Absence

/ Fran Haley / 26 Comments

As many of you know, I write a lot about birds.

Every March, I write specifically about the house finches which build a nest in my front door wreath. They have done this for years, except for 2020 during COVID-19, strangely. They built a nest in the wreath that year but never laid eggs.

This year my husband put his foot down: Enough. We haven’t been able to open our front door or enjoy our porch every spring and summer since I don’t know when. Don’t let the birds build a nest in that wreath.

I knew a pair of little finches had been already been eyeing it, however. I have heard them “talking” out there on the porch in their singsong voices. They didn’t seem to like this wreath, really: it’s a winter one, still up from Christmastime.

I should have taken it down a while back. I knew better than to put out a spring wreath, for, against my husband’s wishes, it would become a finch nursery. I would be a frenzied Franna again, roping off the porch to keep the babies safe. I wasn’t always successful. Some babies died in the nest, and I grieved as I removed it. The parents carried on, rebuilding in no time, laying more eggs.

Naure is astoundingly resilient.

I’d also take the granddaughters out for an occasional up-close glimpse of tiny new life coming into the world. I would marvel at the parents’ unfailing care of their young. I would hear their songs, the most beautiful trills and warbles. It’s a pure, sweet, glorious song. The sound of joy.

Yesterday I noticed that the finches had started a nest in the wreath…they are so stealthy about it!

Today my husband took the wreath down (because I couldn’t).

I understand. I do. It’s a pain to keep the front of the house roped off for months – yes, months – at a time, for these prolific little songbirds.

Yet it always felt like a gift, to have them here and to provide shelter for them, so that more beauty could fly out into the world.

I am bracing myself for the finch’s discovery of the disappeared wreath. They planned on having their babies there. I do not think I can bear the sound of their sweet voices asking Why?

But as yet, there is no sound from the porch. The sun is very bright this morning, and I hear all sort of birds in the distance.

I expect my finches will rapidly find another place to build. I pray they do. The world needs more of these little creatures who were never supposed to have survived in the first place. House finches were released in the wild years ago by unscrupulous pet shop owners. The house finch didn’t die out; it proliferated.

It’s just that, in this moment, the silence, their absence, is an ache in my heart.

There’s no way to tell the finches that I am sorry. Or how much I love them. Not so they’d understand.

And so I write.

What I know is…no matter what, they go on, singing.

House finch pair. Birdman of Beaverton. CC BY-SA 2.0.

*******

with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the March Slice of Life Story Challenge

Squirrel

/ Fran Haley / 10 Comments

Today’s WordPress prompt: Which animal would you compare yourself to and why?

Yikes. This could take awhile.

However…yesterday afternoon I had a dentist appointment, and this creature was sitting on the fence as as I pulled into the parking space:

“Well hello, Squirrel,” I say from the driver’s seat.

The squirrel does not move.

I take a picture of it with my phone.

The squirrel does not move.

The wind is kicking up, rain starts spattering…

The squirrel does not move.

It watches me as intently as I’m watching it.

I note the right paw raised, perhaps in readiness to flee…

Which is what the squirrel does, as soon as I look away to reach for my purse, for in that fraction of a second – poof! – it is gone.

So, back to the WordPress prompt: Which animal would you compare yourself to and why?

I wouldn’t have thought to compare myself to a squirrel, but since one came to me, and since I have no idea of what else to write about today in the March Slice of Life Challenge, I will consider how the squirrel and I are alike. Isn’t this a hallmark of the writerly life, using everything that comes your way?

Here’s what I found with a bit of research:

Squirrels are preparers.

Squirrels are resourceful.

Squirrels can symbolize that it’s okay to forget and move forward.

Squirrels can symbolize that life’s blessings can take root in unexpected ways.

I never expected to discover such a kinship with the squirrel.

I am also captivated by the etymology of “squirrel.” Derived from Ancient Greek, it means shadow-tailed.

Squirrels use their beautiful “shadow” tails for balance, a warm cover against the cold, a means of communication, and even in expression of emotions. They flick their tails when alarmed, happy, and frustrated.

Symbolically speaking, the squirrel’s tail can represent the past (as a “shadow” behind the squirrel, which is attached to it, and follows it).

Think on that awhile. The shadows of the past…ever with us.

Haunting? Not necessarily. As someone who likes dabbling with memoir, I find unexpected riches in writing about the past. A cache of courage. A hallowed hoard, even in the darkest places.

In those shadows, I find the first book I can remember being read to me… here I am, a toddler, sitting on my grandmother’s lap, listening to the playful rhyming lines in a book about…squirrels.

Thank you, Squirrel, for being here.

