Lessons From a Bird

Lessons From a Bird

August 22, 2021

Dear Jasper,

I killed a bird today. I was trying to save its life, but it didn’t end up that way. I don’t really feel like sharing the details right now, but I didn’t want you to think I was ignoring your last letter. Maybe in a few days. 

I really enjoy living vicariously through your animal encounters, so please keep the stories coming.

Bea

Sept 5, 2021

Dearest Bea, 

That was quite an opener in your last letter. It left me with a ton of questions about the bird. I don’t want to push, but I’d love to hear what happened.

Things are business as usual around here. Zoo business that is. If it’s not one thing, it’s fifty.

The snow leopards will become more active as the days get cooler. You should come see them (& me ;-).

Please write when you have time. 

Miss you.

Jas

Sept 13, 2021

Hey Jas,

I would love to see the snow leopards. Memphis seems like a less than ideal place for indigenous cats from the Himalayas. Don’t they need to live in an environment that… actually has snow?

Your comment about cooler days got me thinking again about the bird.

A weird summer storm was hammering the southern part of the state and sent cloud cover and humidity our way. It was glorious. I’d been stuck inside for weeks because of the relentless August heat and it was finally cool enough to go outdoors, so I decided to step away from the to do list (a.k.a. the house and kids) and take a walk down by the lake. It felt like such a gift to escape my luxury prison and breathe the cool (non-recirculated), air. It felt healing. 

Do you remember the dam at the bottom of my road? I was about to take the footpath that crosses it when I saw a family of deer grazing in the clearing below the berm. On impulse, I took a small path that breaks off at the end of the dam, down an embankment toward the woods. I managed to snap a few photos of a magnificent young buck, just before he bounded off through the dried up wetlands, then turned to walk along the trail below the dam.

By happenstance, I noticed the bird, perched (if you can call it that) in the opening of an 18-inch drainage pipe on the backside of the berm. He looked like an older juvenile who had probably been testing his new feathers. His cute face and deep, black-pebble eyes drew me in. I couldn’t figure out how he’d gotten into the pipe. On closer look, I noticed that the poor thing was sitting in a puddle of sludge - it wasn’t deep, but he definitely didn’t belong there. It seemed odd. I thought it was also peculiar that there were no protective parents squawking or dive-bombing me. 

The little guy seemed so helpless. Little did I know, I was about to secure his demise. It still haunts me. I can’t talk about it anymore right now. 

I think about you a lot. You’re so lucky to get to hang out with all of those amazing creatures. I’m surrounded by clingy humans who are doing their level best to suck me dry. Sigh.

Hugs,

Bea

Sept 21, 2021

Dear Bea, 

OK, now you have to share. You can’t talk about killing a bird and not tell me the whole story. Poor form my friend. Do tell!?

Please don’t envy my life. It’s not everything it’s chalked up to be. Over half of what I do involves hand holding and balancing on a constant tightrope of political BS. Between you and me, the current board president is a total boob whose only experience with animals is shooing away pesky seagulls while being served overpriced cocktails on an exotic beach. He expects me to spend countless (pointless) hours helping with the annual gala (a $500 per head fundraiser that only the top 1% can afford). I understand the need to schmooze benefactors for money, I just don’t think it’s part of my job. Between you and me, the "boob" and his moneybag friends don’t give a rats patootie about the animals (no insult to rats intended ;-). And they certainly don’t have an iota of a clue about what goes into managing the needs of the endangered species under our care. It’s all about appearance, their own accolades, …. and money. 

I’m definitely grateful for the funding, I know the stuff doesn’t fall from the sky - and we need all the help we can get with attendance being so poor because of the pandemic. I just want to focus on the animals. You know me, I’ve never been a schmoozer.

On a positive note, I have a stellar team these days. Did I tell you that Betty White did a video for our spring fundraiser? She was a hoot.

On a not so positive note, we lost our black rhino a few weeks ago. There was nothing we could have done, but it still gutted me. 

As for your bird story (I’m waiting with bated breath to hear the rest), if I’ve learned anything in this profession, it’s that there is only so much that we can do. At the end of the day, we don’t get to decide when a creature takes its last breath. 

I really want to hear the rest of the story, so write soon.

Love ya, 

Jas

Sept 30, 2021

My Dearest Jas,

I’m so sorry to hear about the rhino. What was his name? Maximus or something gladiator-esk if memory serves me? That must’ve been a terrible day my friend.

You must think I’m a total baby for crying over a wild bird, especially when you just lost such a majestic creature. 

Don’t let the bureaucrats get you down. You’re doing amazing work.

