These days, amidst so much that drains me, I am clinging to life-giving simple things. One of those is feeding the birds. And so, filling the bird feeders has become part of my morning ritual. My own heart frozen with fear, I sometimes have practically had to skate out to the feeders amidst winter storms.
If I am patient and still enough while I am out there, a chickadee might just come close enough to touch. When it happens, I am breathless.
I put out peanuts and in minutes the blue jays are there to feast. Have they been watching and waiting I wonder? Do they send out a message to the others? I have seen as many as six of them enjoying the bounty.
This winter the double-sided suet feeder has been very popular with woodpeckers; occasionally I am treated to the sight of a redheaded one. The starlings with their iridescent purple and blue feathers will not be denied their turn at this feeder.
The red-winged black birds are a thing of beauty and always come in a flock. What, I wonder, have they learned about sticking together?
This year we have had three pairs of cardinals. They seem to have no interest in pontificating, only in stunning and delighting us with their brilliant beauty.
The haunting coo of the mourning doves is soul-deep. They mate for life and when we have an odd number of them, I always worry just a bit. We have a dozen or so of these ground feeders that regularly pay a visit.
We might have the plumpest squirrels in all of Gloucester. If my yard were a circus these fellows might be the trapeze artists, or maybe the clowns. They clean us out, but all is not lost, for they remind me that tenacity and creativity have their own rewards. How I need that reminder this winter.
Now hear me when I say this. I do not want to talk to you about politics. Trust me, I really, really, really don’t want to argue with you. I just don’t have it in me.
As I said, I find I must go toward that which is life-giving in these times. Yet will you listen to my story?
My heart is frozen with fear because of what is happening to our adult children. Our brown adopted children are in fear of being mistakenly rounded up as ICE agents descend upon Boston. Oh, no, they won’t be deported. They are citizens. Yet, because of the color of their skin, they are increasingly targeted with ugly epitaphs, pulled aside in airport security lines or stopped when safely driving. Now they are sure to carry their passports with them. Their fear has spread to this mother’s heart.
Our son has worked for the veterans hospital for 13 years. He has a strong work ethic and receives the highest evaluations. Our daughter works at Harvard conducting research on life-threatening diseases. She too works very hard. I am proud of the work they do. Both are filled with anxiety wondering if the ax will fall on them. They struggle amidst contradicting memos and uncertainty.
Our youngest daughter works for water safety and conservation. She loves her work and, given recent droughts in our own area, it has become increasingly essential. Her work is also threatened. Meanwhile her partner, who once worked remotely for the government, has been called back to the office, a three-hour round-trip commute. When he arrives at work there are not enough computers or desks for him to work. He just received the highest rating on his evaluation. He may end up moving.
The anxiety in our family is at an all-time high. Morale in their places of work have never been lower. To hear their work painted with the broad brush of fraud and waste is splintering my heart. I can’t imagine that this is what anyone may have voted for. Are my children becoming collateral damage?
And so, I get up in the morning and I feed the birds. Today, a growing body of scientific inquiry has found that observing birds has positive impacts on mental health. For sure, it is a small thing. But it lifts my heart, even as I know that these edicts are far more damaging for others, for whom buying seeds for the birds would be a great luxury.
Sometimes I wonder who is being fed in this ritual.
Maybe Emily Dickenson was right.
“‘Hope’ That perches in the soul —
And sings the tune without the words —
And never stops — at all.“
Pastor Valerie Roberts-Toler is a retired United Methodist pastor currently serving as the interim at St. Paul’s Lutheran Church, 1123 Washington St. in Gloucester.