It’s become a tradition around the onset of my annual age change to fill the feeders. Gabe reminds me that I need to start the year out with sparkling equipment before adding the seed. So I clean. Every inch, every remnant of yesteryear’s bird consortium is erased. They dry in the chilly sun, because the temperature is always swinter on or around my birthday. Sometimes the weather is pretty enough to trick you into thinking it’s pleasant enough to wear less. A foolish time indeed.
My friend @jeccasorgz posted a TedTalk of philosopher Emily Levine who, at the time, was dying of stage 4 lung cancer and chose to forego treatment. She said, “You’re given this enormous gift of life. You enrich it best you can and then you give it back.” I paused the video and sat back with dribbling tears. I just turned 31 the day before and this birthday felt different. It entered in heavy with built-in melancholy. World events? Life events? Grief? Uncertainties? Moldy smells in my duplex? Then suddenly, and thanks to Emily, a replenishment of grace; a private, quiet breath of peace.
The chickadees are the first to flock to test out the goods. We’ll experiment with this season’s migrators. Buy a couple select varieties to entice a warbler, oriole, or maybe, just maybe an indigo bunting. One can only hope these days.
More often than not I think about my “chosen” family in Fort Collins. Last week’s excursion to the West only strengthened that rapture. Spending most of one’s 20s in a place with only people you’ve cultivated selfdom and love is something worth saving and spreading. Emily Levine ended, “Thank you for making my life real.” And with another notch in the belt, there couldn’t be anything truer to me.
Thank you. I love you.
A Homegoing 