The hanging plants and flowers boxes on my front porch help create my slightly-removed sanctuary. I can sit in any of three rocking chairs and observe the world from my perch. It’s just high enough, two flights of stairs above the street and sidewalk, that most passersby don’t notice me. Dogs walking their owners, kids excitedly racing bikes, parents I know with strollers, retired couples chatting, joggers sweating stress, a teacher on his phone sorting out students’ issues—they all parade past. I can choose whether to engage with them or just watch; at once private yet can be communal. A delightful space to be alone or with guests, sharing in life’s nourishments, concerns, and joys.
The last couple of mornings have been cool, and a wonderful array of birds has also made their presence known, rejoicing with sweet songs before our neighborhood is fully awake. Today I saw goldfinch alight on a not-yet-blossomed cone flower poking for seeds. You have to give it some time, I whispered to myself, it needs room to grow and blossom. It pecked a few times then zipped away.
I enjoy watching things grow. I plant veggies and have a “wild” yard — a mix of wildflowers and whatever else is in season. It’s been fun to watch the cycles of what sprouts or blossoms when, and as much, what’s edible. Many city critters feast upon my veggie beds (primarily rabbits, groundhogs, and deer, with occasional sampling by skunks, birds, raccoons and possum) usually before anything’s had time to ripen. I’ve noticed the way “weeds” grow so well without any care and don’t seem to be on the hungry critters’ menu. It has me wondering if I should be fighting these battles or simply alter what I enjoy eating. Especially when the “weeds” are more nutritious!
So often when I stop to reflect on what and how we do things in our culture, it feels like we are off-course, resisting the current, or using an approach that costs more (time, energy, money), and human or natural resources! Innovation and convenience aren’t bad things, but recognizing when to control and when to be patient, as well as the trade-offs seems crucial.
About a month ago, while I gently watered one of the hanging ferns on my porch two house finches abruptly popped out of the center! I discovered a nest in it. Very soon after, the nest cradled four eggs. In a few weeks there were fuzzy hatchlings, the epitome of cute. They were amazingly self-disciplined about keeping silent as I watered each day, even as their folks were raising a harsh chirping alert from branches within eyeshot. This went on a couple of weeks. Eventually becoming a high-pitched, incessant, cheeeep,-cheeeep! I’d watch the parents dutifully fly over, again and again, endlessly trying to keep four gaping mouths attached to bottomless baby bird bellies satiated.
Lately I’ve had the great pleasure to spend time with an adolescent and his mom. We often share dinners and it’s similarly surprising how a four foot tall kid can put away a plateful equivalent to an adult. He also routinely melts my heart as effortlessly as those tweeting birds piled atop one another in their ever-smaller nest as they grow. For the most part, he’s brimming with physical energy, intermixed with creativity and curiosity. Sensitivity and kindness naturally radiate from him.
Naturally there’s occasional squawking as this youngin tests boundaries and a worn mom has to assert her own. It brings back fond memories of my own son’s coming of age, and even at times mine. The rare bits of tension don’t phase me at all. I’m not sure if I’ve mellowed or matured, regardless why, these days I simply smile and find myself sincerely savoring all my time with them.
I was having dinner with the mom above on my porch and the wind was fierce. The gusts were potent enough that all the hanging plants were swaying. In the same moment, we were discussing a previous moment of lost patience. She was trying to convince me that past circumstances and responses to her verified she wasn’t very kind. I could only offer I hadn’t seen it, and disagreed on the sentiment. As if on cue, unaware of the irony, she pointed out her great concern for the fledgling finches whose home was swaying like a pendulum. Before we left the porch, her compassion had nudged me into securing it with bungee cords.
We’re all works in progress. I seem to be less troubled by situations that years back might have had me wound up for a long while. Maybe I’ve grown a bit in some ways as well.
I’m certainly no unflappable saint nor ego-less yogi. The other day as I attempted to order a subscription online, it got flagged by my bank, and in sorting it out, my debit card was not put on hold, but cancelled outright. When I found out I let loose with several choice words that might have burned a saint’s ears. I did catch myself in time to apologize to the utterly innocent recipient, the bank’s customer service rep on the line with me. But I’d like to get to where I could more quickly turn such frustration into an stress-relieving laugh at the absurdity of allowing such things to bother me instead.
The same day, as I was watering my porch plants, and gingerly pour some onto the fern with the nest, an explosion of four birds shot out in different directions! One remained, looking a bit comical. I’m not sure who was more bewildered, the slow one left behind or me! By the following day, all the fledglings had flown and the nest was bare and silent.
It was inevitable, and clearly on the horizon. As I ate a quiet breakfast on my porch that morning, I thought about the amazing dedication of the parents of those finches. And of my friend, a single mom I’ve already witnessed growing so much through her own challenges, even while raising a bright and big-hearted son.
And the many other parents I’ve known (including my own), who literally keep reaching deep down into those inner reserves to hold it together, keep their homes steady, get the kids fed, make those little nests work, enable them to keep growing. They get them cleaned up, rested, and then are back up and at it again, day after day.
I thought about my own long-empty nest…and how nice it feels now, directly helping others grow, if only in a small way, and to recognize that through participating with others rather than safely keeping a distance, I grow as well.
The rhythm of this dance of life has counterpoints and shifts that insist on constant adjustments and flexibility. Life is often bewildering. To be rigid seems to me to invite suffering. To leave our safe nest is scary—getting involved takes a leap, is a risk, and makes us vulnerable. Yet to not be engaged in order to avoid potential pain truncates life’s joys and stifles our own blossoming.
