Circle of Life

Quincy has just put six candles on his grandfather's birthday cake and he is ready for the huge salmon grilled by Jay in oversize collard leaves. The family has gathered for this seventieth birthday; everyone has been running around between the grill and the pool and the kitchen where my sister Maria is setting the table and vegetables from the garden are being prepared. On this evening, the regular cook, also the birthday boy, has been instructed to do nothing!

I am recovering my energy from a month of what turned out to be pneumonia and this weekend was perfect. The new floor in my studio is complete and very beautiful and for just this tiny instant the organization of the space is all inviting potential. It was a lot of work to move everything out, and then back in.

As the family and friends arrived I was excited to show off the floor. But I was more excited to introduce them all to the new born sandhill crane chicks, now three days old and tottering along with the parents who kept their little family close to the pond. Quincy was very interested to see these birds whose eggs he had watched for weeks. The fields were splendid after the recent rains and the birthday song was sung mostly on tune and certainly with lots of love.

The next day, the only people left were our friends Peter and Susie, both avid birders. Of course we all went down to the pond to watch for the otter and see the cranes and whatever else might be around. Deer were under the trees and a gopher tortoise was hightailing it across the field. After breakfast and a good read of the Sunday papers we went out on the front porch to watch the cranes on the brow of the hill. We could only see one of the babies but we thought it was lower and out of view. Through the scope we could see the parents picking at something. They seemed to be urging one of the chicks to move. Susie and I looked at each other, knowing instantly that something was the matter.

After a decent amount of time, maybe a few minutes, Susie went out to see what the problem was. Of course both of us were thinking about rescue, trip to a bird sanctuary, etc. The parent cranes finally left the area, followed by the other chick. Moving on. We found the troubled chick, now dead on the hill. We picked it up and looked to see what happened. This looked like a perfect baby, so incredibly soft with that thick down that seems like fur. What could have happened?

We left it under a nearby palm tree. Within minutes the buzzards came. The crane family of three was grazing near the pond.

I think I really knew that this perfect bird experience would be like anything else in the natural world here. Birth and death and nurturing, storms and drought and the beauty of life enough to 'stagger sextillions of infidels'