Joy Unspeakable and Full of Glory

Responding to an invitation I spent Saturday afternoon driving two three year olds and an infant (we followed a young friend of mine, herself towing two 12 year olds and her infant son--and in a matching Toyota Sienna no less. Living it up in suburbia!) out to the beautiful Sand Lake Wildlife Refuge for "Blue Goose Weekend." 

The event is traditionally called Eagle Day and occurs in the spring, but after the region experienced flooding for three years in a row, Fish and Wildlife moved the event to the fall. In a sad reversal, huge swaths of Sand Lake are giant dust bowls after a mild winter and a summer with almost no rain.

Not sure what to expect, I was relieved to see a wading pool with turtles and fresh water mollusks for the kids to touch. For them not to touch was a snapping turtle in the adjacent pool. He was aggressively trying to get out of the makeshift cage that covered his temporary home. "What does he eat?" I asked. "Anything that gets in his mouth, pretty much" was the chilling answer. 

After a few minutes of looking at native fish on display and touching turtles, we heard an announcement that there would be a release of Golden Eagles into the wild.

The crowd moved as one nearer to the Lake's edge. From the back of a yellow SUV, a bearded man and this lovely but serious-looking woman removed the first Eagle. I am still amazed at how without any kind of protective clothing or gloves she was able to safely maneuver the bird out of the box and keep it in her arms. Take a look.

As she moved slowly along the length of the semi-circle she extended one of the wings. The children, without too much noise, stepped forward and stroked in reverential awe.  Finally she asked everyone to move away, and we waited.

I was totally unprepared for the emotional response that the release of that noble bird elicited from me. Without warning there was a lump in my throat. In a moment I knew viscerally the meaning of a word that had so far been only a word: transfixed. Even as I type this, I can't say I remember holding my daughter or knowing that my son was sitting near me on the ground. 

For the better part of a day and a half I've been asking myself where all that joy came from. I may have an unusual love of birds and I've seen many raptors, but what made that moment so special?  Truthfully I think I'd rather remember and enjoy than understand, but perhaps it's because understanding is so difficult. 

In addition to the obvious, namely that I was within five feet of a bird we never get to see up close if at all, I think it had something to do with sharing with others a rare glimpse at Perfection. The emotion was palatable as the Eagle, once injured and interned and now free, reverted to its inspired instinct, knowing instantly that it was at liberty to do what it was created to do. Scattered applause from others told me that they were feeling the same. A man's voice somewhere near said, "Be free."  I suspect we wanted to fly away too.

And the human person had done it. We were at our best as we rescued, healed and released. There was no violence, no grandstanding, not even a hint of "progress." Everything was as it should be. Maybe we knew it and rejoiced.

The Now and the Not Yet

With every passing day the conviction grows that I will never reach the place of "getting it together." When the house is clean and the children are happy I neglect some crucial discipline like prayer.  When it feels like the roof is falling in I pray and the dishes pile up. A new week begins and with it a new resolve. By Friday my to-do list is half done and I'm looking forward to a new week to start over again and get it right. This time I'll get it right. Surely.

I'm never going to get it right. Slowly I'm starting to embrace this and it helps. It helps to know that the puzzle pieces will never fit. As long as the world is topsy turvy so am I.

Crib Training

Cry your heart out little one. I will be strong.  It means you are alive, you're mine and everything's working.

Empty Nest

Are you keeping up? I first blogged here about the Northern Cardinals nesting just outside our living room window.

First glimpse at the hatchlings

Taking these photos was terrifying.
I had to take them without being able to see what I was doing and the thought that I'd drop the camera on their tiny heads was a very real fear. Couldn't get the auto focus to work for me either.

Can you tell that they're bigger? I love those eager little mouths.

They eventually settled down when they realized that rustling of the leaves was not their mother.

It's rare we get to see both the male and female Cardinals on the feeder at the same time. My young son likes to scare them away by tapping on the screen door. My annoyance turned into my joy when I saw what I'd captured.