*******
with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the March Slice of Life Story Challenge

Lobster power

/ Fran Haley / 9 Comments

The children notice it right away:

The giant lobster on top of the cabinet in our Heroes’ Hangout reading space.

They are elated:

Look! A lobster! Why is it here? Where did it come from? Look! He has hearts on his cheeks! He’s so cool!

Truth is that a colleague gave the lobster to me when she learned that I sometimes let the smallest, wiggliest students hold onto a stuffie “friend” so they can focus on listening to their volunteer reading a book to them.

But this is what I tell these second graders:

He’s a reading lobster. He wanted to be here in the Heroes’ Hangout.

This sets them off again: What’s a reading lobster?

Well, Friends, you will have to decide that for yourselves… why would a lobster like reading?

More chatter. We may never get to the lesson.

A few days later I remember a hat I have at home. Perfect for the lobster!

I bring it to school and put it on his head.

The kids notice right away: Look! The lobster has a hat! It says ‘Fight Evil, Read Books!’

That’s right, Friends. Maybe he’s a Superhero Reading Lobster.

Maybe we will create a Superhero identity for him and a backstory and possibly write some adventures starring our Superhero Reading Lobster who fights evil by reading books…I mean, anything is possible after Dog Man…

But for now, when my group of second graders finishes their guided self-portrait lesson with me in the Heroes’ Hangout, I say: All right, time to put away your materials and line up at the lobster.

They form a quiet line.

I say, Bye, Friends. Lobster power all the way.

All eleven kids jump up to touch the lobster as they pass by. I watch them walk down the long hallway to their classrooms in a straight line, without a sound.

Not one student has ever asked what I mean by “lobster power all the way.”

That’s how powerful our lobster is.

*******

with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the March Slice of Life Story Challenge

For more about the Heroes’ Hangout, click here.

Bird’s head

/ Fran Haley / 21 Comments

The morning of January 28. Almost seven o’clock. Driving to work in the lowest spirits I’ve had in a long time.

Several factors contribute to this. Usually I can find ways to redirect my thinking, but this morning I cannot. Tired, melancholy, self-worth ebbing…I don’t have strength to face the workday.

Driving past barren fields, icy ponds, old tobacco barns, and rural homes with white smoke rising from chimneys, I say aloud, “God, I could really use encouragement today.”

Rounding the next bend, I see a lone tree in the otherwise empty field. In the naked branches of the tree sits an enormous buzzard, its back to me.

I amost pay it no mind, except to think That’s a really big bird.

Just as I am passing, the bird turns its head in my direction…oh, what I’d have missed if I hadn’t been looking!

Stunned, I begin to cry.

Sometime later I capture the moment in a double etheree:

Bird’s Head

My
prayer
is for strength
as I drive round
the bend in the road
where a lone, lifeless tree
stands stripped in a barren field.
Perched there in those gnarled old branches
is a huge buzzard. It turns its head
just as I pass…a white head, shining like
fresh snow in sunlight, brilliant to blinding
…a bald eagle, enduring winter,
keeping watch high above the earth.
Jolted by this fierce response
I drive onward, sobbing
for the provision,
newfound courage
singing wild
in my
veins.

An old eagle sketch of mine

*******

with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the March Slice of Life Story Challenge

Note: The eagle was still in the tree that afternoon and over the next couple of days. I’ve learned that eagles do this in winter, to conserve energy. Its presence was exactly the energizing spark I needed to rise above: “Courage, dear heart…”

Face value

/ Fran Haley / 11 Comments

My three-year-old granddaughter, Micah, has finally experienced enough snow to make a snowman.

Two snowmen, in fact. Five weeks apart.

The first snow really wouldn’t pack, so we ended up with a little heap of snowdwarf. It was cute and we loved it anyway (see the photo on To Life and Lafo).

The second snow packed beautifully. Micah’s artistic big sister, Scout, took over as snowman engineer and designer, rounding the body and deciding what to use for facial features.

Micah said, “The snowman needs a hat!” She chose the Santa hat from the toybox I keep for the girls. In her words, the “Ho-Ho hat.”

And here you have it. Our merry friend:

That night, as I put our exhausted Micah to bed, she kept stalling.

She fights going to sleep, has always been a restless sleeper. She asks for songs: Frère Jacques. Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star. She chats about a boy at daycare and calls him “my brother.” She says he’s going to the beach and she wishes she could go, too.

“All right, Micahroni,” I say at last. “It is time to sleep now.”

She twists around, lies still, and is silent for a moment. She looks at the ceiling, the wall. Her eyes are heavy.

Then those big eyes are on me. “We forgot the Ho-Ho hat! It’s outside!”

