Common Birds 49 - Chickadee

Monday, October 23

On Wednesday the pond was gone. Monday everything was normal, and I had the apparent audacity to not appreciate that the pond hadn’t completely disappeared. And Wednesday it was just gone, leaving the husks of fallen trees, mud, and me standing in shock on the former shore.

I don’t think I believe in omens, but if anything was going to make me reconsider, it’s the pond disappearing and what happened after. If I did believe in omens (I’ve been rereading Piranesi and it can have that effect) I might have read: Be wary, something you take for granted is about to vanish, and it will leave you reeling. Friday, I planned to check on the pond. Instead, I was in bed, hunched over my aching gut, trying not to throw up again. In mere moments, my health was gone along with all my abilities: fancy math, earning money, caring for my son, cooking - forget cooking, eating - sitting upright without regretting it. 

Of course, on Monday I didn’t know what was coming. All I could think about was the pond and the life that relied on it. What was going to happen to everyone without the pond? Where were the turtles who sun themselves on the now skeletal trees? Where were the fish that hadn’t been stranded and died? Where would the herons fish? When the wood duck chicks first left the nest, where would they fall without the pond? Meanwhile, as I stood watching, I saw mourning doves pick their way through the decaying leaves and algae. Black-capped chickadees explored the uncovered ruins of trees. A spotted sandpiper, the first I’ve ever seen at work, paced along the thin rivulet that remained. 

From the outside, having no choice but to go on looks like resilience. From the inside, it feels like trash. 

We were okay while I was sick, just like we were okay when my wife was sick earlier in the week. We had to adjust and we’re wiped out, but we survived. Our son needed us, and that singular need apparently makes us superhuman. It’s either that or grace. 

And the pond is back! I think they were doing something with a dam downriver, but it’s like it never left. But it has left. I now know that’s a possibility. I’ve set my foot down on dry land where there should be water, and watched chickadees play in desolation, and all the same, we carry on.