It seems the trick is in finding that sweet spot; navigating a balance between floating with the changing currents yet at times steering our kayaks (or guiding another’s) just enough to avoid the rocks yet not resist the inevitable flow. No matter what path we select before we’re gone, we’re all being swept along in the stream. These days I prefer making the trip with hearty company.
The last couple of mornings have been cool, and a wonderful array of birds has also made their presence known, rejoicing with sweet songs before our neighborhood is fully awake. Today I saw goldfinch alight on a not-yet-blossomed cone flower poking for seeds. You have to give it some time, I whispered to myself, it needs room to grow and blossom. It pecked a few times then zipped away.
I enjoy watching things grow. I plant veggies and have a “wild” yard — a mix of wildflowers and whatever else is in season. It’s been fun to watch the cycles of what sprouts or blossoms when, and as much, what’s edible. Many city critters feast upon my veggie beds (primarily rabbits, groundhogs, and deer, with occasional sampling by skunks, birds, raccoons and possum) usually before anything’s had time to ripen. I’ve noticed the way “weeds” grow so well without any care and don’t seem to be on the hungry critters’ menu. It has me wondering if I should be fighting these battles or simply alter what I enjoy eating. Especially when the “weeds” are more nutritious!
So often when I stop to reflect on what and how we do things in our culture, it feels like we are off-course, resisting the current, or using an approach that costs more (time, energy, money), and human or natural resources! Innovation and convenience aren’t bad things, but recognizing when to control and when to be patient, as well as the trade-offs seems crucial.
About a month ago, while I gently watered one of the hanging ferns on my porch two house finches abruptly popped out of the center! I discovered a nest in it. Very soon after, the nest cradled four eggs. In a few weeks there were fuzzy hatchlings, the epitome of cute. They were amazingly self-disciplined about keeping silent as I watered each day, even as their folks were raising a harsh chirping alert from branches within eyeshot. This went on a couple of weeks. Eventually becoming a high-pitched, incessant, cheeeep,-cheeeep! I’d watch the parents dutifully fly over, again and again, endlessly trying to keep four gaping mouths attached to bottomless baby bird bellies satiated.
Lately I’ve had the great pleasure to spend time with an adolescent and his mom. We often share dinners and it’s similarly surprising how a four foot tall kid can put away a plateful equivalent to an adult. He also routinely melts my heart as effortlessly as those tweeting birds piled atop one another in their ever-smaller nest as they grow. For the most part, he’s brimming with physical energy, intermixed with creativity and curiosity. Sensitivity and kindness naturally radiate from him.
Naturally there’s occasional squawking as this youngin tests boundaries and a worn mom has to assert her own. It brings back fond memories of my own son’s coming of age, and even at times mine. The rare bits of tension don’t phase me at all. I’m not sure if I’ve mellowed or matured, regardless why, these days I simply smile and find myself sincerely savoring all my time with them.
I was having dinner with the mom above on my porch and the wind was fierce. The gusts were potent enough that all the hanging plants were swaying. In the same moment, we were discussing a previous moment of lost patience. She was trying to convince me that past circumstances and responses to her verified she wasn’t very kind. I could only offer I hadn’t seen it, and disagreed on the sentiment. As if on cue, unaware of the irony, she pointed out her great concern for the fledgling finches whose home was swaying like a pendulum. Before we left the porch, her compassion had nudged me into securing it with bungee cords.
We’re all works in progress. I seem to be less troubled by situations that years back might have had me wound up for a long while. Maybe I’ve grown a bit in some ways as well.
I’m certainly no unflappable saint nor ego-less yogi. The other day as I attempted to order a subscription online, it got flagged by my bank, and in sorting it out, my debit card was not put on hold, but cancelled outright. When I found out I let loose with several choice words that might have burned a saint’s ears. I did catch myself in time to apologize to the utterly innocent recipient, the bank’s customer service rep on the line with me. But I’d like to get to where I could more quickly turn such frustration into an stress-relieving laugh at the absurdity of allowing such things to bother me instead.
The same day, as I was watering my porch plants, and gingerly pour some onto the fern with the nest, an explosion of four birds shot out in different directions! One remained, looking a bit comical. I’m not sure who was more bewildered, the slow one left behind or me! By the following day, all the fledglings had flown and the nest was bare and silent.
It was inevitable, and clearly on the horizon. As I ate a quiet breakfast on my porch that morning, I thought about the amazing dedication of the parents of those finches. And of my friend, a single mom I’ve already witnessed growing so much through her own challenges, even while raising a bright and big-hearted son.
And the many other parents I’ve known (including my own), who literally keep reaching deep down into those inner reserves to hold it together, keep their homes steady, get the kids fed, make those little nests work, enable them to keep growing. They get them cleaned up, rested, and then are back up and at it again, day after day.
I thought about my own long-empty nest…and how nice it feels now, directly helping others grow, if only in a small way, and to recognize that through participating with others rather than safely keeping a distance, I grow as well.
The rhythm of this dance of life has counterpoints and shifts that insist on constant adjustments and flexibility. Life is often bewildering. To be rigid seems to me to invite suffering. To leave our safe nest is scary—getting involved takes a leap, is a risk, and makes us vulnerable. Yet to not be engaged in order to avoid potential pain truncates life’s joys and stifles our own blossoming.
It seems the trick is in finding that sweet spot; navigating a balance between floating with the changing currents yet at times steering our kayaks (or guiding another’s) just enough to avoid the rocks yet not resist the inevitable flow. No matter what path we select before we’re gone, we’re all being swept along in the stream. These days I prefer making the trip with hearty company.
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