Learn from the birds

The cold weather did damage to plants, bushes and trees, even to some that were covered. I covered plants on my front porch, but left the plantings in my courtyard to their own devices. I thought being surrounded by walls and a fence would keep in enough heat. Not so. My courtyard is a graveyard. My beloved Christmas cactus, which bloomed heartily over the holidays, is a goner. My hibiscus bush, which yielded flowers the size of saucers, is now brown and droopy. There are other potted casualties.

Now that better weather is here, and local stores are stocked with spring goodies, people have one burning question: “When can I prune?” Dead plants give off an aura of failure we don’t like to look at on a daily basis. On the other hand, we don’t want to kill off what might be struggling to survive. My cousin is a master gardener and an expert in Florida native gardening. Her advice was to wait until mid-March in this zone. I am not sure I can stand it. She said to take a sharp knife to the farthest twig and start nicking the bark downward until your knife strikes green. Prune only above anything green. Patience is required to see how the plant does. When little green leaves appear, give it some food.

My little courtyard gave me an unexpected gift amid the devastation. I left a hanging basket with a dead plant in it on a shepherd’s hook. The other day, I noticed the basket was swaying even though there was no breeze. I looked more closely and saw a mourning dove making a nest in the basket. They were using the plant's remains as construction material. I read a little about these birds and learned that they make hasty nests. My plant debris worked just fine for them. Unlike the nests of the osprey, the owls and the eagles, these nests are meant to be temporary. The same pair may make several nests over the season, each having only two eggs at a time. I watched the male forage for extra twigs and seeds on the ground. He repeatedly flew back to the female whose head was just visible over the edge of the basket. It helped me to look at a microcosm when the macrocosm feels scary.

We are living in perilous times when so much is uncertain. Since the end of World War II, we have had global organizations for business and diplomacy that linked countries together to prevent devastation on that scale from happening again. The ties that bound us together for 80 years of relative peace are being eroded. Behaviors of common decency and a desire to work for the common good are no longer the norm in the public or private sphere. People seem to have forgotten how to get along and resolve differences rationally. The disruption echoes from governments into our homes and friendships and communities.

Watching the nesting doves this week gave me hope. Their instinctual behavior reminded me of the lasting patterns of the seasons. It also reminded me that new life is possible and it is coming. We need to prepare for it. We can use what we find and build what we can, knowing we might have to adapt and rebuild again. One nest will not last forever. One size does not fit all. We need new forms and new institutions and renewed resolve to live peacefully and kindly, as far as it depends on us. We have the capacity to renew, to rebuild and to do what needs to be done to bring forth something new. We can be nest builders too if we recommit ourselves to the work of kindness, mutual caring and connectedness. The doves demonstrate how it is done. The work is shared. We tend. We wait together in hope for the new life to spring forth in its time.