View from the window...upside down

It is snowing in the realm today. In this part of the world there is a skepticism about the weatherperson's ability to accurately predict the weather, so when it actually happens as foretold there is a certain amount of surprise. We awoke to a winter wonderland with flakes still falling gently and the wind had produced deep sculptured banks and valleys. 

Quite lovely to look at from the window but it required a bit more effort to shovel a path and find the cars. Our street, being a side one, will probably be plowed around midnight tonight effectively sealing each homeowner in their driveway; a not altogether pleasant start to tomorrow morning should one have to leave said driveway to go to work.

Our street abuts a busier street which is also a bus route, meaning that it was plowed early this morning to prepare for the day. It also means that with the amount of snow that actually fell, (still surprised) there is a sizeable berm at the entrance to our street, making for an exciting time accessing the rest of the known world. Aaah, winter.  

The birds are busy in the yard so the storm must be waning. The wind swept a bare spot on the ground in front of the window so sunflower seeds have already been tossed out. The squirrels are beginning to appear having stayed longer this morning in their tree hole havens or leafy dreys in the treetops. (That is 'drey' as in squirrel nest, as opposed to 'dray' as in cart, or the horse who pulls said cart, or Dre, as in Dr.)

The juncos are here in a group, picking up seeds and then retreating to the safety of the tree or denser shrubbery. The chickadees zoom in for one seed then sit on a branch where they hold the seed with their toes and peck at it until they puncture the shell. There are several here today which means they are dining out because other options are less available at the moment. During breeding season seeds like this would make up a small part of their diet, their preference being bugs and spiders. In the winter the balance shifts as bugs are hiding, and spiders sleeping in nooks and crannies that are presently, like today, snow-covered. I am hoping that they notice the 'vacancy' sign on the little birdhouse and someone will move in before long.

Interestingly the Red-breasted nuthatches that have been around all winter, seem to have noticed the wee house. I read that their preference is to nest in cavities which they excavate themselves, a practice which I thought only applied to woodpeckers, and most often in an aspen tree because the bark is softer. They apply resin from a conifer tree to the entrance of the cavity as well as inside, and sometimes use a piece of bark to do this which is pretty remarkable. This may be some kind of security measure, which is pretty ingenious.

They seem to be most interested in the shelled peanuts at the feeders but will take sunflower seeds also. In the summer, like the chickadees, they will feed primarily on a variety of bugs, which they will also feed their young. They generally travel on a tree in a downward spiral which seems to be characteristic of nuthatches. Even at the feeder they feed upside down. This does not seem like it would aid digestion but there must be some reason for it that is particular to them.

We have been fortunate to see nuthatches this winter, and it is largely due to our big spruce tree. The larger White breasted nuthatch prefers deciduous trees; the smaller nuthatches, the conifers. I am hoping that even if these feisty little birds leave us to find an aspen tree closer to the river to nest in, that they will return if we keep the feeders full.

(White-breasted nuthatch)

(A Red-breasted nuthatch that visited in the summer of 2016)

Glimpse of red and blue

A presence on the spruce bough

Welcome in my heart

 

View from the window...life inside a snow globe

 It has been snowing all day but it is deceptive because there is no accumulation on the tree branches. Every so often the wind will pick up and sweep snow from the roof and swirl it in front of the window so you feel like you are in a snowglobe looking out. Lovely really, but I don't have to be out in it so that alters my perspective to a positive one.

It makes me think about how other things accumulate in life and how hard is is to keep a balance. We accumulate so many things; tangible, like savings or possessions, if we are fortunate and prudent; intangible like memories and experiences. 

And how sometimes life just accumulates; how in a day's worth of phone calls, one can turn things upside down, because it brings news of illness in someone you care about.

Or one unexpected bill can effect the food budget for a month.

How one more day of gloomy cold weather can make aches and pains seem too much to bear.

Or just one more any thing can tip us from coping to overwhelmed, and upset our emotional and physical balance.  

And sometimes too, our emotional balance is just more precarious than others.

