Dark Shadow
First Flight - The Sequel
To understand the significance of this story, you really need to read First Flight, here if you didn't read my last newsletter. This sequel is dark, as the subject line warned, so you could also just stay in the Disney wonderland of our beautiful back yard, or your's, and get on with your lovely spring day.
For those who favor a side order of reality in their smorgasborg, (which is not always me) here we go. We left off with the sweet baby birds flying out of their nest to bravely begin their lives in the world. For many days after that, we didn't see them. When Ray would bring the Meal Worms to the feeder, one of the parents would show up, but we didn't get to see the babes.
Last Monday night, we had a celebratory meal outside - Paella with homemade chicken stock, shrimp, clams and turkey kielbasa. We even dressed up, and had wine! We had a bit of a reason (I'd graduated as a health coach a week earlier) but really, we were just looking for an excuse. Before we ate, Ray put out some Meal Worms for the Bluebirds. They are not intimidated by us anymore and flew from the meal worm feeder to the seeds feeder right in front of us, repeatedly, while we ate. At one point, while I was savoring our feast, I noticed a dark cloud move quickly over the yard, in my peripheral vision. Ray didn't see it. But he saw a baby bird! It was hanging out on the end of a branch near our table, maybe 30 feet away. He was so much fluffier than when he'd first taken off two weeks earlier and the blue was starting to show up on his wings. We squealed (ok, I squealed) over each detail, as if it were a grandchild. The dad kept making trips to the feeder to get it more seeds and sometimes flew to the far end of the yard for a Meal Worm. We were loving life, all four of us, so grateful for every little thing, when, WHOOOSH ---- we both heard it before we saw it - a large hawk swooped in and grabbed the baby Bluebird in its talons, the Bluebird father letting out a piercing cry as he immediately followed the hawk on his path out of the yard.
I burst into tears. Ray looked equally bereft.
This happens every day, the swooping in of Sharp Shinned (which this one was) or Red-Tailed Hawks or other predatory birds to catch a meal for their own young. It's not like I didn't know. When I hear the Barred Owl in the evenings, I often imagine its nest and hope it can find some good pickings. But I'd never gone further than that! If pressed, I may have imagined these birds gathering up the rats (yay), but never the birds, especially not the baby blue birds and my God, not ours!!
We waited outside until the sun went down, hoping to see the male bluebird return, frightened that it may have also met its demise. It was a brutal reminder, yet again, of how death can come without warning, even when we are on the lookout. I used to blame myself for not being more on the lookout before my mother's, and then my sister's death. And again, here, I wondered if we had distracted the Bluebird dad by being in the yard, or by feeding him worms, allowing the Hawk to seize his opportunity.
We didn't see the male Bluebird for two more days. But then, there he was, with three babies in tow. Talk about a celebration! Today, Ray opened their nesting box and saw the mom already sitting on her new eggs. Life is moving on.
I am glad to have witnessed that Hawk, and to have read, a few weeks ago, about this bus driver in Detroit who died of Covid-19. He is only one of so many - yet his story was the first one I truly allowed to move me. I had dipped my toe into the common well of grief, but I hadn't really mourned until reading about this one man. The simple details of his life and the sudden injustice of its end, were the beginning of me truly connecting to the nature of this beast (and I mean politically as well as biologically.) I need to consistently (though not continuously) let in life's harsh realities, even when I'd rather hide with my chocolate chip cookies under a blanket, with novels and Netflix. It is a very small way of paying witness, and of fully appreciating the light.
