While You're Away...

 

"I make the most of all that comes

and the least of all that goes."

Sara Teasdale

 

Driving about, during the times when deciduous trees have lost their leaves, I am always attracted to empty birds' nests in trees. I certainly would take notice of - and great interest in - them any time of the year, but they usually are not so easily seen. This is quite intentional on the birds' part, but once they're done with them, what does it matter?

 
For me, as in many things, it leads to interesting thoughts: Where are those particular birds now? Did they successfully raise their young and how many survived? Will they return to the same nest next spring or build a new one? Will I notice that they've returned or recognize them and will I even care by then? After my thinking has run its course on the birds, it turns inward. The birds may not wonder at all about me, but just what will I have done in the time they've been away? It is a thought worth pursuing...
 

 
We all suffer some degree of loss in our lifetimes. Relationships change, friends leave, spouses wander, parents and siblings die. The older we get, the more loss we have experienced, and that can become a burdensome thing. For those who believe in some sort of afterlife, there is at least the hint of a promise of reconnection. If the loss was caused by some kind of unresolved differences, there may be a chance of reconciliation - if not in this life, then in the next. If the loss was a person we cared deeply for, perhaps we will be together again someday. No more tears, pain, loneliness, or suffering - all will be well in the hereafter. The trouble is, no one can tell us when that will be and the waiting can be interminable.
 

 
While there are a number of different belief systems, those that offer no hereafter surely have ways of dealing with loss, but reuniting after this life would not be one of them. For those who have no belief in an afterlife, what's done is done. In some ways this might seem better, for putting one's life on hold in the hope for a better future "someday" could certainly lead to stagnation and dead ends - no pun intended. A great many poets and others who have ways with words have stated that the past is over and done with and the future is not guaranteed. All we really have is today - here and now. But if we are dealing with loss, how does this help?
 

 
I return to my thoughts of the empty birds' nests. To those birds I would say this: "While you've been away, I have remained the same in some ways and changed in others. I have grown, learned, and reached out beyond myself. I have made mistakes, stumbled, fallen, and picked myself up. I have remembered the past, but not remained mired there. I have anticipated the future and moved forward, knowing I may never reach it. I have endeavored to help others, share what I have, see life through their eyes. I have not wasted my life, but have lived it - loved, laughed, sung, danced, and enjoyed those around me. I think of you and remember all that you taught me; my life is richer because you were here."
 

 
If I would say that to birds, how much more could I say to those I've lost? The telling does not need to be in words, only in the living of our lives. Whether you believe we'll meet again or not, imagine it is so. LIVE your life - in honor of, or in spite of, those you've lost.  For in the end, this is what truly matters.
 

Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow.

What is your life?

You are a mist that appears for a little while

and then vanishes.

James 4:14

Brush, Baby, Brush!

Over the years, a great number of animals have passed through my life. Because I find them at least as interesting as people (sometimes more so...) I get to know what I can about them. And like certain people, some make a lasting impression. It's not always the fancy ones, either...

Where we live, in northwestern Washington, we have grown accustomed to seeing many of the same types of animals much of the time. Some remain here year-round, some come and go with the seasons, and some appear, then disappear, from time to time for whatever reason. Of the latter, we often never know where they come from nor where they go, but simply enjoy them while they're here. This has been true for the Chinese Pheasant, California Quail, Barred Owl, Opossum, Chipmunk. Bobcat, and Black Bear - all of which appeared for a short time, then disappeared. We know they are still in this area, so maybe they'll grace us with their presence again one day.

So it is with the Western Brush Rabbit, which suddenly appeared in our yard around 3 years ago. These small "cottontails" are found along the western coastal regions and thrive in thickets of wild roses, blackberries, willows, elderberries and other low growing vines, shrubs and vegetation. These locations are perfect for building runways and tunnels under and through the vegetation. Since our property contains many large trees and is surrounded by woods and brush, it seems a perfect habitat for them.

Smaller than other cottontails (11-14" long), this bunny has a reddish brown mottled body, white belly, and grey under its tail instead of white. Being small and living on the forest fringe allows it to quietly blend in with its surroundings; large eyes and upright, sensitive ears enable it to see and hear dangers that might lurk about. Often, they will freeze and remain perfectly still so as not to be noticed.

