Common Birds 41 - Barn Swallow
Friday, August 18
Yesterday, Amelia and I took our son to a farm to see a field full of sunflowers. It was overcast and cool for August. Our boy slept almost the whole time, but I always pretend when we’re walking that he sees whatever I see.
He saw fresh tomatoes, tall carrot tops, and row after row of enormous yellow flowers, covered in seeds and bees. Then, he saw the rain roll in.
We fled, carefully hurrying the stroller under a tent. It’s normally used for signing-in to pick-your-own vegetables, but it was empty. At least, it seemed empty. When we stepped under the white roof, a barn swallow darted out, a rush of blue and orange, alighting on one of the tent stakes, shaking off the rain.
For years, swallows were my favorite bird. I remember noticing them for the first time on a field trip I took in seventh grade. We went to Middle Creek PA, a wildlife preserve famous for its snow geese (my seventh grade science teacher was a birder). My mom was a chaperone, partly because she was often a chaperone but also because she loved birds. She taught me the name of the sleek, jewel-toned birds who danced over a field of wild grass and wildflowers. At the time, they reminded me of A-Wing Starfighers from Star Wars, the smallest and most agile of all Starfighters. As the smallest and one of the quickest kids in my grade, I was always drawn to things small and quick. That’s why I played as Toad in Mario Kart. But somewhere along the way, nuthatches stole my heart. I was more drawn to their sturdy investigation than to the barn swallow’s sweeping speed.
But back to yesterday. The barn swallow returned to the tent, perching on one of the metal cross bars with a black dragonfly caught in its beak. And then we saw the nest, and we heard the small, eager voices of the nestlings. The swallow’s mate arrived, too, and they took turns feeding their babies. And I saw myself again in these swallows. They, too, were living a life dedicated to feeding their young. They, too, lived in this weary time which is leavened by awe and joy, happiness and love, rising into the fullness of its humble, ordinary magnificence.
