heron – Nourish-n-Cherish

Embracing Simplicity in Dramatic Times

The Calm before the Storm

I stood for a few minutes under the cloudy skies of winter, looking out into the ponds, lakes and rivers near our home. It was after the first proper rainfall of the season – and I was trying to capture the still quiet in my being. The stormy clouds above were portending another storm coming, but for now, all was calm. The herons watched (their demeanor not as impassive as it usually might be perhaps, or perhaps that was my own anthropomorphism) as the clouds gathered strength.

I couldn’t help asking the universe to help us through stormy seasons with the same impassivity that these herons showed.

As the year wraps, I feel a sense of dread. Humanity’s craving for the dramatic is probably a defining characteristic of the species (although to be fair, I am not sure whether geese crave the drama too. They do seem to get all agitated, and excited for seemingly no reason when you observe them).

A Dramatic Shift?

Regardless of political leanings, I think we can all agree that the change in presidency is going to lean heavily towards the dramatic – we saw it all the last time around. News frenzies, whipped up emotions, and a lot of emotions that probably look good on reality shows, but not in our daily lives.

“Sometimes I wish something dramatic would happen once in a while.”, said Rilla

“Don’t wish it. Dramatic things always have a bitterness for someone.” said Miss Oliver

– Rilla of Ingleside: L M Montgomery

America did not just make an election choice, it elected for chaos. We seem to have forgotten so many things:

We forgot that the hiring and firing, and the incessant news cycles, gave little room for anyone to actually do any of the work that mattered to them
We forgot that thinking in long-term strategies is what separates humans from any other species on the planet – save ants, and squirrels maybe.
We forgot that one ridiculous policy after another is all it takes for the house of cards to start crumbling down.
We forgot that having a leader spout not just dangerous, but frankly lustful language is what their young daughters and sons are listening to. That will be their new norm – it hurt me more than anything that the voter turnaround was significant in the 20-30 young men demographic nationwide. That means, we have a value system that is ready to spout whatever it is they are going to hear in the next few years for all their wives and children.
We forgot the study where sociologists were baffled when crime went down suddenly in the late 80’s. It was because there was a whole generation of unwanted babies who were not born thanks to Roe V Wade in the 70’s. In the 80’s, these babies would have entered their troubled adolescence trying to make sense of a world where they were unwanted.
We forgot how easy it was to make one feel as ‘other’ – divisive lines everywhere.
We forgot the lack of empathy and compassion that our daily messages bore.

The older I get the more I wish people interesting, dull, and predictable lives – it seems so much better than the dramatic.

“After all,” Anne had said to Marilla once, “I believe the nicest and sweetest days are not those on which anything very splendid or wonderful or exciting happens but just those that bring simple little pleasures, following one another softly, like pearls slipping off a string.”

― L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Avonlea

Bracing for the Storm

I opened my eyes and took in the heron by the lake. It had barely moved – because it knew that storm or no storm, it would have to wait and pass the moments in the day as best as it can.

I looked up and saw the storm gathering force. I felt the first few droplets fall on my nose, and hurried back. It was time to brace for the storm.

The Birds of Heaven

“Do you think we’d have seen at least fifteen species of birds?” the husband said, huffing and puffing beside me on his bicycle.

We had biked up a little hillock, and even though it looked like the sort of thing we’d have torn up while playing hide-and-seek as ten year olds, it proved to be a huffer just a few decades later, Curious how life reminds you about the passage of time and all that right?

“Easily!” I said, and started listing them off.

Hawaiian stilts
Terns
Avocets
Pelicans
Geese
Ducks (green necked, wood ducks)
Quails
Egret
Heron
Green heron
Blackbirds
Turkeys
Turkey vulture
Red tailed hawks
Grebes
Cormorants
Coots

The huffing and humming had stilled, and I turned around to see what had happened. The husband grinned sheepishly – “Oh! Yes – might’ve stopped listening after you started listing the birds.”

I laughed.

It was a beautiful ride by the bay. The colors of the bay combined with the golden light of the evening made for a fantastic setting for all these birds. There was a time when the soft cooing of the birds, the lapping sounds of the waters around us and the flapping of wings was all that could be heard for miles. If there was a heaven, would these birds be there too? I would hope so.

