What I learned in six weeks of sheltering in place
A few weeks ago a pair of mourning doves made a nest on my porch, in my flower box. The birds did as birds do, created the nest during one day, sat on it the next and a few days later filled the nest with two white eggs laid neatly side by side. This was followed by the long wait, while the birds took turns sitting on the nest. One bird would take the night shift, the mate would take the day shift. I got to watch the shift change, when one bird would land on the porch rail and slowly walk onto the flower box. The sitting bird would stand, the new one quickly move into her place, and the hungry bird would fly off. One day we had heavy storms, tornado warnings, rain blowing sideways and small hail falling. The bird on the nest fluffed up her wings, lowered her head and water beaded on her body. She and the nest survived.
The flowers in the box died as the sun shone down and as the birds made their home on the roots and stems. Soon the small shelter of the plants faded, as their stems turned brown and curled up. The sun was still bright, and now crows and hawks flew overhead. The bird on the nest would flatten out, trying to disappear and also trying to cover the eggs. One day I noticed a crow landing on the balcony. I chased him off and returned to my work. Later in the day I stepped out to find an empty nest, no eggs, no birds, no shells or any sign of their existence, only a round depression in the dead plant material.
I suppose the hawk and or the crow can now feed his family with the energy taken from the doves. It is how life is sustained and continued. While I am sheltering in place, living mostly in the tiny space of my apartment and balcony, nature is flowing on as nature does. All my life I have dreamed of adventure, sailing around the world alone in a small boat, hiking long trails with all I need carried on my back, or living in a tree house in the wilderness, observing and learning from nature. I wanted to simplify my life to the essence; the boat, or the backpack or the tiny wilderness home. I wanted to separate my belongings and busy life from what was real, observable and deep. I wanted time to grow, digging into my own soul, stripped of the busyness and noise that is modern life.
Instead I sit on my porch watching the birds. I see cardinals, robins, blue jays, the hawk and crows. I watch the rabbits creep out in the late afternoon carefully munching grass. The squirrels fling themselves from one branch to another, stopping to strip some bark off of a fallen tree. I didn’t know they did that. The wind blows and I listen to leaves as they rustle, and watch entire trees move and bend, waving each bough from one side to the other. I had not noticed how I could trace the movement of the wind so carefully before. As I sit on the balcony the sun rises, the birds sing and fight and feed. The day grows warmer and the breeze freshens the air. Clouds pass by. Bees and wasps check out my porch garden, sometimes checking me out as well, but they do no harm. The sun moves across the wooden floor. I read, and write and listen to the sounds around me. Slowly dusk arrives, with the birds singing again, the rabbits braving dinner, and the air changing to a cooler and fresher feel. As the sun sets the orange and red colors reach across the sky. Darkness falls, and one by one the stars peek out. Frogs begin to sing, their little chip -chip sound signaling the location of water.
At the beginning of this staying at home I had time to read, but at first I couldn’t focus. After one or two pages I would put the book down and try to do something else. I frittered away all this free time, but perhaps that was the lesson. Maybe I needed time before I could study. The change in schedule of job to dinner to shopping to all the requirements of life takes time. I mourned, I rejoiced, and I lay on the couch watching stupid tv shows I didn’t care about. I missed my friends and my family. I felt the helplessness of not being able to go and comfort people when they needed it. I spent too much time on social media, and way too much time worrying about the news. Slowly, incrementally I found things that were useful to do. Baking bread instead of searching the store for premade loaves, sewing masks when they were needed, giving blood. One day I noticed that I was thinking, my life was simplified and I was able to read.
Instead of sailing around the world I found the very things I wanted, or needed, in my life where I am, when I am. This is the lesson, or at least my lesson. Live life, my life, the one life I have. Don’t wait for the right circumstances, the appropriate adventure or the perfect view. Live life fully, with complete aliveness, the way it is now.
I can live life to the fullest, right here on my balcony in the middle of town. My balcony is my ship, my backpack and my wilderness home if I choose to let it be so. And I do so choose. What new adventure will this spot bring to me today?
