My friend alice’s mom, jane, and her husband, jack, live in the woods. Well, jane used to… and while she did, she collected bird nests. She took daily walks through the forest and over time was able to curate an extraordinary collection. Once a nest had served it’s true purpose, she carefully categorized each little house by species, location found, and date. I see the preservation of these providently-constructed dwellings as an act of love.
I feel the same responsibility to the home we live in now. it is our nest. we came upon it in the woods, so to speak, and it has become a haven. It does not formally belong to us, and we were not the master builders who gathered wool and feathers or string and twigs…but I try to treat it with much the same kind of love that jane did with the nests.
As life tends to do, some unpredictable turns have come to pass. while our house has not sheltered our babies, our story does not end with an empty nest– far from it. We are genuinely dedicated to the hatchlings that come from here: music, our dog, poems, compassion, art, food and love. And of course there is pain– there always is. but in our home, our sacrifice and sadness have been bandaged with integrity and kindness from our friends, both new and old. And where our back window once faced a gas station, we now perch and exchange glances with deer and groundhogs and snakes and butterflies. but just like some nests, there are days that are messy and gooey and shitty and riddled with imperfection, but Love is eternal and is passed on all the same, from our dwelling, through our hatchlings.
Jane passed away a few years ago, but Jack retains her treasures.…