Junior Learns Facts of Life

There are a lot of ways to get into the birdfeeder in my backyard, but I’ve got to tell you that sliding down the roof is not one of them. That didn’t stop Junior from trying. Perched on the top of the peaked roof, the young blue jay considered his options, or maybe didn’t think at all, then impulsively decided to slide on down the steeply pitched roof. He picked up speed as he slid along, and was clearly clueless as to how to stop his freefall. By the time he reached the end of the roof, he was falling pretty fast, and kept on falling, right past the open feeding trough under the roof.

His mother was in there. She looked up as he fell past her, shook her head, and went back to eating hulled sunflower seeds. Junior landed on the ground with a thud, righted himself and began flapping his wings, like a baby bird, opened his beak in the baby bird feed me position (really wide) and let out a wail that tears at every mother’s heart. The universal wail that has just one word:

“MOM!”

Okay, so it was the blue jay version, but the tone was familiar. I got the message

Once in the grocery store, a young boy got separated from his Mom and wailed “MOM”. He managed to make a whole paragraph out of that one word, with a rising pitch of desperation at the end. At least six women, me included, turned our heads immediately. Heck, my kids are grown and out of the nest and I snapped to attention. Something about the tone in his voice – fear, concern, worry, need. I know that tone. Every mother does. We have to respond. Our DNA demands it.

Happy ending. He found his Mom. We first responders to the child’s version of a 911 call looked over our shopping carts at one another, made eye contact, and laughed, embarrassed. Once a Mom, always a Mom.

Back at the bird feeder, Mom looked over the edge. Junior begged for food, attention, Mom. Remember, this is no baby bird. He had fledged, with flight wings to prove it.

Flight feathers mean you are out of the nest, graduated. It means the training wheels are off and free meals are history. Time to forage on your own. For a bird, flight feathers are the equivalent to being a teenager. Your parents still keep an eye on you, but you are free to roam the neighborhood and curfew hours are a lot later.

Finally, Mom couldn’t stand listening to Junior, so she stared shoveling seeds over the edge of the feeder. They fell to the ground. Some even landed on Junior. He was amazed. Food. Raining down from above. What a concept.

A few days later, Mom flew away. Junior was going to have to figure out the facts of life on his own.

The days turn. A year passes. Spring is in the air once again. I see adult blue jays at the bird feeder, scarfing down seeds along with the other birds. Is one of them Junior? I hope so. It means he discovered the best way to get into the bird feeder – just spread your wings and glide right in.

Welcome To Saturday Mornings with Lucy

About Lucy

It doesn’t get any better than this. After 23 years as a writer/photographer with the New York Times Regional Group, I’m on the back porch, freelancing. This is very new, very fresh, like a honeymoon.

My new business card simply says:

Artist
Writer

Water gurgles over the pond waterfall. I listen, look, do some tapping on a laptop. Amy, a calico cat, is curled up next to me on the couch and Suzi, a Boxer-Golden Retriever mix, sits at the end of the couch. She’s nodding off, taking a post-breakfast nap. A bird sings “Oh We Ho” over and over again in the bushes. I wonder what he or she looks like. The coral honeysuckle, a Florida native, has just started blooming on the arbor. Its bright green leaves are almost translucent in the morning sun.

For those who like to pry into other people’s past, mine is checkered. Okay, diverse is a more polite word. Grew up a military brat. Moved a lot. Degrees in Political Science and Graphic Design Technology. Spent quality time as a commercial fisherman, sign painter, museum illustrator, photojournalist, certified apprentice carpenter, arc welder certified for submarines and mom. Married twice. Yep. Led many lives. It all helps when it is time to sit down and write or do art. I have a Web site for my artwork at www.Lucyworks.com. Three boys call me Mom, all are grown. They come back occasionally for Mom’s cooking. Well, I wish. They come in the winter when the sun shines in Florida and it is raining in their part of the world. You figure it out.

I know life is real simple. We are called to help the last, the lost, and the least. That’s why you find me at Brother’s Keeper Soup Kitchen on Tuesdays, chopping, slicing, dicing, and washing dishes. It is a start. If I hang out with them long enough I’ll be a better person. We are called to show up, to be accountable and caring servants. I care about the environment, the future for our kids and grandkids, responsible pet ownership, the stories of people who fall between the
cracks, learning new things and getting outdoors. Yes, I am working on a book.

What do you care about? Leave a comment … it will get sent directly to me by e-mail. I like to listen. I want to hear from you.

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