I missed a month. And you know what? That's okay.
The January newsletter was all about vibing and not trying to control every little outcome. So in the spirit of practicing what I preach, I'm being totally cool and chill.
I've got some new stuff you should read/know about, and it's down below. But before we hit that, I'd like to talk a little about my backyard and my sentinels.
For the last year I've had a fat little hummingbird living in my yard. He was aggressive, territorial, and as far as teeny tiny birds go, kind of an asshole. He had a purple throat and I named him Bub. Sometimes a smaller, less assholeish bird would hang out with him and I called that one Bub's girlfriend. Bub and his lady were staples in my yard, often flying up and hovering in my face. When I took the feeder down to clean, Bub would sit by me and wait, rather impatiently, until he could starting sipping again.
He was an asshole, yes. But he was my asshole. And I loved knowing--rain or shine--he'd be sitting on his little branch freaking out at anyone who dare approach his feeder.
I knew it couldn't last forever, and a few weeks ago, Bub stopped showing up. In my heart I think I knew he passed, but I kept hoping I was wrong. I don't think I was. And while I still see Lady-Bub, my yard has been lonely without my little fat guy.
Sure, we have a standard feeder that seems to be on some kind of sparrow super-highway, but the way that little bird would hunker down, essentially making my yard his home base, made me feel so much more connected to the outside world. You see, I'm chronically ill and don't get out much. And when I do, I still mask. It's not super hospitable out there, so having a little community in my backyard went a long way for my mental health.
Losing Bub's company was something I wasn't looking forward to.
But about a week ago, I noticed some mourning doves chilling back there. While this isn't uncommon (one time I counted 10!), their casual, laissez-faire attitude caught be by surprise. They didn't scatter when I coughed or messed with the screen door. They just pecked away at the ground and ignored me.
Then I caught them huddled together in the sun. And then hanging out in some soft mulch. Then sitting together on the fence. Today I breezed out the back door to toss something in the compost bin and was shocked to see them there, completely unphased by my presence. Just sitting around like they owned the place.
So I have to assume this is something akin to the cat distribution system--when you need a full-time bird friend, they come find you. I'm honored these doves find my yard to be a safe and welcoming place, and I hope they stick around.
I don't know what the point to this is, but something something connection something something. So, here's to a righteous March full of connection and doves and love.
