Birds, a home, and moving (on)

Someone once told me that her home was just a house and nothing more. I am not like that. I've loved each home we have lived in (even Aunt Marie's basement) but I have especially loved the home we are living in now. The one we are selling. The one we will leave on June 10th. A Wednesday.

In thinking back, nine years ago, when we decided to buy this home, I  was not very excited about the house. Called a California split entry,  the living spaces are separated by half levels. Creating a home with disconnected and small rooms, making it difficult to entertain, and even hard (especially as the kids get bigger) to watch T.V. as a family of four. And so, after many years of debate, Nate and I have decided it is time to sell the home. 

Saturday morning I woke up alone in bed. Our bedroom window sits east to a morning sun. Light beams seep through the blinds and curtains placed to keep it out. Occasionally a small breeze blows through the open window drawing the blinds in and then out.  It is not often that life allows sleeping in but this was not one of those mornings that needed this control. I lay in the center of  bed, covers pulled up, and eyes closed. Listening to the birds sing outside while my mind drifts in and out of consciousness. 

Our home was new when we bought it. The yard an blank canvas waiting for our imaginations, money, and hard work to bring it to life.   Next door and across the street two lots remained in the neighborhood.  These lots burst with plants. Well, weeds really, but they contained life and so were distinctly different from the bare dirt surrounding our home. I spent many  evenings sitting on our front porch watching those fields of grass, yarrow, and milkweed. Watching the wind and light play on patches of green, listening to bird songs that it contained, and enjoying Cassidy's chatter as she wandered around in the patch of weeds and dirt. She also was drawn to these areas.  

I fell in love with the Meadowlark Family who lived in the field across the street. Their nest, I envisioned, sat under a clump of grass. Hidden. Eggs incubated by the female. Predictably, every morning and evening, the male would sing  "Mona, is a pretty little town".  The melody described to me by my Grandpa Jim as we walked down the road into Mona, Utah.  But the babies never hatched. The nest and eggs were scraped into the earth when the lot was purchased.A new home was built. I missed the Meadowlark Family and the songs they shared with me at dusk and dawn. 

As I lay in bed the common species of birds for my yard are heard. A couple of house finch's warbled their happy musical song and an American Robin whistles its serious of notes. Occasionally, their choruses are overlaid with the mechanical sounds of European starlings or the whistle beats of a mourning dove flying into the yard.  Eyes still closed I listen but then, I hear an unfamiliar song. I lay in bed listening to the strange song until I could not wait any longer. I went to the large single pane window in the kitchen and looked out. Three small brown birds burst from the grass and were gone. 

I built my yard with a "build it and they will come" attitude. I wanted a place for birds and insects; wild things. Well, as "wild" as one can get in the middle of suburbia. But creating such an environment takes time. Slowly, over nine years, the yard was built. A few trees, shrubs, and perennials were added each year creating shelter and food.  A pond was added. The birds started to come. In 2004 I saw my first new yard bird. 

I wanted a spotted towhee.  Spotted Towhee's are a  sulky bird. It prefers dense shrubs and needs leaf litter to search for food. To me that means it's an indicator species of a mature "natural" yard.  And so, of course, I wanted one for my yard. It became the sign that my yard was done. My sights, I thought, were not set too high.  But, I realized, this bird would be earned with time. Time to allow the shrubs and trees, I planted, to  grow. Time would ultimately create the environment this bird needed. 

The next morning, Mother's day, I hear the strange birds again and once more  listen with my eyes closed. Concentrating on the quick rhythm and dry husky tone that plays outside my window.  I playfully try to guess what it is but, my thoughts are interrupted. I hear Tanner's quick foot beats coming down the hall. I open my eyes. "Ma'am. I will be your  server today" he says. His eyes dance with humor but his body is stiff with acted  formality.  I reach out and squeeze his tiny body with a  morning hug suspending his stiff formal presence. He wraps his arms around me. Then giggles as he runs off to help Casi with their secret Mothers day breakfast. The buzzy song continues in the background. 

Eventually Mothers Day breakfast moves to the kitchen. Nate is at the stove making waffles  with Cassidy and Tanner. I sit near my favorite spot in the house; a large window that looks east towards  mountains and over my backyard. Binoculars in hand I watch, the new birds with the buzzy song; the chipping sparrow. A small flock, of eight, flutter around my yard. Their rufus caps glow in the morning sun. Some fly catch under the weeping willow tree while others devour the dandelion seeds infesting my lawn. As I watch the chipping sparrows, I see another rufus capped bird briefly, before it flushes into deeper cover. Its plain olive green back and long tail flash before my eyes.