My first full year in Portland has been filled with surprises. The weather for instance. The winter weather is much different than in Chicago. It was mild in December and even January. February started off promising early spring, but in the end, is freezing. Tender shoots and blossoms coaxed up by the slant of light are now battered by wind and freezing rain that sometimes turns to snow. And the darkness. That’s the hardest part. The cloud cover makes a gray that doesn’t lift from morning till evening, day in and day out.
In the backyard I’ve filled some bird feeders left by the previous owners with suet blocks impregnated with seed. Every morning a big fat brown woodpecker — almost as big as the feeder itself — can be found hanging upside down, chiseling away bits of hard suet to get to the seeds. I notice that some little birds love this. They scour the ground below the feeder for errant seeds that fly out and land with in a five foot radius.
Watching the birds provides an antidote to the late winter. It reminds me to watch and wait and trust. The birds of the air and the flowers of the parkways and yards simply live. They have an inner compass that guides them from birth to death. It tells them when to peck their way out of the shell or push up through the soil. That inner knowing reflexively sends them off or down to find nourishment. And it never protests when the cold winds blow. That inner wisdom simply responds. Birds either migrate to warmer climates or find food at bird feeders and the protection of the eaves to stay warm in the winter. The crocuses and daffodils bloom, then they wither and their greens die back in the heat of summer. Then the bulb begins to store energy to begin this cycle again in another season.
Wait, watch, trust. So easy for nature. So difficult for human beings.