The soles of their feet are well furred which helps dampen the shock of rapid hopping; long toes are webbed which keeps them from spreading apart as they jump. They are never far from protective vegetation and will bolt for cover if they hear a warning cry from a bird, chipmunk or squirrel. When being pursued, they run in a zigzag pattern and can run up to 20 to 25 miles per hour. Predators include coyotes, hawks, raccoons, crows, snakes along with domestic cats and dogs. And, of course, human beings...

Mainly active in the early mornings and evenings, they do venture out during the day, quietly "grazing" in the woods and open fields. They feed regularly on grasses, but they also enjoy sedges, clovers, plantains, berries, forbs, buds, bark and leaves of woody plants such as salal and Douglas fir. They enjoy new raspberry canes and parts of the wild roses. They can damage garden crops and flowers, but we keep our raised vegetable garden fenced and flower damage has been minimal. Usually, we see them in the grassy areas nibbling the clover, but in the late winter I notice all of my grape hyacinth leaves being neatly trimmed off. These little guys do not hibernate, and so remain active all year long. In the winter, they feed on more woody materials and we only see occasional signs of their visits to our yard.

Recently, my husband discovered a tiny baby bunny as he was mowing our back lawn. Startled, the baby hopped across the grass, onto a sidewalk, then huddled next to a concrete curb. Hearing a call, I came running to see. What a tiny thing this was - about three inches long! Because of its size, we carefully lifted it into a bucket with a towel for bedding while I called a local wildlife center for advice. They asked the usual questions: "Does it appear injured? Does it have fur? Are its eyes open and clear? Does it have its teeth yet? " TEETH yet? I didn't know.... Gently I picked it up (It just fit in the palm of my hand) and carefully poked at its little mouth. It took me a try or two, but then I got its mouth open and YES, it did have its teeth. "OK" came the voice on the phone. "It's good to go - turn it loose close to some brush." I did as I was told, but I did wonder what the chance of survival is for one so very small.

In our area, Brush Rabbits breed from February through August; females may have two to three litters a year. The mother digs a shallow cavity or burrow, lines it with grasses and fur, and then makes a plug from dried vegetation. She covers the nest with this plug or blanket of grass before leaving the nest. The babies are born blind, hairless, and helpless, with 2 to 4 bunnies in a litter. A mother rabbit feeds her kits with her rich milk once in the morning and once in the evening. She is very territorial around her young and spends the rest of the day away from the nest so she doesn't attract predators to the nesting site. The kits' eyes open on around the 10th day; they mature in 4 to 5 months and breed the following spring. Although rabbits have a high reproductive rate, three out of four do not survive the next breeding season.

The day after we found the baby bunny, the sharp-shinned hawk made a visit to the yard, as it does on occasion.

I did not see it catch anything, but it was definitely looking.

An adult rabbit grazes each afternoon, but there's been no more sign of the little one. We may never know its fate, but it is well equipped for its way of life and we hope for the best. If I could speak its language, or it could understand mine, I would remind it that those of its kind were named as they were for a reason. "Stay near the brush, little one - and good luck."

(I'm happy to report that since I wrote this the mama bunny has been sighted with the wee one along side. They have both cavorted, nibbled, frozen, and raced about. They remain near the edge of the brush...)

The Loony Junco

He was at it again. Time after time after time he fluttered up and down near my husband’s shop window. After resting briefly in the nearby evergreen, he attacked the window until it was streaked with wing-marks and he was exhausted. We grew tired just watching him and dubbed him the “loony” Junco. The reason for his behavior remained a mystery to us, just as the reason for his eventually stopping.

Glenn and Martha Vargas © California Academy of Sciences

One morning, some weeks later, I awakened to a tapping at the bedroom window. By the time I woke up enough to look, whatever had caused it was gone. The next morning I heard it again, this time at the other window. I was definitely reminded of Poe’s raven, although this sound was so slight I seriously doubted it was caused by one of those birds. By the third morning, I was expecting it and was not so surprised to see a small bird racing back and forth in the window box tapping at his own reflection. And guess who?

