Empty Nest by Sara Wright

 She fluttered
out of a woven
mossy green
basket
above the door
at dawn
the
nest
had fallen
onto granite
stone.
Oh
my drowning senses
couldn’t
contain such grief
every cell
drilled
deeper
I gasped
this
cavernous
hole
had no
bottom
I continued
to fall
Nature had
Spoken
my silent
plea went
unanswered
Ki’s* message
was clear
I replaced
the nest
added a
cedar shingle
enticing
the phoebes
to return
listened
to a vibrating
body
whose mourning
bell
rang clear
Nature
had Spoken
my beloved
birds
and those
I loved
were gone.

Scientist Robin Wall Kimmerer (Braiding Sweetgrass) coined the word ‘ki’ to help us remember that the rest of nature is also our kin.

I too have adopted this word to remind me that every non -human being is a relative and a teacher, perhaps one much wiser than me…

Because I am a hybrid writer,  a story – teller and a nature/science writer I can easily get caught up in the particulars of the latter – researching, defining characteristics etc. all separate me from the experience I am having with my kin, the phoebes.

When my beloved phoebes finally arrived almost a month late, I felt such relief because a vacant phoebe ledge creates a hole in me.

I kept a keen eye tuned to nest building, an intricate process and was so excited when mama spent her first night in the soft cup hidden above the door.

The next morning a huge fat gray squirrel  was munching down crabapple blossoms and staring at me with what felt like malevolence before disappearing and the next thing i knew the nest had fallen  (yes animals have full access to all their feelings both positive and negative). This squirrel was responsible for nest destruction because he probably knew that I had removed a bird feeder to make sure that the phoebes could nest in peace. Ironically, this squirrel was a stranger but squirrels in general are threats to these birds. They not only destroy nests; they eat the eggs.

 I picked up the beautiful nest and brought it in the house. A few days passed by with me feeling bereft and then something wonderful happened. My phoebes who mate for life refused to leave home after all and built another nest on the opposite side of the cabin for the first time ever – hopefully this one will provide a safer haven to raise their young. This morning is cold and rainy, but I am watching phoebes dive to the ground for insects and fly down to the brook to search for even more interesting prey and to drink and bathe in shallow waters.

 This year the phoebes were so late migrating north from as far away as Mexico that I feared something had happened to them. When the couple finally arrived almost a month late, I felt such relief because a vacant phoebe ledge creates a hole in me.

There are many theories about bird migration, but no one seems to pay attention to the obvious – Birds and Place are intimately connected just like people used to be (and some still are).

Migrating birds will return to the same spot year after year to raise their young because they are attached by invisible heart red threads to their birth places. Perhaps if we saw birds as animate and highly intelligent beings with access to all their senses – and not as reproductively programmed/DNA ‘its’ we would understand why they need to return to the same placesto breed.

I am not saying that theories of migration don’t involve use of celestial navigation etc. Most scientific theories have merit and are part of the migration story. But the need to find or return home is so basic, and yet it’s ignored completely by scientists as a primary reason for migration.

I think about the need that so many people have in this culture to uncover their roots through DNA testing or to identify with a particular gender or ethnic group. Aren’t these all attempts to find home? Westerners as a group are on the move constantly and so separated from place that many are suspended in thin air. No roots anywhere.

As feminists, some of us seek political, religious or mythological stories to help us find ‘home’ in a culture that despises women so aren’t we doing the same thing? I know that I am seeking home with the stories of Indigenous peoples because these stories make the most sense to me (not because of Indigenous affiliation since I was brought up as a westerner). Except for my love for animals/trees/nature and my oasis in the woods, I too would be utterly alone and homeless.

It may seem ridiculous to some that I am so attached to phoebes but for me having them raise their children here each spring is part of  experiencing my place as home.

One of the most difficult aspects of living through a climate crisis like the one we are in now is that so much is changing so fast that we are losing our seasonal markers even if we are city- bound. The ways in which we experience this chaos will differ depending on where we live but developing roots of some kind become critically important for emotional, physical and psychological health.

I have a twenty seven year old friend who is living in ‘the space in between’ because she is bright, sensitive, and deeply attached to nature through both plants and animals. What this means practically is that she sees the whole earth as being animate and this separates her from many of her contemporaries. She is courageously attempting to align herself with ‘environmental’ groups ( yet one more horrible ‘othering’ phrase that separates us from nature) who can live with what is happening to the planet that she was born into without giving up hope. She tells me that it is a daily battle not to fall into despair, a perspective that as a lifetime naturalist ecologist etc. I am only too familiar with, because as Becca sagely remarks, “we are out of time”.

Becca tells me that I offer her hope because I haven’t given in and continue to advocate…I certainly do not feel hopeful, but it is true that I have not given up although I do my best not to focus on outcomes at this point.

Like me Becca is a generalist – fascinated by every living being. This young woman is also brimming over with enthusiasm and is doing her best to align herself with others who may have different perspectives but also like me she believes that gathering in groups that tackle one problem at a time may make a difference.

 I tell her that being around her brings me hope too. I have had one too many negative experiences with people who are my age or much younger that simply ignore what is happening even if the issue is in their face. Recently, I joined an ‘environmental book group’ at a local land trust to get a read on what folks were thinking and witnessed once again how folks of all ages manage to focus on anything but the issue at hand. At least I attended without expectations, so I was not disappointed.

Any young person who has Becca’s kind of strength, endurance and courage to live with what is and still devote her life to doing what she can to help regardless of outcome needs to be awarded the kind of accolade that is usually restricted to those who are famous.

As women I think it’s crucial that we support our young women who are struggling to live with the chaos that began with the generations that preceded Becca’s birth.  Those whose deliberate blindness created the misery we are facing and yet continue to deny what is happening. I have come to believe that this deliberate blindness is nothing short of a global crime.