Bea

October 6, 2021

Bea,

Losing Max definitely sent me into a downward spiral. The whole zoo community went into panic mode. Max was old, especially by rhino standards, he just went so suddenly. I have to remind myself that he lived a lot longer in captivity than he would have in the wild and he had a truly pampered life after he was rescued. I need to focus on that, and on the ones that are still here.

Why are you deflecting about the bird? I want to know what happened.

I’d love to see you if you can make the trip. 

Jas

October 13, 2021

Hey Jas,

Does focusing on “the ones that are still here” include humans? I feel like all I do these days is focus on the ones who are here (they’re always here ;-). Don’t get me wrong, I adore Jake and the girls, I just underestimated how much step-parenting would demand from me. One minute I feel like I’m doing the most important job in the world (the girls are so darned sweet), and the next, I feel trapped inside my life, my house, the endless responsibilities, and my own head. I don’t know why I buried myself in student debt for a useless degree.  My dream of working in wildlife conservation certainly won't be happening anytime soon. I'd probably suck at it anyway.

Spending time in nature has always been like free therapy to me. You, of all people know that better than anyone. Sometimes I feel like a female contemporary of John Muir, who's gotten herself trapped in suburbia. 

I sure miss our adventures in Yosemite and Yellowstone. Hopefully some day.

Back to the bird story…. 

When I first saw him, I figured he’d probably pooped himself out trying to fly and had somehow managed to scoot inside the end of the pipe to avoid predators. The flume below the pipe was bone dry and full of foxtails, so I didn’t notice right away that he was sitting in a shallow pool of silty water. He still had some downy feathers, but his permanent feathers looked fully formed. They were stunning, snow-white and gray, with layers of blue that reminded me of lake water reflecting on an evening pond. 

I thought it was strange that there were no parent birds around since he was an older fledgling. It was just me, the quiet and the bird. 

I was keeping a good distance while trying to decide if he needed human intervention. If I’d known what the next few minutes would hold, I would have walked away and let nature take its course. 

The poor little guy suddenly started moving and ended up flipping on his back, then on his side. I couldn’t believe my eyes when he tried to right himself and ended up face down in the stagnant mud, unable to move. He didn’t even struggle. It was like he just gave up. The sight of it baffled my senses. When I rushed over and picked him up, his beak was full of mud. I didn’t know what to do. I felt utterly sick. I thought he was still alive, so I pulled out my phone to call the local wildlife rescue. 

A neighbor walking past on the dam yelled down to ask what I was holding. When I explained that it was a young bird, he urged me not to touch it because it could be infected with West Nile Virus. I told the man that I was calling wildlife rescue. In the few seconds it took for that brief interaction, the bird was gone. It made me feel like I was the predator he had been trying to avoid. I was stunned. Horrified.

One minute I was admiring how cute he was, and the next, he was dead in my hand. 

I stepped off the path into a thick patch of weeds and gently placed the little guy in his final resting place. I was trying to make sense of what had just happened, to shake it off, then the thought of getting West Nile sent a shiver up my spine, so I rushed home to wash my hands (I actually took a hot, soapy shower).

What the hell is wrong with me Jas? I wanted to save him and instead, I probably secured his end. The whole thing felt like a cruel joke. One minute I was reveling in finally being out of the house, in nature, and the next… a dead bird in my hand. The crappy experience made me think my luxury prison isn’t so bad after all.

You must think me a fool for getting so worked up over a bird. The truth is, the experience started my head spinning about my mom, and about how we can’t undo what’s been done after someone breathes their last. The permanence hit me all over again. 

I’m so very sorry to hear about your beloved rhino. I know your whole purpose in life is to protect the majestic beasts in your care. 

Keep up the good work.

Big hugs,

Bea

October 19, 2021

Dear Bea, 

I wish I had answers about why things happen the way they do, why we die, where we go… (humans and animals alike). I think about these things too. Who doesn’t? Sadly, I’m fresh out of philosophical or spiritual enlightenment. Just suffice to say that I don’t believe we humans would experience the connection we feel with the natural world if there wasn’t a good reason.

To steal some wise words from John Muir, “The world's big and I want to have a good look at it before it gets dark.” 

I don’t know if he was talking about the cycle of day and night, or something more cryptic, like death, when he referred to the world getting “dark.” I do know however, that the idea of having a "good look" at the world resonates with me deeply. It’s probably why I chose this field. 

The “world” IS big, and every breathtaking thing about it is worthy of the wonder we feel when we take a good look. It’s a conundrum though. We get filled up by that wonder, then when something goes sideways, we scratch our heads at the fragility of it all.