Dr. Lloyd Glenn Ingles © California Academy of Sciences

(When they see their own reflection in your window, they assume they're seeing a competitor and attack the image... Fortunately, this behavior usually dissipates within a few days or, at most, weeks. But while it lasts, the bird may exhaust or even hurt itself, and it distracts the bird from far more important activities. And this behavior can be extremely annoying for the people witnessing it. - The Cornell Lab of Ornithology)

Thus developed a sort of game between the two of us. He soon preferred one window, so I would sometimes stand inside so that he would see me as he fluttered close. My presence temporarily interrupted his routine, causing him to fly off to tree branch, chirping & twitching about anxiously. It didn’t deter him for long though, and he’d soon be back “patrolling” the window. The arrival of a second bird, grass in beak, caused me to take a closer look. Sure enough, wedged in between the begonia and lobelia, not three inches from the glass, a small nest was taking shape. It seemed we were all winners this time.

For the next few weeks we were honored with the presence of this bird family. They allowed us to “peek out” as they completed the nest, laid, incubated, and hatched four tiny eggs. The frenzy of defending territory became the frenzy of keeping four mouths full - both parents coming and going constantly.

Dr. Lloyd Glenn Ingles © California Academy of Sciences

All too soon we noticed one small fledgling had abandoned the nest and huddled next to the glass. Within an hour, two others had joined it. The parents, chirping their concern, continued to feed and nurture these bold ones, while remembering the last one, still clinging to his security within the nest. Another hour (or more?) passed. The three had worked their way to the far edge of the window box. Then, without apparent warning, the last one struggled to the rim of the nest, took a running leap to the dirt and raced right off the end of the box, spreading his pin-feathered wings as he went. In swift succession the others joined him, all swooping down and up to most-ungraceful landings in the maple tree. The parents fluttered about, checking on each one. By the next day, none of them was anywhere to be seen.

I have to admit that I was not prepared for the emptiness I suddenly felt as those babes took their flying leap into the world. I will never know, of course, which one - if any - it will be this year. But I look forward to seeing a “loony” Junco fluttering wildly against a window. 

How precious is thy steadfast love, O God!

The children of men take refuge

in the shadow of thy wings.

Psalms 36.7

Precisions of the Season

Make no mistake, they are precisely wrought. One is of dried grass, woven ‘round and ‘round into a neat, compact, cup shape. The center depression is lined with short, fine, white hairs - perhaps from some neighboring dog or goat. The second is more raggedy, made of small twigs, dry plant stems, fine pieces of bark, and a couple of strands of yarn. Its center hole is lined also, with what seems to be wool, dryer lint, or insulation and some grey, downy feathers. I have nestled them into small baskets for safe keeping, bringing them out of storage each spring as a reminder of the wonders of this season.

The raggedy one contains its original 5 small eggs. I committed no crime against nature, here. My sister, finding the nest abandoned and knowing of my passion for wild things, offered it to me - eggs & all. We carefully carried it all the way back from Montana that summer.

I gingerly remove one of the eggs and set it on the table. Smooth and white, with a spattering of dark speckles at the wider end, it tapers down at the other. As I tap it gently, one reason for its shape becomes clear. It spins where it lies. Eggs of cliff-nesting birds are more tapered still and, if jostled, roll in a circle - no chance of rolling off. Perfect design.

The shell in the other nest does not belong there, I just put it in for display. Sky-blue, it is obviously a robin’s, but the nest is much too small for that bird. Even now, after several years, the two pieces remain mostly intact, held together by a tough inner membrane. With more than one layer, an egg shell offers “flow-through” support and protection to the precious life inside. I found this shell on the ground, where the mother had dropped it after her young had hatched, for it was no longer needed.

Once we had a pair of geese. The female laid eggs, but she was a confused mother. She laid so many, that when she finally decided to set there was no way she could cover them all. She tried, warming & turning the eggs for weeks on end, but hatching none. Finally, I shooed her off and threw the rotten eggs at tree trunks faaaaaaar away from the house. Each one exploded loudly as it hit its mark.

My solution was to buy an incubator, collect the next eggs, & become a surrogate “mother goose”. Being one takes time & commitment. The eggs need to be kept at a certain temperature and humidity, turned several times a day, & “candled” to be sure they are developing. We used a strong flashlight for the candling and how exciting it was to watch the embryos develop from tiny red spots to turning, squirming nearly full-grown goslings! Hatching time arrived right on schedule & we kept close watch as each tiny babe used its egg tooth to peck a hole, then laboriously peck around the shell until it was finally free. New life rested near cast-off shells.

And so I keep these nests, and others like them - reminders, precisely wrought.

Therefore, if any one is in Christ,
he is a new creation;
the old has passed away, behold, the new has come.
All this is from God...
2 Corinthians 5.17-18