Everybody has their thing. Some people build model airplanes. Some people dress up like stuffed animals.
I like to go look for birds. And walk through the marshes, and the weeds. Like reading Shakespeare, it usually takes awhile to get in the zone. But eventually my vision and hearing become more sensitive, and I glimpse slight movements, and I hear faint twitters. Usually when I first head out, it has been so long since the last trip that I move from area to area very quickly, "seems like it's a quiet day here," and feel almost thirsty.
Far more successful is to choose a place and stay there quietly for an extended time.
I met a man who has mastered this patient, custodial kind of absorption. Without going into arcane detail, he discovered a pair of birds quite rare to Colorado. He has watched them for 5 months. He is by their tree in a the quiet cemetary, with them for many hours every day. He offers his charges to like-minded others, sending detailed descriptions of both the location and the birds' behavior. ("11:10 AM female left nest for snowbank")
People journey to this tree. Some of them come from very far away. The man is there, writing down the names of the pilgrims. He freely shares his equipment, his knowledge, and his philosophy. He told me that since he first sighted the birds and spread the word, over 500 people have visited.
My visit lasted an hour, maybe an hour and a half. In that time, our discussion ranged from the merits of exploring the local world deeply or ranging widely, the mistakes and regrets of parenting and desperate hopes to deliver some lasting code of ethics, and the tension between sanctuary and alone-ness- "nature has never let me down"- and the desperate search for connection to fellow humans.
He's just a regular guy, and freely exposed his flaws. He's not a holy man on a mountain.
But word of mouth sends people to him. He has a parlor there under the tree among the headstones, and people find him. He doesn't like them all, and he challenges and even baits some of them. He judges some of them, but then he grapples with his flaws afterward, and invites the next visitor into the struggle.
I did see those birds, they were exquisite, and I saw the babies gaping for what mama and papa brought back to the nest. That alone would have been a triumph that defined my day, my week, my season.
But meeting this strange man in his orbit was a rare cosmic collision.
3 comments:
A sentry for new life posts himself among the headstones. When you called and told me of this, I couldn't help but think of the irony and hoped some of those 500, on a journey to remember their dead, could share a moment of beginning with him.
"A sentry of new life posts himself among the headstones." A lovely phrase.
Having done genealogy for many years, you run into those kind of rare people. There are those who are "buried" in records trying to retrieve some morsel that will connect them further to the past. Then there are those who learn from the past to make the present and future a better place.
Yes Einstein, you've mentioned people who dig for glory among their ancestors, and you've mentioned those who find unassuming and even anonymous heros as they dig. This guy valued life- and nature- for their own sake.
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