The Tales of Birds

I am sure the falcons and the avocets have the stories of their lives. That pesky crow that annoys the hawk must have their heroic tales. With their enhanced senses, I have often wondered the world through their lenses.

In any case, we were racing against the sunset, and time was showing it’s presence with every passing minute.

The elongated shadows of our bikes finished as my long-nosed shadow hit the garage entrance. “Made me think of all the long-beaked friends we saw today.” I said laughing.

It was true – especially down by the bay where we see many birds fishing, long beaks seem the norm: avocets, terns, pelicans, curlews, herons, egrets. They all have sharp beaks that give them decisive looks. I wonder every time I look at them what goes through their mind as they hunt for their food, look after their young and build their nests. This is, after all, what most of the lifeforms on Earth do. And yet, each does so differently, unique to their species, unique to their abilities, and unique to their habitats.

The last birds I stopped to admire in our race against the sunset were the Hawaiian stilts (curiously these birds were once on the endangered list, but have since made a comeback and I am so glad. ) They are a joy to watch in the sunset’s glorious light, with their pink legs, their sharp beaks, and the black-and-white contrasts.

Time is a Curiosity

Each of these birds surveys the life beneath the waters differently, and with the deft skills of an archer plunges in for their kill. Their groups merging and reforming with the bay’s tides. Time is a curiosity in these settings, and one can spend hours in these environs, filling the soul.

The trail we are lucky to have access to is beautiful, and every time we set out to catch a little ride by the waters come back more peaceful, filled with gratitude at the marvelous forms of life we share the planet with. I have tried describing rides like this and come up with no one word that can capture it all. Maybe a feeling of abundance? Serenity? In our human existence of intense craving, the ride and what it offers pales in comparison. It is slow, it is present, and it somehow exemplifies your horizons.

“When we go down to the lowest of the low tide lines and look down into the shallow waters, there’s all the excitement of discovering a new world. Once you have entered such a world, its fascination grows and somehow you find your mind has gained a new dimension, a new perspective — and always thereafter you find yourself remember[ing] the beauty and strangeness and wonder of that world — a world that is as real, as much a part of the universe, as our own. “

– Rachel Carson

Magical Novembers

Novembers in Bay Area are magical. There is a promise of rain in the air, the fall colors are out and the dry sordid months of summer finally seem to be behind us. The trees burst forth in a sudden splash of color. Octobers are to Prince Edward Island in Canada as Novembers are to California. So, I have absolutely no problem in gushing like Anne of Green Gables : “I love a world with Novembers in them.”

The son and I had were taking a short break after a bike ride. We stood there admiring the way the leaves seemed to be flipping as the wind went through them when an ornithologist found us. We politely made space for him on the park bench. After a few minutes, we went on to having conversation on nature based hobbies and such.

He had with him one of those cameras and lenses that can zoom upto 714 times. The son & I exchanged glances. Could that pelican sitting on that small island in the lake be seen well with that lens then? Jack (the ornithologist cum photographer), told us indeed he could and he went on to take a few photographs to show us. We were more than suitably impressed, and he was gracious and generous in showing us how his lens worked.

I have always been in awe of those who were able to get fantastic photographs of the birds. I have several friends whose photographs have me yearning for their gift of composition. With landscapes, while I still admire the artistic compositions, with moving targets such as birds, I find the whole process fascinating. My attempts at hummingbird photography have proved to me that (a) hummingbirds are very fast – research says they can flap upto 50 times a minute and (b) my phone is usually unable to capture them flying.

But my new phone and Jack’s attempts at the photographs were inspiration enough for me to go back to mooning about the lakesides and riverfronts looking for birds. I suppose these birding photographers do this all the time, but when I did, I felt like I had developed wings myself and fluttered away – whether as an angel or a devil did not matter.

I got my first picture of an Anna hummingbird (albeit one resting on a tree), but I got a picture nevertheless. I also captured on my phone, a mockingbird, a siege of herons, a pod of pelicans and an assortment of wood ducks, grebes and coots.

