Springer's Journey

There are days when the world feels unbearably heavy.

Yesterday was one of those days.

There had been tragedy in Longview, Washington. Conversations about implosions, pressure, collapse, and loss. I had worked at that very mill over many years.  The kind of discussions that stay with you long after the words are over. The kind that make you stare quietly into space afterward while Mayday Murphy — my internal Steller’s Jay catastrophizer — paces nervously around in tiny circles.

So naturally, this morning I decided the answer was flowers.

That’s the thing about getting older. Eventually you realize that beauty is not optional. It is survival equipment.

Before heading into Corinth to see Miss Sue, I sat quietly outside my cabin listening to birds. I had the Merlin app on when suddenly it identified a Summer Tanager. A SUMMER TANAGER!! Bright red. Tropical looking. Gorgeous.

Could I see it?

Of course not.

I stared into those trees like a woman trying to locate a feathered fugitive in the Witness Protection Program.

But now I know its voice.

And somehow that matters.

The woods are different once you learn who is speaking.

Not long after that, a little bird — I think a Red-eyed Vireo — managed to get itself trapped on the back porch of this cabin. I opened the screen door and gave her twenty solid minutes to rediscover freedom on her own.

Nope.

She sat directly beside the open door like:
“I have tried nothing and I’m all out of ideas.”

So I sighed and said out loud:
“You’re not an experienced critter, are you?”

I gently tossed a towel over her, picked her up carefully, and released her outside. She was deeply offended by this entire experience. Meanwhile Mayday Murphy supervised the situation from a safe emotional distance while offering absolutely no useful assistance whatsoever.

Birds and I go way back.

Years ago, when I worked in wildlife care, my specialty was songbirds. But every once in a while, I’d get called out to rescue injured raptors along the roadside.

Now let me explain something to you.

Songbirds flutter.

Raptors evaluate.

You walk toward a giant hawk or owl and they just LOOK at you. Mesmerizing and terrifying all at once. Like they’re trying to determine whether you are:
A. Helpful
B. Dangerous
or
C. An idiot.

The answer was probably “C,” but fortunately I had towels and welding gloves.

Those gloves were important because raptors grip automatically. Once they latched onto my arm like it was an official government-issued perch, I learned I could slide my arm out of the glove and let them keep their “branch” while we drove to licensed rehabilitators with enormous flight cages.

And yes, for a period of my life I drove around with giant hawks and owls calmly sitting in the passenger seat of my Toyota Tercel named Betsy.

ARE YOU SERIOUS??!!

Honestly, the most surprising thing about those birds was how light they were. Massive wings. Huge eyes. Giant talons. But when you picked them up, they hardly weighed anything at all.

Power wrapped in fragility.

I never forgot that feeling.

Today, though, was about gentleness instead of fear.

I took flowers to Miss Sue.

And there we sat together smiling behind daisies and carnations and soft ribbons while someone snapped our picture. Two women who have both lived enough life to understand that kindness matters.

The little card on the bouquet read:
“You touched my heart, Miss Sue.”

That wasn’t exaggeration.

After all the discussions about tragedy, chemistry, pressure, fear, implosions, and loss, the answer turned out to be surprisingly simple:

Flowers.
Birdsong.
Friendship.
And continuing to look for beautiful things anyway.

Even if the Summer Tanager refuses to show itself.