We can stay holed up in our “luxury prisons,” or keep exploring the world before the dark settles in and it’s too late. It’s not a choice for me. I’d rather have my heart broken when my creature friends die, than never know them at all. 

I’m sorry about what happened with the bird. Based on what you described, I doubt he would have made it through the day. Mud puddles and fledglings are a recipe for disaster. Please don’t be too hard on yourself. 

I miss our trips too. Let’s plan something soon.

Jas

October 27, 2021

Jas,

Honestly, the bird unearthed some deep feelings that I’d been burying for a long time. Suddenly, I couldn’t stop thinking about my mom. How she died alone, and how I failed to be there for her. It’s obvious now that I’ve been suppressing a lot of anger, loss, regret. I’ve been boxing up a tangled mess of emotions for a long time while trying to convince myself to focus on the positive. The bird undid all that. Ever since that day, images of my mom, lying in that awful ICU bed have been randomly popping into my mind. That little bird brought me back to square one. Who knew that a dead fledgling had the power to trigger such things. 

None of it seems fair. My mom’s cancer, what happened with the bird. I’m certainly not comparing the death of bird to losing my mom, it’s just that both situations could have ended differently. I wanted that feathered creature to be saved by my good intentions and enjoy whatever life it had coming to it. I wanted my mom to be saved from the ravages of cancer. Neither were to be, and I feel responsible for both terrible outcomes. I should have left that poor bird alone. I should have stayed by mom’s side, fought harder for her, taken her to more specialists, been there when she died. 

I know that torturing myself with shoulda, coulda, woulda is totally fruitless. It’s just hard.

Sorry for the rant.

Thanks for being my friend.

Love, 

Bea

Nov 4, 2021

My Dearest Beatrice, 

Wow, that’s a lot. Thank you for trusting me with such sacred struggles. We can only do the best we can with each moment and try not to get sucked into the endless sea of answerless questions. Playing the if only game is a lose-lose that will make you bonkers if you give it leverage.

At the end of the day, we’re all fledglings. And we’re never going to figure it all out, or make it through life unscathed. All we can do is hope that someone will come along and pull our faces out of the mud when we need help.

I think one of the hardest things for humans to accept is acceptance itself. 

Learning how to genuinely savor life, even when we have to search for beauty in the dark, now that’s a goal worth pursuing.

Or maybe the boob I mentioned in my prior letter has it right and we should just say screw it and enjoy overpriced cocktails on an exotic beach somewhere. I tend to believe that there’s a place for both.

Your mom would be so proud of how you are having a look at the world through the eyes of those precious kids. Don’t give up.

Jas

Nov 12, 2021

Dear friend,

I appreciate your perspective, I just wonder why the creator, who constructed a world filled with so many magnificent things, decided to make life so hard. I know I should accept things as they come, but I want answers and I don’t know if I will ever feel satisfied without them.  

I’ll carve out a few days in early December (before the Christmas craziness) to come see you. But only if you promise to make the snow leopards come out of their den.

Smile,

Bea

Nov 21, 2021

Bea,

No promises about the snow leopards. I’ll do my best.

Maybe the creator allows life to be hard because love is our highest purpose. 

Muir was masterful at stating profound things plainly. Perhaps one of his most insightful statements was this: “When one tugs at a single thing in nature, he finds it attached to the rest of the world.”

Humans are part of nature, but unlike a rock, or tree, we are compelled by love. You were tugging at nature when you decided to step in and be a mom to two little girls who, sadly lost their birth mom, and when you thought about saving that bird. I was tugging at nature when I took care of Max all those years, and every day when I do my job. It’s just that nature also tugs back. 

In our quest to understand, we overcomplicate things. It comes down everything in the “world” being entangled, and nothing existing in isolation. The sky touches the mountains and trees, the mountains and trees touch the ground, the ground touches the rivers, the rivers touch the sea, and the sea evaporates into the sky. The outlier in the story of the world is humans. We long for meaning and thrive on love. As far as we know, rocks and trees don’t do that (well trees maybe ;). The awe, the heartache, they’re part and parcel of sharing the world with rhinos, snow leopards, parents, best friends,… and little birds.  

Always yours,

Jasper

Nov 27, 2021

Jasper,

Touché. 

It’s all a miracle. All of it.

Even a little bird, that one moment stares with deep, black-pebble eyes at a human, and the next, closes them for good. 

I can’t wait to see you and sip that exotic cocktail. 

Forever your friend,

Beatrice