It has been a tough year for me professionally and personally. In January I lost my job, and 7 months later, am still trying to find steady work. My father is approaching late-stage Alzheimer’s, and is being cared for my 82-year-old mother. I and my siblings spend a lot of time assisting our mother as she navigates a brand-new world; my father was the one in charge for most of the 62 years they have been married.
In April, I suffered a fall and required wrist surgery to repair a bad fracture. This has prevented me from attending my “church” which is on the back of a horse, deep in the words. The one contract job I found unexpectedly canceled due to the project being delayed. I spend a lot of time wondering what the Universe is trying to tell me. I am trying very hard to listen, but it’s not talking, at least not in any language I can understand.
In April I took a plunge and applied for a writer’s residency in the Adirondack mountains, slated for two weeks in October. I worked so hard on the submission piece, an essay about my father, pouring my heart and soul into it. I even consulted with a professional published writer friend for a critique. Today, I received a carefully worded rejection email. The letter said: “It was a pleasure to read your writing, and this decision is not a reflection on the merit of your work, but rather the fact that we have only six spots available and are therefore unable to accept all of the applicants we’d like. There are many talented writers, such as yourself, who are receiving this same letter.” I read this while sitting in my backyard, observing the bluebird nesting box, anticipating this may be the day the two babies fledge. I have never been lucky enough to witness this great event since installing the box on the pasture fence behind my house 2 years ago. I stared at my phone for a few minutes. “Well,” I told myself, “You knew you didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell for this. It was a big reach for you.” I put down the binoculars and sobbed into my hands. Eventually I dried my tears and took up the watch again. Mama and Papa bluebird caught sight of me in my chair and flew to the nearest tree branch above my head, giving me a piece of their minds. “Even the bluebirds hate me!” I muttered as I moved my chair further back to give them space. They flew to the fence rail next to the box, chattering even louder. I realized they weren’t directing this at me; they were encouraging the babies to come out of the nest! Back and forth they flew, and through my binoculars I saw a tiny head pop out of the hole in the box. Entranced, I watched the head and half the body of the bird emerge and then the baby burst out of the box and followed his mother, flying amazingly well for the first time ever. He flew high into a maple tree bordering the pasture, and promptly came down to the ground for an awkward landing. I lost sight of him. But I knew his parents would stay with him until he found a low branch to safely perch on. My tears forgotten, I sat back and waited for baby bird number two to emerge. This one was hesitant, at first poking a tentative tiny beak out then back in. Mama bluebird chattered loudly from the fence. Papa bluebird landed on top of the box, and peeked in. Baby bluebird stuck his head out once again. Papa flew toward the pasture, making the beautiful little call used specifically for guiding a baby bird. I held my breath and out he came, flying like a guided missile, clear across to the opposite side of the pasture. Through the binoculars, I could see him drop to the ground under a tree as gracelessly as his sibling had. Papa dove to the grass to continue guiding his fledgling to safety. It felt like I witnessed a miracle. And boy did those parents have their wings full; one on each side of the pasture! I thought of my twin toddler grandchildren, who run in opposite directions when we babysit them. Smiling, I picked up my binoculars and headed to the house to grab the dog for a walk.
Dog in tow, I stopped to sit on my favorite rock under one of our apple trees in a little wooded area in front of the house. How close I came to missing this great event! As a bluebird landlord, you check the nest every few days to track the time each egg is laid, then you count the days and observe the babies as they evolve from pink nestlings to fuzzy gray chicks and watch with wonder as feathers grow and change from gray to deep blue and black. One day you open the nest box and see bright shiny black eyes staring back at you. You observe the parents furiously darting in and out of the box delivering juicy bugs, larvae and bright green worms to the hungry brood. You watch with bated breath as they fight off marauding sparrows in fierce dive-bombing battles. You sit for hours waiting, watching and hoping you will witness the fledge. And you will usually miss it. I almost left my chair after reading the disheartening rejection letter. But I stuck with it and was rewarded with the miracle today at 3:15 in the afternoon. It was over in ten minutes.
As I sat on my rock it struck me. Looking skyward, I had to smile. I think I finally heard what the Universe is trying to tell me: Have faith and be persistent. Don’t give up. And above all, find joy wherever and whenever you can.
The Writing Life of Kimberly Nash 