My mom snapped this one.  One day they were in their nest, the  next day they were out.  They scattered around  the shrubs and amber maples in the front of our house. I trembled for them since they couldn't fly, especially the little guy that perched for a day or two on the bottom branch, just inches from the ground.

My son holds the empty nest, which we did not disturb until they were long gone. We heard them "migrate" around the perimeter of our house, listening closely to the high-pitched chirp that indicates a chick.  I never seemed to hear more than two but I haven't seen any feathers to indicate that one of them didn't make it. Still, I suspect one did not. The whole family stopped by last week and I counted four in total.  There was a bit of plastic, a rotting corn husk from the compost (maybe?), even a moth wing. A bird's nest is a thing of beauty.

Fare Thee Well, Era

This weekend my youngest sister is getting married in a civil ceremony in Texas.  About a month and a half later we're throwing a big reception in her hometown.  This is the last sister, the last sibling in fact, to get married.

It's really hitting me. I didn't think we'd be done with weddings for a long time. I don't know what I thought: that there was a long train of yet unknown brothers and sisters still to get married? Or that our spouses would (God forbid) die or even worse that there isn't some kind of permanence to our marriages, and we would do it over again.

I just didn't think about all of us, grown up, blowing a kiss to our childhood as we watch her march down the aisle.

We don't fight anymore (much).  There is no more competing for dominance or bathrooms.  My brother hasn't thrown a hairbrush at my head since at least 1989. Even, and most grievously, a lifelong nickname seems to be in its twilight.

Shouldn't someone always be "there" (single? under 30? wildly inappropriate and immature? I'm not sure what I mean by "there.") to remind us that we were kids together and had been a cohesive unit?  That the four of us were the original family that branched off and started little seedling families?  I thought there would be.

I don't feel like I have enough hugs to give that last vestige of our youth before she puts on that white dress.

It takes a village to raise a mother

It wasn't until after my sister in law convinced me that it really does take a village to raise a child that I realized it takes a village to do a lot of things.

Growing up I had one model for motherhood. Now I have many, not the least of which are my peers.  These are the women who hold my children while I cook, knit blankets and socks for them, speak constructively into their lives, offer a rebuke when necessary.

This mother's day, I extend my heart in loving gratitude to every woman who has nudged me through word and example into being a better mother.

Hope is the thing with feathers

When you live on the Northern Plains it's almost inevitable that you become an amateur ornithologist. I've always liked seeing wild animals (growing up it was limited mostly to roadkill), but now it's become something of a passion.

"Bird watching," when you read it as a hobby in the obituaries of old women (God bless them), sounds like the very definition of living a small life. I know better. Bird watching is knowing that when the American Robin appears, spring is really here.  It's recognizing the difference between the call of the Chickadee, the Northern Cardinal, the Robin, and the Blue Jay and wishing you knew the subtle differences for all the song birds.

It's standing outside a friend's door at 10 PM, necks craning, watching thousands of Snow Geese pass overhead, migrating to Canada for the summer. It's running for the camera when a huge raptor is lounging on your patio.  It's flipping through the bird book to identify the squat little bird with a distinctive beak, black feathers and a red breast (Red Breasted Grosbeak).

Now, joy of joys, Mister and Missus Cardnial as we affectionately call them, have built a nest not more than a yard outside our front window.  Though it's just inches from our front door, it's totally invisible from every angle except from my living room.

Naturally I'm torn between being a nature terrorist and a peaceable observer.

Just now I can spy the orange beak and arched tail feathers of little mama bird, but so far I've resisted the urge to photograph her.  When she was away (in my backyard feeding on safflower?) I snapped a couple quick photos of the nest and three tiny, speckled eggs.

Oh brave little bird!  You're as safe as you will ever be.  No beast or bird of prey will come this close to our home and as much as it's in my power, I'll protect you.