I came to a measure of self-awareness later in life. When I was growing up the idea of self-care was equated with selfishness, so, others came first; you did, you gave, you came last. I found that this lead to burnout, anger and ofttimes putting those who should come first, last. 

So I stopped (eventually). This is akin to heresy in my world, but I found that I needed rest and I thrived better in quiet  so a less busy calendar was necessary.

I learned how to say no (eventually). You can't do everything, and be everything, and the striving is profoundly draining.

 I learned (the hard way) that I needed to pay closer attention to my body telling me when something needs to be changed in my life.

When I was growing up, you did not talk about your problems as it displayed either a lack of faith, or a lack of manners. There are lots of platitudes that pertain to this; 'a burden shared is a burden halved' or 'two heads are better than one'. Often there is a modicum of truth to them. I learned that sometimes just admitting a worry or concern to someone is enough the ease its hold on me.

I also learned (eventually) to just let things go for a time. Stuff doesn't go away but you sometimes need a break from them, even if just for a little while. My first choice is always to go for a walk. Some thing that is a diversion can give you a few minutes respite from your thoughts or emotions and maybe change their trajectory.

I learned (eventually) that you need to be kind to yourself, to give yourself a break. We are so bombarded with images and ideas of what a 'successful' person looks like, has and can do. This is fraudulent and dangerous. I can only look like me, I may not be able to do or be everything I might wish. This does not mean that we can't learn, change, aspire and dream. But I have to accept who I am and aspire and dream within the framework of my own unique capabilities.

So, when things accumulate and you feel you are losing your balance..

it's okay to change your boundaries

it's okay to share your worry

it's important to treat your pain and rest

you can give yourself permission to take a break

and most importantly, be kind ..especially to yourself.

I should probably have written this conjugating the verb learn...I am learning,  (still), I will learn, (hopefully, eventually) , I have learned, (some things, and mostly by doing it wrong). 

View from the window...on a bright morning

Such a peaceful scene out the window early this morning. There was a fresh inch or so or snow and it was cold enough that it sparkled. Everything looked new and untouched. 

The squirrels were snuffling in the snow looking for buried treasure.

There must have been a few seeds left undiscovered from yesterday.

The corn feeder was busy and it was being demonstrated that it  is indeed possible to hang by your toes and eat corn at the same time.

The sky cleared to a bright blue and as I walked around our block I could see that neighbourhood watch dogs and cats had already assumed their daytime guard positions,

alert and vigilant against intruders.

  Well, at least some of them.

It was a morning to revel in the sun on my face and the clean smell of the air;

 to notice small things like the lichen on the maple trunk, 

To appreciate the beauty of the snow flowers freshly decorated.

To see the tiniest of steps towards spring. 

To take a deep breath.

 

View from the window...on vulnerability

Yesterday morning I was awakened by the earth moving...or at least that is what it seemed like. There had been a tremendous thud somewhere close by and the house shook with it. It happened twice. Kinda weird, but not especially concerning. Why? We don't live where earthquakes are imminent, we are not under attack, and I did not think that the sky was falling. 

Then yesterday afternoon as I was once more rustling the branches of the family tree, 'there arose such a clatter, I arose from my couch to see what was the matter'. At first I thought that the blue jays were simply announcing their arrival, but there was a different urgency to these calls. It took a moment to realize that there was a Cooper's Hawk in the shrub. This I had never seen before.

I know that to feed the birds is also to invite peril. Hawks will patrol occasionally but rarely close to the house. I will maybe see them in one of the large trees out back, or rarely on a pole in the park or a rooftop across the street like last week.

 

This hunter was close to the house, in a shrub, then on the ground beneath the spruce patrolling the hedge! 

(another raptor lurking next door)

I thought that this was a pretty safe place. The tree is big, the hedge is dense, the house is here. The blue jay's warning scattered the birds and it went deadly quiet. I realized that while the boughs of the spruce are thick...safe, under the tree it is open and the limbs next to the trunk are bare...not safe. The cedar hedge is fairly dense...safe; the hedge is not wide...not safe. The house provides a degree of shelter...safe; the birds cannot shelter inside it...not safe. The hawk is a large bird so small tight spaces are safe; the hawk is a carefully designed and specially equipped hunter, and hungry...not safe.

