Sumthin funky is up with my internet this morning. It took me 8 slow steps to get to where I can type a new post here. And a few of my usual websites are not working…bank, email, etc. It isn’t unusual this time of year. The tourists increase the local population tenfold or more. This area has about 1,000 year-round residents, a few thousand summer residents, and another 10,000 or so vacationers. The vacationers are rude. You sit in a restaurant and overhear them complain about the slow service and lack of products on the shelves, and you can’t help but think, “are you gone yet?”
I’ve worked retail here and not only are they rude to the staff, but to each other as well. I’ve had them follow me to the bathroom and stand outside the door so that another customer couldn’t hijack my undivided attention. So they could ask me if we had these pants in another size – after having repeated three times that we don’t have back stock. Listening is hard. After labor day I gave my notice; the meager wage wasn’t worth the emotional loss of hope in my fellow humans. As you know, I take everything personally. Life is personal.
Enter the heavenly whip-poor-will to restore my soul. I live near enough to a garden center where they keep pet peacocks, which are not indigenous here in northern climes. I listen to the distinct caw of the peacocks by day. And lately a whip-poor-will has taken up residence and calls out at night. Again, a very distinctive call – so uplifting!
In native cultures the nightjar, or whip-poor-will, is said to connect us to our intuition and the deep mystery of life’s biggest transitions. It is said they heal grief and serve as a bridge between worlds. I could use some of that right now.
Yesterday I had an entire flock of chickadees come to visit. I usually have one or two hanging around, but yesterday it was a dozen or more. Just passing through, I imagine. I have a small birdbath outside my dining room window (where I sit writing this), and as they flew in and out of it I noticed it was dry. Of course it is. It’s been a hot summer. So I quietly walked out with a jug of water and a cup of seed. They sat in the shade tree above the bath and chirped at me while I refilled their supply and quietly walked back in. To my delight they played and played in the water.
A baby rabbit had hopped out from under the fence and looked at me, as if to ask if there were enough. There always is. Summer would be my least favorite season were it not for the avian tourists.
