A Nest at Rest

My wife's sharp eye recently noticed some bird activity around the grill of our pickup truck. Looking closer, she noticed that a bird had built a nest in there, tucked into a corner, up against the radiator. It was most likely a Carolina wren nest, as they are inclined to select obscure locations in human structures, such as mail boxes, inside buildings (when a door is left open for a few days), or even in pockets of shirts on the clothesline. It's almost as if they feel that raising a brood near human structures will keep them safe from animal predators.

As I peered into the dark recess of the truck's grill, a bird flew off. Yes, it was a Carolina wren. To see if it had laid eggs, I gingerly stuck a finger into the nest and felt several tiny eggs—about the size of a fingernail. It's a good thing that we only occasionally use the truck, because for the next 2-3 weeks mom and pop would need to be left alone to raise their babies. Fortunately, small songbirds can lay, brood, hatch, and fledge their young in 3-4 weeks. We decided to keep a good distance from the truck, so as not to disturb the prospective family.

Several days passed, during which we kept a keen eye from a distance, but saw no action. That was worrisome. The eggs should have hatched by now, and we'd expect to be seeing the parents making frequent trips to feed their babies. I slowly approached the truck to investigate. No bird flew out. Reaching in, I once again felt several eggs. Hmmm... that's a real concern. They should have been hatched by now. We'll wait a few more days, to be sure.

After a couple more days—still with no birds flying in or out—I once again checked and felt unhatched eggs. Something had clearly happened to cause the parents to abandon the nest. Why? We'll never know. Did a predator get one of them? I can't believe that our presence caused them to forsake the nest. Over the years we have watched several pairs of Carolina wrens raise a family right under our noses, in the garden shed or the workshop, while we wandered by, often ignorant of their presence, until lots of fledgling activity began.

Reaching carefully inside the truck's grill, I pulled out six tiny eggs, one by one. Six chicks that will never be. It's sad, but it's nature's way. The parents have likely already started another nest, in another disguised location—if they are still alive. Working slowly, I was able to extract most of the nest intact. I placed the delicate eggs inside it and for several minutes admired the exquisite workmanship (workbirdship?) of the nest and the beauty of its tiny eggs.

I decided to honor the nest and its unhatched embryos by placing them on a shelf in my meditation hut. They will make a fine object to focus my attention on—an ongoing reminder of the sacredness of all life. Eggshells breathe a little. In time, the interior of the eggs will desiccate and they should last for many years.

Pine Borer

In Virginia we have a pine borer that invades dead pine trees. I split a pine log today and out popped an immature borer (first two photos, top side and underside) that I think was nearly ready to come out as an adult. At the bottom is an adult beetle from Wikipedia. Click to enlarge.

Attention Appropriation

On this blog I've written several times about what has become a major mantra of mine: Pay Attention! Our narrow human senses are able to capture only a small slice of reality—thus much of the world is completely inaccessible to us. For example, we are blind to light waves at either high (microwave) or low (infrared) frequencies. We are deaf to sounds at very low or high frequencies. Our noses are pretty poor at discerning scents. We miss a lot.

Compounding the situation, our attention is often interrupted, so that even the slice we can perceive is missed. It's amazing that we get along as well as we do, when we miss so much! I've become increasingly conscious of the fact that a balanced life is heavily dependent on our ability to pay attention to that minor portion of reality that our senses allow us to soak up, as we simultaneously attempt to filter out useless noise.

I live a lifestyle that helps me to focus my attention pretty much on what seems relevant to me. I am very fortunate. I no longer participate in mainstream society, largely because commercial interests have become so accomplished at exploiting that valuable quality we each possess: our attention. Sales people are literally gobbling up our ability to concentrate, by using omnipresent ads that persuade us to buy their wares. Everywhere we turn, we are inundated with interfering messages that appropriate our attention.

As John Prine sings in his song “Quit Hollerin' At Me:”

I don't want your big french fry
I don't want your car
I don't want to buy no soap
From no washed-up movie star
You are so much louder
Than the show I wanna hear
With your sugarless gum
Gee, but I'm dumb
Non-alcoholic beer
It's enough to make a grown man
Blow up his own TV
Quit hollerin' at me
Quit hollerin' at me.

These constant interventions are literally an invasion of our freedom to think. It is an example of transferring a personal kind of wealth that the public owns (our attention), to private interests—in the name of profit. Our attention really is similar to other valuable resources that we all hold in common, such as the air we breathe and the water we drink. Our attention is literally being stolen, much in the same manner that commercial interests dump toxic wastes in the environment or despoil natural resources for profit.

We humans have evolved to notice fast-changing aspects of our world. In the deep past it helped us avoid threats in the natural world—such as snakes and tigers. Commercial interests have cleverly learned to take advantage of this instinct by commanding our attention, using fast-paced ads and entertainment. We're drawn into their sphere of influence by the flickering and rapidly-changing images that capture our awareness. This situation has slowly crept up on civilization, to the point that many urban residents spend most of their waking hours being drawn into constant clatter and distractions.

Contemplatives throughout history have understood the necessity of paying attention to their surroundings. Their kind of lifestyle is threatened with extinction today. Monastic communities are dwindling. Modern people are losing their ability to concentrate on much of anything, except what commercial interests want us to.

The next time an ad gets in your face or a jingle assaults your ears, it might to help ponder what you might do to get some peace and quiet... and pay attention, or sing out “Quit Hollerin' at Me!”

Snake Sightings

Have you ever wondered why we humans are so spooked by the sight of a snake? Countless examples exist of how we fear and abhor serpents. Precious few people see a snake and do not feel an adrenalin rush and an urge either to whop it or to flee. You don't have to teach a kid to fear snakes—the dread comes naturally; it's deep in our DNA. For Christians and Jews, the origin of our exile from an edenic existence was caused by the scheming snake.

If you consider where we humans evolved (Africa), dangerous snakes were everywhere—cobras, vipers, and other such vermin. It's not surprising that our deep ancestors evolved fear of and ways to avoid snakes. A healthy fear, accompanied with an ability to quickly jump back served them well. They passed those jumping genes on to us.

Some recent research provides another genetic advantage that we humans have, and we apparently have snakes to thank for it: acute vision. Since snakes were such a threat to our ancestors, serpents literally helped us evolve the excellent eyesight that we have. We are endowed with forward-facing eyes, so our depth perception is superb... we can quickly tell just how far away that viper is. Our visual acuity surpasses most all other mammals. We possess first-rate color vision, so we can spot that camouflaged snake in the grass. My, what great eyes we have! The better to see you, Mr. Snake.

Snakes are not easy to detect. Their color often allows them to blend into their surroundings and they can appear to be a stick or a twining vine. It's quite possible that some early hominid species which might have otherwise evolved into something like humans, instead became extinct, because their limited visual acuity gave the advantage to those poisonous snakes.

Our extremely ancient ancestors—small, lemur-like creatures who lived among the dinosaurs—didn't need superb eyesight, because they were nocturnal critters. They didn't hang out in the daytime, because the dinosaurs ruled the day; so they survived by slinking around after dark. They also didn't bump into many snakes, who slept the night away.

As mammals came into the light—once the dinosaurs became extinct—they needed more acute vision, to avoid those creepy serpents. Some of them developed superb eyesight and passed the ability on down the line to us. So the next time you are repulsed by the sight of a snake, realize that it's an instinct you inherited from long ago, but also be thankful that your keen eyesight (which also lets you spot a gorgeous bird, on a limb off in the woods) may also be a gift from that loathsome snake in the grass.