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Good morning on a perfect spring day. With exactly three weeks left before summer arrives, the weather’s in Chamber of Commerce mode and I’m here for it. Kim went walking early this morning and then rode his bicycle back to Einstein’s after they opened, for one of my beloved bagels. The sun’s shining, the air is cool and still, and the lawn service mowers are droning away four floors down, the ultimate in morning contentment. Kim might go across the river for PickleBall, I might take a walk, maybe apply myself to something productive… and the day will spool out.
Meanwhile, in Dove world, life is progressing day by day. This morning the chicks were side by side in the nest, one parent was on the railing a few feet away, calling softly, and the other was perched on the neighbor’s balcony doing the same. The babies are about ten days old now, and biology says that at two weeks they will vacate the nest to make room for new siblings. I must say, they look as grumpy about that prospect as you might imagine, but it seems flying lessons are imminent.
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Derek and Diane are not this robust yet, so we likely still have a few days to enjoy their presence. And then the all-knowing internet says they’ll hang around the nest for another week or so after they get their wings, and we’ll proudly watch them as they come and go. My, they grow up so fast, don’t they?
Speaking of which, if you didn’t grow up, as I did, hearing the call of mourning doves, check out the file at the top of the page that will open in the link. Turn up your sound, and wait the few seconds between calls. Ignore the “9 min” detail, nobody’s gonna hang with it that long. Probably. Depends on how sleepy you are.
ML166991841 Mourning Dove Macaulay Library(opens in a new tab)
I grew up on a farm with my grandparents living across the drive, and I spent lots of nights sleeping in their house. When a grandkid was there, Grandma folded back the sheets on the big bed in the guest room and it was grandma/grandkid sleepover time, leaving Grandpa all alone in the cozy bedroom just off the kitchen. Generations of mourning doves built their nests in the evergreen tree outside the guest room window, and their dreamy calls rendered me comatose every night I slept there, so to hear them now outside my own windows is to have come full circle.
David and Darleen have been out there most of the morning, stuffing little craws full of yummy seed mush, fussing around the nest, and offering parental support from six feet away while steadily distancing themselves from the whole situation, bit by bit. They’ve been good parents thus far, so I’m sure their gently-offered encouragement goes something like “You’re fine, we’re still here, no worries, just over here on the next-door balcony. Going seed-hunting, kids, BRB. Do your stretches while we’re gone, stick your little necks up but not too far, we saw a cardinal nearby this morning. Exciting times are coming, so spend your time preparing.” To which Derek and Diane can only utter a simple “Huh?” as they have no clue what lies ahead for them.
Because we have opposable thumbs and self-awareness, we fancy ourselves higher than the flora and fauna that surrounds us. The sad truth is, trees communicate with each other better than do most humans, and benign friendly birds have a lot to teach us about what matters. The world could be a much softer place, but it isn’t, so we have birds and flowers and sheltering ferns to cushion reality. On a spring morning in the 21st century, with the smell of fresh-cut grass in the air, that’s almost enough.
Playing for Time 
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