The skies, in the meanwhile, look like nothing I’ve seen before( although my phone best to differ based on the number of pictures it classifies as ‘Similar pictures’). I would love to be a crepuscular artist knowing fully well that I could never aspire to the true artistry that is on display every day for us – especially during the rainy season.

I suggest everyone take some time to enjoy the rains and the clean skies and earth afterward.

I sat in the car watching the rain pouring down and feeling the sense of life’s stresses washing away. Californian rains are whimsical: one minute they beat down, maybe even give in to a thumping hailstorm, but in the next few minutes, the clouds scud away as quickly as they gathered leaving a jaw-dropping sort of blue and white clouds behind them. It is magical.

“Live in each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influence of the earth.”
Henry David Thoreau

A Heron’s Lessons

A day or two after the Navarathri season, the husband & I headed out on a walk by the riverside. All was quiet. The husband and I were not.

The most common ailment of our times: busy times were ailing us both. Our days were packed, and our minds full. Corporate fortunes and misfortunes played out on the global scene. The husband, more stoic than Yours Truly in matters of life was nodding as I rattled on.

Should I do this?
Should I do that?
Which course of action seems to be the most prudent?
Most effective?

Finally, I slowed down enough to make a comment about the trees and leaves. The earth was parched – California’s drought this year has left a dry riverbed, and I felt sorry for the numerous creatures that lived here.

The blue herons, great white egrets, cattle egrets, and hundreds of blackbirds, wrens etc are a welcome sight on walks. My eyes involuntarily scoured the riverside for the marvelous creatures, even though the sunset skies were gift enough.

The deer, fox, sheep, cats are all admired too.

As we were talking of this and that, I spotted a blue heron standing on the river bank. It was probably a baby (an ornithologist on the trail told me that the grey coloration of their feathers, and the thickness of their necks are indicators). I tugged the husband’s hands and said, “Look!”

We both stopped. Admirable creatures, herons.

“You know? Herons teach us to remain calm and observe life without taking too much tensions of the comings and goings around them. But when swift action is merited, you can’t beat them. We must be like herons!” I said.

The husband gave me an amused look and I laughed “I know! I know! Nice talk – but where’s the application you ask?”

We both laughed, but the image of herons never fails to calm me down. Maybe that’s what we must have in our calendars – heron time, hummingbird time, tree time, star time.

When despair for the world grows in me and I wake in the night . . . I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief. . . For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
Wendell Berry

Tales from a River Bed

I stood there one morning, the serenity of the surroundings mirrored in my face. There, ahead of me, in the river bed with just a trickle of water making its way to the bay in the west was a snowy white egret. It stood there relishing its solitude. I have never seen them in groups in the riverbed. There are a few of them I spot every once in a while, but never together. Further in the distance stood a great blue heron – also alone, its regal grey neck craning to see I knew not what.

Great blue heron – when this grey beauty flies, one’s spirit soars too

This riverbed is an interesting place. Of late, I notice a little red fox darting quickly especially as the sun sets. How one fox cub managed to make its way into the suburban area so far removed from the hills on the other side of town is beyond me. I’ve seen coyotes up in the hills before, but never a red fox. There are many cats slinking around the river. I’ve seen water rats, geese, ducks, ducklings, deer. One some days, we see sheep grazing there, tended lovingly by a horseman with a cowboy hat who eclectically raises his hand in greeting, “Hola Amigos!” , and his shepherding dogs.

On warm evenings, I am accompanied by cricket songs, and croaking. I read in a non-fiction book by Peter Wohlleben , The Weather Detective, that crickets only chirp when the temperature is above 54 degrees Fahrenheit. That is most summer evenings in California.

The squawking of geese, the flapping of small wren-like birds, the beautiful chittering of birds, the blackbirds songs, the swooping of the sparrows, and cawing of ravens as they make their way home are all harmonious against the setting sun. The autumnal equinox is here, which means that the sun sets are getting earlier and earlier. Soon, by the time we are done with our host of meetings, life in the riverbed would have quietened down or is at least not visible.

The more time I spend in corporate worlds, the more I relish the simple pleasures of the creatures in the riverbed. True, they are affected more than we think by our lifestyles and the effects. The river -bed is a sad reminder of global warming. The Earth is hot and thirsty and is forever parched. The ribbon like strand of water is heavily regulated and trickles by not so regularly. The river bed itself is fully grown with reeds and tall grasses, creating the perfect camouflage for all the creatures that seek to make this place home.

