As the operative word, discovery in itself puts to rest any notion of old. My fervent prayer is is that I might never grow too old to discover and learn. Indeed, I am blessed, enriched, thrilled to have found this source of education and pleasure. Through a serendipitous series of events (see blog post "Lemon Tree Full of Finches"), I have access to a 3D, panoramic screen, surround sound experience right outside my door every day.Without this ongoing natural theater, I might not have known a house finch from a goldfinch, or even that there is such a thing as a house finch. I might not have known that the rather plain-sounding name includes birds with vast hues of reds, oranges and yellows on their heads and breasts. I might not have noticed the black-crowned sparrows darting among the dirt and leaves in my yard, or the royal blue scrub jays, who love to bury peanuts. I might not have become so keenly aware of natural camouflage that protects these creatures from predators, nor noticed subtle distinguishing differences in birdsong. In short, I might have missed the opportunity to engage with God's magnificent handiwork.
I'm intrigued and delighted for many other reasons.
First, I grew up as a city girl. Because of my father's chosen career, I lived in hotels my entire life until I left home for boarding school at the age of 15. Surrounded by tall buildings and cement sidewalks, I had only hotel rooftops to provide any kind of distant horizon. Oh, I skipped through fields of dandelions and violets on my walk home from school, and I caught fireflies in friends' backyards, but mostly I roller-skated around the courthouse square and played hopscotch in alleyways. My most memorable lessons in nature came from gathering strange insects, such as praying mantises and walking sticks, for a biology class assignment and digging for fat, juicy earthworms when my father took me fishing at Lake Winola. Now I can make up for the deprivation of grass beneath my feet and trees swaying in the breeze.
In addition, two influential people in my life enjoyed bird-watching. My Aunt Ruth, whose dimpled smile and sparkling eyes made it seem as if she lived in perpetual pleasure, was well known for the hours she spent sitting by her kitchen window watching cardinals at play. Despite the fact that a shot of Southern Comfort in her iced tea contributed to her bliss, she liked nothing more than feeding her precious red birds. The cardinal became her signature. For this reason, I purchased a glass birdbath with a cardinal etched into it and placed it on my deck as part of my new bird haven. I remember Aunt Ruth every day.My father, who never had an opportunity to enjoy a back yard during his working years, took to bird-watching in his retirement. When he and my mother purchased their first home in more than 40 years of marriage, they made sure it had a large back yard. Dad, replete with binoculars and bird books, pursued his new hobby with passion. Maybe I come by this genetically.
Finally, I appreciate the gift to my spirit. My heart quickens when I see the first birds of the day appear. A sense of serenity comes over me as I watch and listen each morning. I smile, and with two cameras at the ready, I eagerly look to see what will unfold.
When my friend asked me her question, I directed her vision toward a huge pepper tree in my back yard. It virtually vibrated with life as finches and sparrows, and perhaps a red-winged blackbird or two, danced through the branches. I would lay odds that she did not feel old.