“Yes, but it’s okay. The snowman can wear the hat tonight. We can get it tomorrow.”

That seems a sufficient response, for she’s quiet again.

Then: “Franna.”

“What, Micah?”

“I don’t want the snowman to melt.”

“He won’t melt tonight, honey. It’s very cold outside. He’ll still be there tomorrow.”

She looks at me earnestly. Deep brown eyes, rosy cheeks.

“I don’t want his face to melt,” she says.

I murmur something soothing, I think, but my mind isn’t on my words.

It’s on the workings of her little mind, already understanding the temporary nature of things, fearing loss…yes, it’s just a snowman. But its face reflects humanity. She cares about it and knows, at three, it cannot last.

I stay with her until she drifts off to sleep and her breathing grows loud.

And then I go to bed myself, praying, I confess, for the snowman not to melt the next day while she’s staying with me… because childhood and life itself are so short. They melt away so soon.

When she goes home, the snowman is still in the backyard, joyful as ever, twig-hands raised in praise, undiminished.

I remember to rescue the Ho-Ho hat. She will remember asking. She remembers everything.

I hope she always will.

*******

with thanks to two Writing Teachers for the March Slice of Life Story Challenge

Ominous?

/ Fran Haley / 12 Comments

One Sunday morning
atop the fellowship hall
sat two black buzzards

holding up their wings
like unholy cherubim
like some ancient sign

of impending doom
(Woe to all who enter here!)
except that I know

a couple of things:
see, buzzards hold out their wings
for the sun’s cleansing

not as harbingers
of death (unless one counts the
zapped bacteria)

Sunday, December 8, 2024: The sight when I pulled into the church parking lot. The buzzards (black vultures) remained motionless atop the fellowship hall, disinfecting their wings in the bright sunlight, until the parking lot got too people-y for them and they flew off. Gotta admit this looks ominous, like something out of Poe or painted on the wall of an ancient tomb. Black buzzards are, however, “highly social birds with fierce family loyalty,” says the Cornell Lab of Ornithology. No wonder the church fellowship hall was so appealing to them for their own sun-day.

*******

with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the March Slice of Life Story Challenge

Whole

/ Fran Haley / 20 Comments

On the first Thursday of each month, a group of us gather online to write to a theme. We call this Spiritual Journey Thursday.

I’ve been out of the loop awhile. Today I take up the invitation again. Denise Krebs is hosting, and she has offered us the topic of wholeness:

What does it mean to be whole, on our spiritual journey?

I feel like my reponse could take a whole book.

Maybe that’s because I understand brokenness.

Last Sunday I wrote a letter to my mother after learning of her death (the post Strewn with loss). We were estranged for almost twenty-three years. It’s a story of mental illness, compulsions, a family paying a price, and no reconcilation. The truth is that after such a shattering we can’t wish wholeness into being; we can only find something of beauty in the pieces. We must learn to treasure that. To be grateful for it. The letter to my mother is to thank her for the beautiful shards amidst the brokenness. There are many. She loved me, once. I loved her. I forgave her. She never knew. She is gone. I could not fix her or the relationship. I had to learn to be whole without her.

The truth is that we are all broken in some way, and sometimes, wholeness doesn’t look or feel like being whole. It’s not perfection. It’s not even peace. It’s more like a path.

If we choose to take it.

To me wholeness being productive, fulfilled, and able to love. Three things I rely on to get me there: Faith, nature, writing.

I’ll take them one at a time:

Faith. I believe God is sovereign. God is at work even when we cannot see it or feel it, and when we can’t seem to make any sense at all of what we are living through. He often does his best work through the least likely people and in impossible situations (for nothing is impossible with God, Luke 1:37). In my current rereading of the Bible, what stands out to me, over and over again, is God’s provision to those who love and obey him. If I am to be honest about my own spiritual journey…I fail at this miserably. But that is the point. I am broken like everything else in this world. The desire for relief from pain or a racing pulse or an anguished heart or a reeling mind is the very desire that pulls me toward God. I do not have to understand ungodly things. I have only to seek God’s help in rising above them all. He will make a way. He will provide. This requires that I know more about him and so I study. Again…wholeness is a path.

