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.
They say wisdom comes with age, an assertion of questionable merit given the resident of a certain big white house down there in D.C. However, age does in many ways teach one useful lessons. This type of learning is incremental and very subtle. Putting things off for a bit is not such a bad thing after all. This tributary of evolutionary theory suggests that barring something really serious, letting things slide a bit might just allow for more thoughtful approaches to certain tasks.
Having fewer bluebird boxes out enabled me to explain away their absence as a result of my laziness. One box, way down the hill beside the driveway, sits very close to a golden delicious apple tree and is partially hidden by way-too-tall grass I should have weed whacked weeks ago. Getting around to weed whacking is one of those chores that requires a major infusion of a compelling spirit. I paid it very little notice until late one recent afternoon, when I spotted a bluebird exiting through the tiny hole. Sat and watched for a while and, lo and behold, a pair intermittently flew in and out to nourish the little ones. Now I am thinking the paucity of boxes might have been a good thing. Just maybe I might not have to add more real estate space for next year. Why be greedy. Another tributary of evolutionary thinking: Only fix it when it’s broke.
While on the evolution hobby horse…Will we humans ever evolve out of our self-destructive ways? Given ample historical evidence, it is doubtful. While thousands starve and die of preventable diseases in parts of the world, some of us seem quite content to bomb the hell out of one another. One country invades another, seemingly for a bit of its territory, but then blithely blows to bits both humans and buildings and infrastructure in the very territory it hopes to occupy. The tit for tat insanity that characterizes the Strait of Hormuz conundrum, wholly self-inflicted, makes no sense at all. The list is far too long for cataloguing here. There is within us, it seems, a kill-the-other instinct devoid of any respect for human life. I remember the old sixties lyric: “When will they ever learn?” Maybe never.
Evolutionary theory stipulates that we adapt in order to survive. All well and good. One would hope that what also evolves is a shared moral compass that values human life a bit more. There is killing in the natural world. But by and large it is in response to immediate and real threats. In most cases, enough is enough. We seem bound to the terrible notion that enough is never enough. Are we that bloodthirsty a species? I hope not.
Dick deRosa’s Hawthorn Hill essays have appeared in “The Freeman’s Journal” since 1998. A collection, “Hawthorn Hill Journal: Selected Essays,” was published in 2012. He is a retired English teacher.
