Robin Contest!

Every year we have a contest in our family to see who notices a robin first.  It was my idea to create a fun way of welcoming spring, when our daughters were young.   I would choose the day and announce, "ok everyone, robin contest begins today!"  I actually don't think my husband or daughters pay that much attention to my little game, but they humour me!   The sighting of the first robin is a huge thing for me - like the dove coming back to the ark with the olive branch in his beak.  Oh thank God/dess, there is hope of dry land ahead, hope the waters will abate, hope of something growing somewhere that has leaves, maybe even fruit to eat.  I begin my search for those red breasts in earnest at the beginning of March.  There is usually a struggle that goes along with it, a longing, a frustration, a sure knowing that the robin will return, but not knowing when.  That Canadian I've-had-it-with-winter feeling.

Usually I hear her singing before I can see her.  I look up, around, this way and that and for days we play our game.  I feel competitive about it, annoyed when someone else in the family announces the first sighting.   Her music keeps me searching until one morning - there she is, fat bellied and digging for worms in the back yard, oblivious to the joy her presence has given me.     It's over, winter.  Put away the boots, the heavy coats, tidy up the front closet.  Go out and start planning the new life, think about what to put in the garden.  It's time to buy seeds.

But -(have you noticed that there is a "but" in every experience?) - this year, I missed all that drama.  I didn't even have time to tell my family that the robin contest was beginning.  There was no longing, no frustration, no hearing the music before seeing the singer.  It happened a few nights ago while I was chatting in the driveway with my neighbour.  I wasn't even searching, and there she was, perched quietly on the branch across the driveway.  

Some things in life arrive with great drama, perhaps following a long arduous search, and there are other things that quietly slip in beside us without our knowing that we needed this so so much,  until  in a little moment on an ordinary evening, we look up and see the gift.

                          Tree stumps and fallen branches everywhere I go, everywhere I look.

I am noticing these images in my walks these days, and wonder what it means to me, at this time in my life. I am particularly struck by the clear cut, tidy, intentional severances of tree trunks and branches, much more than I am by those  felled in messy ways by wind, or rot, or the weight of a squirrel jumping across. It's the trees that have felt the chain saw buzzing through their limbs with a powerful , clear cut intent that catch my eye.

A few days ago as I was sitting in my living room with my morning coffee, city trucks came zooming down my street with obvious purpose.  They knew exactly where they were headed and why.  I imagined that  clipped to the dash there was a form, a printed direction in sans serif font size 10, with our street name typed.  Had someone been here recently eyeing up the treeline?  Had a neighbour called in their concern about the pressing need to trim trees?  Out came the equipment.  Not even a moment really, to ponder the beauty of my neighbours birch tree with her shaggy hairdo and unkempt appearance. Things needed to be tidied up. It didn't take long.  Branches fell and were tossed in the back of the truck.  And the birch looked oh so nice.

I realize that the maple on my front lawn was next.    She has a lovely rounded upper body of bare branches in winter. She dresses up proudly in a gown of thick, droopy leaves in the summer.  I keep a close eye on her from my morning coffee perch in the living room in winter, and from the front porch in the summer.  She comforts me on summer nights when windows are kept open and I can hear her body swaying in the dark.   But I too, had thought, well, it might be time to trim her up a bit as long as a little trimming would not change the delight of her round figure.   The men did their job well and with no thought of her round beauty or noticing the way she invites you into her branches, how she makes you want to climb up and swing from branch to branch like a monkey, or maybe just sit dangling your legs from the strength of her lower limbs. I love her for all of this.

Done. Cleaned up, well severed, according to instructions.  The street is tidy and, well, the wisdom of this city tells us we should be proud to live here in such an orderly neighbourhood where wildness must not interfere with need to keep things trim and tidy.  But somewhere deep inside, we all know better, don't we?