Birds exploded from the soil to sing to me

This is the last of the required entries for the nature writing class I’m taking, but not the last entry.  This blog was supposed to be about looking at the same place each week and finding something to say about it. I looked at twelve places each week. Eleven of them were through the eyes and impressions of other people. Several of the places, the zoo, the cemetery and Schenley Park among them were places I’d been, but I didn’t see what my classmates saw there. I only saw trees and rocks, sky and snow, the animals and the trash, Pittsburgh’s skyline. They didn’t just show me details I’d not noticed. They taught me new ways of looking. They told me about themselves in ways conversations before class never could. In these blogs I’ve come to know about families, friends, pets and hometowns.

            Apacha’s adventures in the park with Kyle had me looking at my little dog differently. As Auggie has gotten older his walks have gotten shorter especially in winter since his coat is short and the cold hurts his arthritis.

            I walked many times in the same cemetery as Sean. I saw monuments and liked the quiet. He saw the earth’s’ patterns, the past, present, future and endless possibilities.

            I could go on about what my cohorts saw and wrote about. It would do them a disservice, actually. From this page you can get to all of theirs. Treat yourself to something special and go read the blogs by Kyle, Sean, Maggie, Katie, Ryan, Ashleigh, Shauna, Sio Lyo, Beca, Laura and Jonny.

*****

I’ve relearned my own backyard. For years now I’ve hated it. I only saw it as work to do. I’d stopped watching or even thinking about the things I loved about it. Each week, either standing at the driveway’s edge or sitting on a stone bench my dad made, I’ve watched and listened. I didn’t see fallen branches to pick up. I didn’t think about grass I’d be cutting. I looked at the trees, the snow and the birds. I felt the wind and the sun.  So what’s out there today?

I crept out quietly. Birds are around the feeder. They are on the ground! There are robins, chickadees and a couple of small birds I can’t see well enough to identify. Whenever I get within fifty feet of them-poof- they fly off so I keep my distance. They are pecking around at the seeds that have fallen out of the feeders. Yes, that is a plural. I got a second feeder to put a different seed mix out for them.  A suet holder and suet share the pole from which the feeders hang. Ashleigh, one of my classmates, suggested the suet. I’m not sure what suet is, but it looks a lot like butter with a bunch of seeds in it. (I’d look it up, but wondering is much more fun.) Only after the suet block was in place did Ashleigh remember to mention it might attract bears! Bears actually live in the neighborhood and though I have yet to see one my neighbors have taken photographs of the bear in their yard.

Patty has seen other birds along with the types I’ve seen around the feeder. Blue birds, doves and finches have been on it when she’s gone out. They don’t flee from her in the mad panic that overtakes them when I step out of the house or car. Can it be they birds think I put the food out in order to capture them? She has suggested I look from afar with binoculars.

Besides looking at birds I look at the ground under the evergreens and think of coming weeds and the gallon sprayer of weed killer I have inside. I’m thinking of how to get rid of the stuff. I didn’t know before this class and a class I had in the fall how toxic weed killer is. I’ve read that hot water is as effective as is getting down on my knees and pulling them out. Patty stopped using poisons on her flowers and vegetables a few years ago. She’s made or purchased insect repellents made with soap. Standing here, thinking of how much insecticide and herbicide has landed on my skin over the years I look at my arms and wonder if the spots I see were always there. Is changing skin a normal part of getting older or something sinister the chemicals made?

I have learned that that there is something between my car door and my house. I pause to look, listen and smell this little piece of Pennsylvania each time I step outside. If I take nothing else away from this class,  what happens in that pause is more than enough.