(a Red-tailed hawk in the maple in the back yard)

It made me think about what things make me feel safe and what situations make me feel vulnerable. I thought about the fact that there is a difference between what is actual and what is perceived and how those can change in a heartbeat.

I have always felt safe at home, grateful for warmth and shelter. when our oldest son left home, that security was shaken some. He is tall, imposing. Suddenly I was alone in the house for the first time and I felt vulnerable in a way that I hadn't before. I hadn't expected that.

The number at birthday time keeps getting larger and the physical changes that accompanies this are not awesome. Now when I walk on the path, alone, as I usually do, suddenly I have an awareness of vulnerability that I did not have before. 

This plague that has been visited upon us all, has certainly shaken my sense of security. Suddenly no one, and nowhere, feels safe. except home if you haul up the drawbridge and stay inside. This is not completely possible or realistic as we have to eat and those able to work, must.

So, how to deal with this overwhelming sense of vulnerability? For some people, denial works; there is no risk, or at least not of the scope that is being presented. There must always room for healthy skepticism, but one that leads to deeper understanding not an ignoring of obvious evidence.

And I wonder at what point fear can become phobia. I don't want to be so overwhelmed that I can't leave the perceived physical security of my house. Even today that safety was violated by someone sending an email that looks authentic but isn't, so even home is not inviolable.

So...today I watched out the window. Did the birds return? Not yesterday, but today they are here. Is there still a threat? Yes. Despite continued vulnerability that is real, because the hawk could come at any time, they go about their business, being watchful, but aware that at this moment they are safe and life can go on as usual. Perhaps there is a lesson in this.

(Woodpeckers come readily to the feeder but spend a lot of time scanning the sky around them)

If we can keep our feelings of vulnerability from being debilitating, they can be useful, and keep us safe and moving forward. Perhaps they can even be a point of strength, because in our awareness of our fears and weaknesses we can be more aware of those same things in others. I realized how fortunate I am that in waking up to the shudder of the earth, my mind was not filled with fear as others in our world would be. 

 

View from the window...halfway there

The beginning of February marks our progress through the winter. Imbolc, a Gaelic traditional festival originating in Ireland and Scotland, celebrates a rough halfway point between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. Imbolc or Imbolg, means 'in the belly', and refers to the pregnancy of ewes which in the natural order of things, is a necessity for the arrival of spring lambs. It celebrates the fact that the 'dark' of winter is approaching an end, and that while not visible, life is stirring in the earth which will, before too long, produce green things.

People who first celebrated this festival lived by the patterns of the seasons. They were in tune with the natural progression of a life dependent on the living things around them. The spring sun and rain which brought seeds to life was equally as important as the winter which allowed the land to rest and revive. But survival through the winter was not a given, so having made it half way, was worthy of celebration, especially as now hope and anticipation were torches to hold against the darkness until the spring arrived.

And has this not been a truly dark and extraordinary time; a time of separation, isolation, tension and fear. A celebration which marks that time continues to pass, that life continues and that spring will come, is particularly reassuring right now.

I must note however, that Mother Nature in celebration of Imbolc, unleashed a particularly vicious winter storm on the Eastern seaboard of the US. Those folks may not be feeling especially thankful or even note that they have reached this day of import. While their resilience is well-documented, I imagine more than one citizen has turned his face to the sky and said, 'Seriously?!?!' It probably seems like just one thing too many right now.

Here today, the sky is blue  and you can notice that the days are starting to get a little longer. The outline of the branches in the maple across the street is changing. There are buds appearing. I see that the local squirrel population is goofier than usual. There are more high-speed pursuits in progress; instead of trucks in loose convoys, it is more like tandem truck-trailers, so close are some noses to certain tails.

For North Americans, today is the day that we hope our weather predicting groundhogs will tell us that an early spring is in our collective future.

What ever that outcome is, winter is not over. Mother Nature is capricious and unpredictable, so what might still come our way is unknown.  But it is half-way over. The earth continues to turn and the seasons will in time change. This is cause to celebrate.