Hawthorn Hill Journal by Richard deRosa

Birds, Chores and Evolution

Our tree swallows have taken to wind in search of more fertile skies to explore. We are dazzled by their aerial acrobatics. And they are lovely to watch. But in the main it is all about survival. They swoop here and there, mouths open, in search of food. It is an aerial dance routine routed in necessity, a strange but beautiful trick of evolution. No sitting at the table waiting for mom’s homemade insect stew. Once able, and that is relatively soon after birth, a young swallow takes to the air, gradually learning the tricks of the feeding trade. The concept of self-reliance informs the whole process. Open your eyes, enjoy being fed for several weeks, fluff those feathers and, after a few test flights, off into the ether to fend for yourself. Not all will make it, but those lucky enough to have evaded hungry predators always keeping an eye out for their next meal might just make it through the rest of the summer. Maybe head south when the time comes and return to their home town, or someplace nearby, come next spring. I know that up here on the hill we depend on these recurring patterns for their soul-buoying balm. Heaven knows that balm is sorely in need these days.

We did not put as many nest boxes out this year as in the past. Several aged out and the one or two in the woodshed in need of repair just never made it to the work bench. Getting around to chores has become increasingly difficult. I describe the situation as difficult, but that is not the right word. Most chores stuck on the waiting list are due not to anything particularly challenging about them. Most can be knocked off rather quickly. My go-to defense is the need to await the spirit within me that compels action.

Interestingly, the easier the task, the longer it takes me to get off my ample backside. Granted, I used to get things done with some degree of urgency and efficiency. My life-long amateur studies of the natural world, particularly birds and plants, with a special affinity for ferns, have convinced me of the validity of evolution. So, in my predictably quirky way of explaining away my wealth of eccentricities, my sense is that as one ages—evolves, that is—getting to chores in a timely way is not as necessary as it used to be.