Global Birds of Passage: November 2015

Botanical Naples

Back in Florida. It's difficult to love this place, unless of course you are really into the beach, or really into Disney. As I walked to work the other day, thinking about all the cons and scams endemic to this state, I had to dodge several drivers on their phones -- and a venomous snake to boot. To quote Danielle, "this is not a place where you can live wide open". It requires suspicion, wariness and vigilance.

We have had some good times, of course. St. Petersburg, in particular, has become our urban retreat. The farmer's market, the walkable downtown, the breweries, the good music and food, are resplendent compared to Naples. But overall this noisy, ostentatious, crowded state has exposed a need that I can't satisfy: a need for wild and empty spaces. There is no ready road into the country, no path into the deep woods. Just urban sprawl eating away at the edges of vast swamp. I enjoy taking my students out in nature, to be sure, but there are usually cars or boats zipping by. So I have taken to early morning visits to the local botanical garden, finding refreshment in the small and ever-changing blooms. For all of you getting your first snowfall, spend a few extra minutes enjoying the beautiful quiet for us. And if the cold is getting to you, here's a taste of the subtropics. Be well this winter and stay in touch.

Koa's Shrine

Colorful shells from nightly walks on the rocky shore. Glittering mica from an abandoned mine. Wildflowers from a picturesque meadow. Feathers found at rest on a bed on pine needles. All these artifacts of our summer explorations were brought back to Koa's last resting place with heavy hearts. By summer's end, a small cache of nature's riches marked the spot. On Danielle's last visit to the shrine, a solitary maple leaf drifted down, atop the pile. It hinted at the first signs of fall and signaled a turning of the seasons in our family life -- a benediction.

Though we carefully tucked Koa's ashes into our luggage, it was hard not to feel as though we were leaving her behind. Even now, some four months on and two thousand miles removed, there is a palpable vacancy in our lives. Tears still roll when Danielle realizes Koa isn't coming back, and I can barely bring myself to talk about it. So we reestablished a shrine to Koa in our living room. Lit by a single candle, it is both a memorial and a request. A request that Koa guide the next soul in need into our lives.