music sublime...

This video - an entry in Universal Music's search for an international choir - won the Cistercian brothers of an Austrian monastery a recording contract. CD available May 19th. Here, the official trailer.

Perhaps some of the ecstatic and mystical spiritual meaning of this art will come through to our 21st-century hardened and bored hearts.

mother's day treat...

My Finnish Friend sent this for Mother's Day. If you click on the above nesting hummingbird, a site will come up with photos of her two offspring in their journey from wee eggs to adulthood. I believe these are Allen's hummers.

Clicking on this little photo brings up a wonderful site/sight, with a photo and narrative for each day in the Ruby-throated hummingbird's nest. Astonishing!!!


Such good moms, I might add...

the pond giveth...

Part of my regular binocular viewing of the island has been to check out Mommy Goose on her nest. It is mostly an obscured view (as she intends, no doubt), behind a large tree. After being content for so long with glimpses of her profile - beak and a bit of breast, or, in the other direction - the tip of her tail, my patience (obsession???) paid off. On Monday of last week, I witnessed a well-timed miracle.

She stood on her nest (I've only seen this twice before when she was undoubtedly turning the eggs). And as she walked off it, in the direction of Daddy Goose - who was about 10 feet away, doing what he does best...which is to stand tall and watch for trouble and generally look entirely in control, eight goslings lined up behind her and teetered into their new world. Then, to my complete amazement, the family set sail into the pond and landed on our piece of the shoreline to feed on a slope rich with bugs.

Daddy looks straight at me. Seems to know I'm out there...snapping photos through a window.
Actually, the camera's flashing red light probably gave me away.

I immediately noted that goslings, though inherently cute for a lot of reasons, are not that attractive. Yellow balls with large gray splotches, they are! I watched the gangley parade with some anxiety, as if it was their first outing, though I didn't know that for sure. Some comfort was taken in evidence of Mother Nature's well-oiled system of the care-and-feeding of goslings: Daddy, constantly looking impressively imposing, while Mommy leads the way, encouraging, sometimes keeping them close, sometimes stretching their limits a bit. I rehearsed the mantra that I expected would become my focal point over the next few weeks: one, two, three...four, five...six.........seven. Now where is that eighth????

Mommy then decided to jump off the neighbor's retaining wall. Bad idea!!!!!!!!! Goslings were certainly frightened at the thought of leaping into an abyss to be near her. One brave one took the plunge, looking oh so awkward. A few others followed. Daddy, in his attempt to be helpful, was actually causing the rest of them to go further down the wall, away from the spot on our shore where they could easily step into the pond. In the end, all was well, with all but one joining Mom by recklessly flailing and falling, and the runt finding its way back to the sweet spot on our side.

The family then processed back to the safety of the island. And my racing heart rested.

I expected that I would not serendipitously be around for all outings, but enjoyed the grace of the next sighting on the island a few days later. Backlit by the morning sun, the little ones' angelic halos of glowing yellow downy fuzz didn't match the behavior: running around, way faster than their feet and balance could handle. One was intent on beak-fighting (must be the brave one who was first to jump off the wall a few days earlier, I surmised). Their playfulness reminded me of kittens. Generally, they looked like they would soon be nothing but trouble to their parents. Yet, Dad still did what he does best - watching and guarding. And Mom seemed to still have influence when she clucked. Her children played the essential game of evolutional survival: 'duck, duck goose' - seemingly on command flattening to the ground to be hidden in the grass, hopefully invisible from predators. They went for a swim. I counted, over and over...'one, two, three', etc. Good job, Mother Nature.

...and the pond taketh away...

The next day, I saw Mom & Dad alone on the island, near the nest, but no goslings in sight. Sentinel father, still solid and stoic. Mother...well, looking almost dazed, if I could anthropomorphise. I knew deep down that the absence of chicks didn't make sense. And any hoping on my part that they were soooooo well-disciplined as to be in nest 'time-out' didn't make sense. I set the binoculars down and walked away from the window.

Early Friday morning, we awoke to loud and constant honking. I rushed to the window to see what was going on. There, on the island's nesting point, was Mr. Goose, standing tall, silent, at his ever-vigilant best, giving protective space to a seemingly distraught mate. No longer Mommy goose, Mrs. was pacing in the vicinity of the nest...dramatically gyrating...her long neck twisting this way and that, up and down. Her trumpet-wailing could have woken the dead...but didn't. I cried with her. And then went back to bed to hide my head under the covers. Damn Mother Nature.

This display of parent loss was the only outward sign of their grieving. Mates for life, they still are a pond couple. But the empti-ness of the empty-nest speaks volumes.

I now think back to something that might be significant: when stepping into the pond surface, some goslings seemed to go under and then bob back up. Though I truly think they were just enjoying the ducking and diving, I've wondered if something was nipping at them from below. There are no obvious suspects to put in a line-up for the parents to identify. Painted turtles are omnivores when young, though nothing larger than a grub is listed in the non-vegetable part of their diet description. A more likely villain would be the visiting heron we've seen...or occasional hawks. Do I want their young to go hungry? No. But I'm ready for a world where the lion can lie down with the lamb. Right now, the circle of life is definitely a messy thing.

gift of the season...

Returning home from a clergy spouse conference in this lovely diocese this past Saturday evening, I found a lilac branch waiting for me at the door. The gift-giver knew I was entranced by them here - a different variety than grows in California. What a treasure to find, after being consumed by lilac envy all the way home, mental scouring the yard to come up with possible sites for the myriad bushes I yearned to possess.

They grow big here. I suppose I would tire of a wall of them across the back...perhaps punctuated with a tribe of astonishingly beautiful redbuds...and a few of whatever graceful white blooming trees I see paired with them in front of the corner house down the street...and the many pictures I could take of pond wildlife, filtered through lilac light.

Or maybe not.

Many thanks, Sarah!

for the children...

Delighted to see this statistic on Yahoo news this morning: The Center for Disease Control reports a 20-year high in breastfeeding among new mothers (albeit, some briefly). Three out of four to be exact.

I belong in the group that zealously maintains you can give no better gift to your child than to breastfeed. Oddly enough, this comes at a time when a 'better than breast milk' canned substitute is out on the market. Organic, it says on the label. Hmmm. Glad they at least steamed off the petroleum used in the process of manufacturing it. My Canadian naturopathic sensei says labor and delivery nurses are calling it the 'diarrhea maker'. I'm hoping that, if I were to look into it further, it might have been pulled from shelves.

The above statistics could be minisculy bumped up if the state of Texas, in its well-meaning but out-of-control zeal, had not removed all children from their polygamist mothers...including nursing infants. Get a grip, Texas. We know it's a complex situation, but don't make the very children you are trying to protect suffer in this way.