"It could happen any time, tornado,
Living in the woods, I have found the unquenchable desire for the outdoors to take over the indoors to be more aggressive than in the city. There the mowers and traffic and impact of so many people, are able to keep it relegated to the edges. Here over the past year I have had a snake in the kitchen, mice in the pantry, scorpions in the rock floor of the dining room, squirrels in the exhaust vents and now, most recently, white breasted nuthatches nesting in the wooden siding. I'm not counting the snake living under the deck.
I learned a lesson in humility from my encounter with the squirrels. I had a young female who had a late summer brood in the oven vent. I was so surprised to see her with a baby in her mouth when I managed to spook her out of her vent of choice. She was indignant and despite my attempts to prevent her scampered off around the corner and promptly resettled her family in the vent on that side of the house. I eventually managed to trap and release her and her babies after they fledged, but it took some doing.
The nuthatch was another surprise. During the holidays, I began to notice tufts of pink fiber floating about the deck. I admit I am a bit slow on the uptake about this sort of thing, so it was a while before I realized it was insulation. Then I couldn't figure out from where. Eventually with some help from my brother, we discovered a small round hole in the wood siding. (Note: Just above the squirrel's first vent choice) We decided that it was probably some abandoned attempt at an earlier nest site. It was December, not a good time to be nesting, so I thought that was the end of it. (There's a moral there friends.)
Over the last couple of weeks, I began to hear at different times during the day, a persistent 'tat', 'tat', 'tat', on the outside of the house. It's not unusual for woodpeckers and their cousins to patrol the wooden siding in search of food. After noticing lots of new pink insulation wafting about the deck, I discovered that now there was a real nesting hole just around the corner from the first. (Note: Not far from the squirrel mother's second vent choice) Could this be the beginning of a trend? Today, after many attempts to see who was nesting, I was able to site a very earnest white breasted nuthatch. I don't know if there are eggs in the nest yet, but I bet there are. Looks like I am destined for boarders.
All these encounters with wildlife remind me of a profound truth shared by my sister, a very insightful person to be sure. She remarked once during an especially heartfelt conversation, "life is sticky". While any mother of boys can vouch for that, what she meant was the emotional side of living. Life isn't cut and dried very often. A good portion of it starts out wet, gets slippery, dries off some from use and often ends up just plain sticky. Translation: unresolved.
There is a great human desire (mostly in women I'm convinced) to 'tidy up' life on all levels physical and emotional. You can do that fairly easily with a sock drawer, but when it comes to relationships and events involving other people, well it's going to be more of a challenge because precisely like my dealings with the wildlife mothers, we are only 1/2 of the equation. As they say, 'it takes two to tango'. Or, "no matter how thin you slice it, there will always be two sides." On occasion we may get our way through influence, cajoling, manipulating or threatening, but all of this requires wading in and getting ourselves wet. Even if we do, there is no guarantee we will get our way. Just ask that mother squirrel. What's more, the paradox seems to be that the rub, the sticky part of life that comes from wading in, seems to carry what is most essential for our growth personally and in relation with others. Thinking about that makes me wonder: if the devil is in the details, then I think God must be in the sticky part. That explains to me why out of hard and hurtful times, good things emerge. It encourages my belief that when we reach out beyond ourselves into the place between us and others, we are creating the possible. The outcome may not be anything we hoped or envisioned, but it will offer us an opportunity to struggle, consider, take a stand, compromise, give in, or wonder of wonders, maybe embrace something entirely new for us. Even if we decide to step back, the experience comes with us. Nothing is completely wasted. We get a chance to lick our fingers, get a fresh grip on ourselves, and regroup.Next time, since what isn't resolved tends to come back for another go, perhaps we will choose differently because the struggle has somehow created change. I'm wondering about that.
Someone once told me that even though the right choice wasn't always apparent, it was still very important to wrestle with the decision. The give and take with ourselves and others, holds within it, great merit. I agree, but it can be very tough going. People don't hold to the same rules when struggling. And, the unresolved parts of life have all sorts of other vents available to them. Still,I believe there remains also a lot of opportunities for good. We seem so surprised by this, don't we? I wonder if that is because resolution often comes from a blending of both sides. Are we surprised because we found something agreeable that it is not entirely of our own making? That rings of space making, doesn't it? Something to ponder.I did manage to salvage the little squirrel family but not without patience. Some relationships and events sort out when an open space is allowed; some we eventually realize, will not. The end result for the little squirrel mother was not what she expected I'm sure, but it was the best for me and she came out alright as well. Perhaps the bonus is acknowledging life can go either way at any moment. Even though we can get all stuck up working out which turn to take, when we do finally set off down the road, the struggle has left it's mark. In the meantime, it's probably a good idea to wash off the sticky from time to time. You may end of needing to shake hands.
"What is precious
inside us does not
care to be known
by the mind
in ways that diminish
its presence.
What we strive for
in perfection
is not what turns us
into the lit angel
we desire,
What disturbs
and then nourishes
has everything we need."
Excerpted from The Winter of Listening,
by David Whyte
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