Mourning

I love nature; it keeps me present, real and grounded. Nowhere am I more at home or more observant then when I am in nature. Spring, my favorite time of year, is bursting with creative energy and full of new life, gifts and messages.

Outside my dining room window I have observed the joys and perils of two mourning doves building their nest and starting a family. They started building at the end of March – haphazardly collecting twigs (they are not the best architects in the bird world). I remember thinking what a great job they did in securing some prime real estate – tucked in the corner of the eves in the rain gutter with a little roof over their head providing protection from the weather and blocking the vision of any predator flying overhead. It wasn’t long and they were taking turns sitting day and night, a sure sign they had eggs (almost always 2). Mourning doves, a symbol of peace, are devoted parents. Rarely do they leave their nest unattended, both male and female take turns incubating the eggs.

One day I found an egg shell on the ground below the nest. I wanted to believe it was from an egg hatch, but I knew it was too soon, which could only mean one thing - the nest was raided. I felt sad, but a few days later I happened to catch the two mourning birds mating just below the dining room window, and once again they were incubating. This time, I thought to myself, I will be more observant of any threats to the nest. I became somewhat obsessed, always checking on the status of the nest. A couple times I was successful in scaring off a crow – the likely culprit of the previous nest raid. Crows are smart birds, and this one now knew where he could get his next meal. As we got closer to two weeks, I grew impatient waiting for the first sign of a successful hatch and finally several days ago I noticed more activity in the nest – we have squabs! It will be 11-15 days before they are fledglings (the stage where they have their feathers and their wing muscles are strong enough to take flight).

This morning as I sat down to enjoy my morning smoothie, I heard a ruckus outside and as I looked up I saw a crow fly and the mourning doves hot on its tail. I knew instantly what happened. The crow landed on the ground only a few feet from the nest. I knew even if I ran after it, it wasn’t about to give up its meal, yet my reflex action was to throw open the front door and run outside. Once it saw me burst out the door it flew off with its breakfast. I will never forget how helpless I felt as I watched the crow fly off with that baby bird as mom and dad sat nearby. I stood and watched the mourning doves as they tried their best to save their squab. Their cooing seemed desperate and intense. My heart sank, my eyes filled with tears. The song of the mourning dove has never spoken so deeply to me.

I looked up at the nest, now lifeless and empty. It was a good twenty minutes later when one returned to the nest and began to coo. I stepped outside to take a peek and my heart filled with joy at the sight of the second squab - still alive. Soon the other dove returned also, landing on the ground below the nest - cooing non-stop for the last hour or so as I write. What are they saying to each other? Can they feel a sense of loss? I believe so.

As much time as I have spent in and observing nature, this is something I have witnessed many times. There is always a sadness I feel when I am witness to what seems like such harshness in nature. But it is nature - the natural world as it exists without human beings or civilization. The crow’s survival is no more or less significant than that baby dove. The crow didn’t have a personal vendetta against the mourning dove. The crow needed to eat, and most likely has its own family to feed.

The voice of the dove is the rain song. Out of its mourning, it invokes new waters of life. Its song should remind us that no matter what our life conditions, new waters and new life are still possible. The song of the mourning dove tells us to mourn what has passed, but awaken to the promise of the future. The doves may mourn their loss, but will not lose sight of the fact that there is still new life in that nest that needs their attention.

Nature is always our best teacher

Feather to Fire ~ Fire to Blood ~ Blood to Bone ~  Bone to Marrow
Marrow to Ashes ~ Ashes to Snow