D-Day + 11: The Earth Will Survive

Our crocuses are blooming.  In abundance.  Daffodils are just putting out yellow flowers, and our grape hyacinths have opened up.  Tulips and irises are poking up; no flowers yet, but they are sure to come soon.  Our yard is greening up across the board, and it’s still very early spring. 

Mother Earth herself, it turns out, knows no concept of quarantine.  No matter if we are sheltering in our homes, she continues on her perennial way.

Many years ago, during the George W era, my friend Nancy and I were having a discussion about the environment, bemoaning the lack of political attention to global warming.  Mid-conversation, Nancy stopped and looked at me.  “You know, the earth will survive”, she said.  I remember being confused - I must have had an odd expression on my face.  She went on, in her native Texas drawl.  “Mankind will be gone because of our destructive ways, but the earth will persist.  We don’t know how long it will take for life to recover, but it will.  Just without humans.”

It’s an odd and sometimes disturbing thought.  It’s also somewhat comforting.  It’s particularly comforting while I watch birds at my feeders, especially when I imagine that our feathered friends will outlive us on the planet.  I mean, after all, life itself may not miss much of humanity, but the birds?  Oh, wow.  

It would be a sin to not be able to imagine that the Cedar Waxwings will survive, with that oh-so-cool yellow band at the tip of their tails, or that little splash of red at the tip of their wings.  Or the Snow Geese!  Especially in springtime, when they flock by the tens of thousands on their way north.  Or the Sandhill Cranes, particularly in their little family units.   (A year or two ago, Ed and I stopped by the Rowe Audubon Sanctuary near Kearney, Nebraska, on our way across the state.  It was really too late to catch the crane migration, but to our surprise, there was a family unit – mom, dad, youngster – hanging out in a cornfield near the sanctuary.  The volunteer at Rowe told us they believed that one of the adults was injured and unable to fly, and that the rest of the family was staying with the injured bird.  How’s that for true love?)  Or the Bushtits, who come twittering through our yard a few times every day.  Fierce tiny gray birds with long thing tails who travel in gangs, and they seem to know no fear of humans.

So much of life that I hope outlives us.

But for now, I’ll watch as more green stuff pokes up in our yard, and pray that the nurseries are open and operating by Mother’s Day, when we typically do our spring planting.  We’re watching the hollowed-out gourd that hangs in the ash tree in our front yard for a (very hopeful) return of the House Wrens who nested there last year. I watched the other day as a House Finch worked some dead leaves from our snowberry bush, and then fly off with a mouthful of fluff:  nesting material.  The little House Finch went into a row of shrubs in our neighbor’s yard.  No social distancing for the birds.  Thank heavens for small delights.