A distant palm tree reflected in the river

I think the kind of landscape that you grew up in, it lives with you. I don’t think it’s true of people who’ve grown up in cities so much; you may love a building, but I don’t think that you can love it in the way that you love a tree or a river or the colour of the earth; it’s a different kind of love.
Arundhati Roy

But the river bed never looks the same. A trick of the light, the clouds scattered differently, the moonlight, the houses along the banks, and the creatures therein. There is constant change and yet, a constancy in its charm.

This trail near the new nest has become my own version of The Wind in the Willows. I stroll by there, sometimes yearning for the peek at the crane, or the heron, on other days just to catch a glimpse of the deer. Most days I go expecting nothing but come back fulfilled all the same. Some little thing has always worked its magic, and I come back refreshed.

Our Attention, Our Imagination, Our Opinion

Poetry has seeped into our lives yet again. At times I wonder whether poetry, music and art are all luxuries that only dare to raise their heads when the busyness of our pointless existence relinquish their clutch, or whether poetry, music and art enable us to go about our busyness with joy and acceptance.

Either way, I am simply grateful to experience the effect of these soothers to our lives.

The news can be a whirlpool, not just pulling those who happen to float nearby into its swirl, but also sending a whirlwind to attract those on land. Of late, every week seems to be packed with a year’s worth of news. All of this of course results in an enervating tug of emotions.

We do not know whether the farm worker in the 17th century had this many opinions he needed to have, or whether the soldier in the Dark Ages had a semblance of control in his fates. All we have experience of, is this time, and this age, when we are being called upon to not just have an opinion, but also to voice them and defend them almost relentlessly.

How the world clamors for opinions and stands? Having a world leader who takes pride in swirling the world around for his endless rollercoaster is exhausting. This is Gaslighting we are told, that is Egotism. Here we are, endlessly naming, categorizing, instead of just appealing to an inner sense – Yes? Or No? Which is it?

It is also deeply instructive for us as individuals. A lesson on ourselves. How much do we want to dragged into the endless show put on for us; how much do we want to rectify things, solve problems with creativity and resilience; and how much do we want to be pulled here and there, like specks in a whirlwind?

The other day, I saw a heron standing patiently in the shallow waters of a river, waiting patiently. I was out for my evening walk, and I had to stop and admire the heron. The heron was going about its business of living, observing quietly, waiting patiently, and if in the process of being, a wandering soul got a lesson or two out of it, that was good, but that wasn’t its purpose.

I chuckled to myself thinking of what the heron would say to me if I asked it about any of the world’s problems. Would it laugh at me or with me at the problems humans have created for ourselves?

The heron in that moment taught me the simple act of keeping still and untangling the strains of thought. That this isn’t a luxury, but a necessity.

Sometimes, sitting and reading a piece of poetry evokes the same feeling. Take the poem, Yes! No! By Mary Oliver for instance.

How necessary it is to have opinions!

I think the spotted trout lilies are satisfied, standing a few inches above the earth. I think serenity is not something you just find in the world, like a plum tree, holding up its white petals.

The violets, along the river, are opening their blue faces, like small dark lanterns.

The green mosses, being so many, are as good as brawny.

How important it is to walk along, not in haste but slowly, looking at everything and calling out Yes! No!

The swan, for all his pomp, his robes of grass and petals, wants only to be allowed to live on the nameless pond. The catbrier is without fault. The water thrushes, down among the sloppyrocks, are going crazy with happiness. Imagination is better than a sharp instrument. To pay attention, this is our endless and proper work.

How often I have stopped to look at the heron taking a short flight from the river nearby and wondered whether its opinions were sought, and whether it mattered. They should, for our opinions and actions have definitely resulted in less than ideal living conditions for them.

Mary Oliver in one short sweep of her pen was able to capture all this and more in the poem, Yes! No!

P.S: I love how the swan in her poem wants to live in a nameless pond. Our planet is just that isn’t it? A nameless, priceless habitat that we have bestowed a name upon.

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