Fall is a season with a sharp high and low. A spectacular show of leaves changing, followed abruptly by dullness of leaf-less trees. A seasonal 3pm slump.
Walking among the gardens around my home this afternoon I was noticing how dried out everything looked. And not just because of the time of year when the leaves let go, but more so due to the sheer lack of rain from the months past. Yet, upon closer review, as I walked around, the loss of leaves exposed something beyond just the dryness. In two different locations, the lack of cover revealed two cup-shaped nests in the low shrubs. A little worse for wear, but strong enough to still sheepishly hang on through strands of grass intertwined. Perhaps even slightly angled.
Save for a few resident population birds, long gone are the birds that built them, and the birds that were raised in them. As long gone as the sun-lit afternoons of summer. There’s no “failure to launch” in the bird world. They set off quickly, there’s no homecoming for birds either. At least not that I am aware of. Those nests will most likely at some point fall to the ground having served their purpose. Come spring, nests of all types will be rebuilt, and birds will raise their young again.
Fall is a season with a sharp high and low. A spectacular show of leaves changing, followed abruptly by dullness of leaf-less trees. (Except for those few that retain their leaves like some oaks and beeches, a process known as marcescence.) While the coming days will become colder and darker, I try to remember that in nature, everything is happening in its own proper time. While the trees and shrubs look like they are doing nothing at all, they are in fact doing a ton of things we can’t see. The nests may be empty, but their untidy appearance still weave a story of life. While the brown leaves on the ground covering the now brown grass leave little room for any vibrancy in the garden, the nests brought with them a little slice of life.
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This post was inspired by the following event:
I had an encounter with a complete stranger on this exact same day that I noticed the nests. A man in the parking lot of a grocery store asked to borrow my phone. After realizing that his dead phone also meant that this stranger couldn’t open his car, let alone drive it, I willingly handed over my phone. Several minutes carried on as he tried to contact his wife who could open his car remotely. Instead of going on my way with my groceries, a ten minute conversation about high schools took place right there next to his undriveable car. He apologized for my inconvenience, but I told him I had no where to be for 2 hours while my daughter was at swim practice. In a way, maybe he longed for those days, as he made it a point to tell me that he and his wife were “empty nesters” as their kids headed off to college. But the kids will return, unlike the birds. So, ideally they are not really living in an empty nest, but rather hopefully looking forward to having them back again from time to time.