No Time to Nest (Empty or Not)

A pair of orioles built a hanging nest in our dying tree two summers ago. The babies they fed in there flew away not too long after I caught this picture. They’ve likely had babies of their own by now. The nest blew down when the fall winds came.

The tree where all this drama unfolded toppled over a month or so ago. The 135-something-year-old tree (I actually counted the rings) crashed to the ground one summer night. It was crazily timed with the prep I was doing for the college departure of our youngest daughter. The last one to fly.

I can hardly believe how sad I am looking at this picture as I acknowledge that the moment I caught of the fancy oriole nest in my favorite hammock-holding tree was as fleeting as every other moment we live.

The pile of ground up stump and dirt still sits in a pile where the tree was. I raked a little yesterday, but to replace that tree with something new means I understand it’s actually, completely, and forever gone.

Our daughter’s room is similarly untouched. I know she is not gone forever, but the life we had with children home absolutely is. The kidults come around regularly and I love the new ways I get to be with them, but the little, tweeny and teenage versions of the cute kids we nested with for 20-something years, will never grace our halls again.

Geesh! Too heavy for a beautiful Friday afternoon, but I guess I needed to type through some of this empty-nesting-bird-flying-tree-falling stuff. How else would I ever be ready to notice and love all that happens in the temporary nests we occupy in the ephemeral trees.

Now that I’ve had a good cry, I’m off to tromp in the woods to breathe in the fall breeze, appreciate the leaves as they let go and hope to see a bird or two as they flit to and from the remnants of their summer nests.