Ozzie and Harriet Left, But Not Before . . .

they kicked Fred and Ethel out of the nest.

For a couple of months now, we’ve spent daily time observing Ozzie and Harriet (you can read more about them here), as I’ve named the doves that took up residence in a sheltered spot on our patio.

After we returned from our lovely trip to Alaska, with its nightmarishly awful trip home, we eagerly resumed the watch and were quickly rewarded by sights of the two babies, whom I named Fred and Ethel. The photo quality is pretty awful, but here they are... or were.

After the two hatched, Ozzie and Harriet spent their days constantly leaving the nest to gather food, returning and feeding the ever-hungry chicks. I have learned that both male and female doves secrete a milk-like substance from their breasts, but the chicks soon needed far more substantial food. They appeared insatiable.

On Tuesday, around noon, I looked out and saw Fred (I, of course, have no idea if this is Fred or not, but I’ve got to call them something) sitting on the back of a chair under the nest.

There he sat. For hours and hours and hours. He would periodically look up at the nest—occasionally I could see Ethel’s head looking out—but neither Ozzie nor Harriet came near him.

He vanished. I have no idea if Fred is alive or dead. Wednesday, Ozzie and Harriet, presumably tired of Ethel’s delay in leaving, refused to feed her. Multiple times, I saw the parents perched nearby, but neither approached the nest.

Ethel remained unmoving, seemingly stuck at the edge of the post that held her birthplace.

As in, “I’m not leaving and you can’t make me.” Does this sound familiar, anyone?

Now, as of yesterday morning, the nest is deserted. Willingly or unwillingly, Ethel has gone, possibly because, at this point, Ozzie and Harriet have completely abandoned it.

They will likely lay more eggs, but possibly not here. Even so, I hold out some hope that they’ll return and rebuild this spot in a few days.

I admit to my sadness that, at least for now, I can no longer observe this cycle of nature so intimately.

As I did my morning garden rounds today, I stopped to admire a Texas Star Hibiscus plant, currently covered in multiple, large, bright red blooms.

I am also aware that each bloom lasts exactly one day, one day of exuberant, flowering beauty. Some will form seed pods, most won’t. For their brief life, they give pleasure to the observer and offer nutrients for other life-forms, especially if hummingbirds are around.

And I ponder again how short our lives are, how fleeting the time.

The thoughts were particularly strong as yesterday was also my 76th birthday. By historical standards, a pretty long life. For me, an incredibly brief one with each moment now passing more swiftly than the moment before.

I suspect that my years of striving to do something are passing, being slowly replaced by hoping to simply be something. For me, that means living out of deep internal and external honesty, all tempered at all times by endless kindness.

Yes, there are things I still want to do. My sweet husband and I, with our joint children all launched and now having loving but not interfering eyes on our many grandchildren, want to keep traveling and exploring the world as long as we have some physical abilities and the mental capacity to take in new information.

I do have a book started; I think I should return to it. It concerns my deep, long and ultimately destructive sojourn into the tight world of right-wing Christianity and the complexities and multiple losses I faced when finally walking away. To finish it means revisiting excruciating pain. And yet, there was indeed joy to be found in the morning.

But for the rest of this day, the first of my 77th year of life, I intend to enjoy a relaxing pool float in the afternoon shade. Aware that I have neither any idea nor any control over what will happen within the next minute of my life, I choose to practice the Presence of the Holy One.

Blessing on the very few of you who may stumble upon and read these meanderings.

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