously. I began to move some branches to see if I could catch a glimpse into the nest, and with that the bird flew to a nearby tree to watch me. I used one hand to hold the branches down and my other hand to position my phone for a photo. My suspicions were confirmed. Two small, white eggs sat cradled in the center of a nest made from fallen, Austrian-pine needles. I grabbed Ruby and headed back indoors, curiosity satisfied. I waited about fifteen minutes then snuck back within viewing range of the tree to make sure the nesting bird had returned. The bird was there.

The eggs that gave way to birds.
The eggs that gave way to birds.

Over the next couple weeks, I watched the nest waiting to see if the eggs had hatched. We had a cold, rainy and snowy spell in Denver, and I was anxious about my little yard guests. When the sun finally returned today after a nearly 6-day hiatus to dry our drenched yard, I went out to check the nest. There was a bird on it again. My presence shooed it away, and I peered in and found the two eggs replaced by two dark-colored birds with sparse and pale-yellow feathers. I had to do a double take because the birds, at least I thought they were birds, looked more like threadbare tennis balls with the fuzz nearly rubbed off. With the snow melting from the weekend, the temperature was hovering around 45 degrees so I hurried inside, not wanting those babies to be left in the cold for a second longer than necessary. When I checked on the nest shortly thereafter, the father bird (it is the male birds, I read, that nest during the day while the female remains on the nest at night) was in place on top of the babies. All was right with the world. Good papa.

I’m going to be keeping my eye on Ruby over the next few weeks as the baby birds head toward their fledgling state. I’m not up for once again finding out my dog opted for take out rather than nightly kibble. I’d like to know that I helped keep these babies in my yard safe. After all, their parents chose our sturdy, protective spruce tree within close proximity of our perpetually stocked sunflower-seed feeder to raise their brood. Clearly, this shows they have wisdom, not to mention inimitable taste.

Tonight, a friend shared a news story about a toddler boy who was beaten to death in Utah, the apparent victim of anger related to his not toilet training quickly enough. I tried to read the article, but never made it past the title and the first line. I just couldn’t stomach it. When I think back to when my precious sons were three and pooping behind the couch and using their spray hose to put out pretend fires on our heavily textured bathroom walls, certainly there were times when I was frustrated. It happens to the best of us. Luckily, most of us are able to cope. Yet, we humans are animals sometimes. While we have the capacity for great good, we also have the capacity for murder. When events like this hit the news, I think about the birds that have nested in my tree. I appreciate the work they are putting into their parenting gig. Even if it is only instinct, it’s a beautiful ritual that plays out every spring, nature setting an example of patience, dedication, and duty in parenting. Maybe that’s why I am drawn to the doves in our tree. They’re a reminder of the good in the world when we’re focusing on the bad can crush the soul.

*****************

He doesn’t know the world at all
Who stays in his nest and doesn’t go out.
He doesn’t know what birds know best
Nor what I want to sing about,
That the world is full of loveliness.

When dewdrops sparkle in the grass
And earth’s aflood with morning light,
A blackbird sings upon a bush
To greet the dawning after night.
Then I know how fine it is to live.

Hey, try to open up your heart
To beauty; go to the woods someday
And weave a wreath of memory there.
Then if the tears obscure your way
You’ll know how wonderful it is
To be alive. 

–Anonymous child in Theresienstadt Concentration Camp, 1941

When The View Gets Bad, Change The Channel You Are Watching

Joe taking a pause on Mt. Sherman
9 year old Joe takes in the beauty from Mt. Sherman

“I love to think of nature as an unlimited broadcasting station, through which God speaks to us every hour, if we will only tune in.”          ~George Washington Carver

Tonight we went to the movies because last night hubby finished reading The Hobbit to our boys. They could barely then wait another day to see the film, so off we went. Although I have never read The Hobbit (it is currently, however, loaded onto my Kindle for reading), I thoroughly enjoyed the movie. Because I am somewhat like a squirrel on crack, I was surprised I enjoyed the film as much as I did. It’s hard to keep my interest for 2 hours and 39 minutes straight.

What struck me most about the movie was the incredible scenery. It got me to thinking about this planet we live on and how amazing it is. When something horrible happens in the world, like a deadly shooting rampage at a movie theater or an elementary school, for example, I am plagued with negative thoughts. The one thing that always makes me feel better in those situations is looking at photos of the breathtaking scenery on this rotating rock. Despite the fact that I will probably never travel to Patagonia or New Zealand, or any of the myriad other stunning locales on Earth, I take comfort in knowing these places exist. When I want to see them, I visit Trek Earth and their images bring me peace. Sometimes when things are bad I will go out for a quick walk on the open space behind our house and replace all the negativity with the beauty I see around me in the smallest things, a tortoise burrowing into a hole for winter, a coyote pouncing on a vole, a yucca plant in bloom.

Bad things happen all the time. Some seem too big to overcome. But, there is solace all around us if we look for it. For me, there is comfort in the knowledge that I am but a tiny part of this big, beautiful world. There was beauty here before I arrived and there will be beauty here after I leave. I can’t always escape the negative, but I can change the channel once in a while to remind myself that quiet, beauty, and wonder still exist. It may not cure the evils of the world, but it does make me look at them differently.

 

Birdsong

He doesn’t know the world at all
Who stays in his nest and doesn’t go out.
He doesn’t know what birds know best
Nor what I want to sing about,
That the world is full of loveliness.

When dewdrops sparkle in the grass
And earth’s aflood with morning light,
A blackbird sings upon a bush
To greet the dawning after night.
Then I know how fine it is to live.

Hey, try to open up your heart
To beauty; go to the woods someday
And weave a wreath of memory there.
Then if tears obscure your way
You’ll know how wonderful it is
To be alive.

Anonymous Child
Written in Terezin Concentration Camp