Nature. I won’t go into my many bird stories here. I will just say that having a sense of awe, as in understanding that you are part of something greater than yourself, brings purpose and wholeness. It also brings wisdom; King Solomon “spoke of beasts and of birds, and of reptiles and of fish” (1 Kings 4:33). Says my study Bible: “Careful observation of the natural world and how it works it one of the ‘normal’ ways in which people gain wisdom… Solomon was concerned with the natural world.” Nature opens your mind and your heart. It imparts awe in abundance. Trees can communicate with each other. They try to help each other. When grass is cut, it immediately begins to heal itself; that’s the fragrance you smell. That very same chemical is also warning other grass that danger is near. The networkings of mushrooms is mind-blowing. It’s called “The Wood Wide Web.” Not long ago, a first grader told me earthworms are so important that none of us would be here without them (!). Nature offers healing. If you haven’t read Something in the Woods Loves You by Jarod K. Anderson…give it a try. He is frank about his battles with depression and how nature helped pull him out of the abyss and into a better place.

He writes:

Kindness won’t make you rich, but it will make you whole. I know there is hurt in your life…These pains stick to us like burrs. They tell us to lash out, to stop feeling, to turn away and turn inward… But these impulses do not control us. They don’t write our stories, and each time you hear them and answer, “No, not today,” you have given a gift to the world…The world will give back to you in kind, but receiving those gifts can take a little practice… Nature is out there and she is in you. Meet her halfway.

I do this, every day. I meet nature. I look for birds. And more. Here’s the thing: Start looking, and they will come.

So might the feathers of wholeness that grow into wings.

Writing. I haven’t done as much writing this past year as in previous ones. I could say life gets in the way. That I don’t have a lot left to give at the end of the workday. That I am busy with my family, from my husband’s health issues to savoring any time I can get with my granddaughters…these things are true, but they’re not all. The “whole” truth is that I am tired. So, when the March Slice of Life Challenge rolled around again, I decided I would not take it on. Despite having loved it in the past, the idea of writing for thirty-one straight days and responding to others tired me even more. And then I woke up in the wee hours of March 1st and thought, why not write, you will feel deprived if you don’t. And so I got up and wrote. The following day, I wrote that letter to my mother…something I realized I really needed to do even though she will never know about it. That doesn’t matter; she’s free of her suffering in this world. And once again I realized the power of writing. Since I took on the daily challenge, I haven’t been as tired, strangely. I’ve felt stronger. More able. More clear-minded.

More whole.

Most of that is due to you, my friends. Coming back to my writing communities is like coming home to a place of profound belonging.

What is wholeness? Being productive, fulfilled, and able to love. How to attain it? Through faith, nature, writing…

Thank you, my fellow travelers, for being such a vital part of my journey.

And my wholeness.

*******

with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the March Slice of Life Story Challenge
and to the SJT writers
and to my friend Denise, for her invitation to “wholeness”


Coming to light

/ Fran Haley / 8 Comments

She is three
sitting by me
on the couch
open book
in her hands
head bent
so intent
in her study
of detail
in the picture

She is three
and I see
a reader
coming to light

and
very possibly
an illustrious
illustrator
of dawning
intensity

even though
she’s three.

My granddaugher, Micah.
I’ve read A Bad Case of Stripes to her over and over.
She anticipates events in the story now and comments on the drawings.
She studied this page a long time.

Her first sketch of her dad.

She made her dad tie a cape on her. “I’m Batman, she told him. “Read to the Batman.”

*******
with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the annual March Slice of Life Story Challenge.
This is my ninth year participating alongside fellow teacher-writers.

Hark: the hawk

/ Fran Haley / 31 Comments

haiku for the king of our backyard sky:

from on high: the cry
this kingdom is mine mine mine
hear ye, hear ye, all

Our resident red-shouldered hawk was staking its territorial claim on Monday morning. If you look closely at the large tree branches in the center of the video frame, you will find it perched above the “play” arrow. The cry starts at 14-15 seconds in.

I think of hawk symbolism. I will include it below, because it’s fascinating, especially since I am sharing this with a community of writers taking on a daily challenge; I marvel at how much seems especially applicable. I will say that for me the hawk’s wild cry evokes something within that I cannot quite name. A longing, I think. Maybe to rise above the world with clearer vision. Maybe to have been an ancient warrior along green woodland paths, following the king’s bird. Maybe to respond, living thing to living thing, in natural communion as apparently existed before Genesis 9, when animals began to fear people. And, I daresay, likewise. Loss unimaginable.

As I wrote in yesterday’s post: I watch birds and am awed by the way they know and “read” so much. Instinct, you say. Well, of course. And extraordinary intelligence, I must add.

Here’s what artificial intelligence has to offer on red-shouldered hawk symbolism (do a search; this comes up with links):

The red-shouldered hawk can symbolize a variety of things, including guidance, strength, and the ability to see the bigger picture.

Guidance

  • A red-shouldered hawk can be a messenger from the universe, bringing support and insight 
  • It can be a sign that you should trust yourself and your inner wisdom 
  • It can be a reminder to explore the unknown and take risks to reach your goals 

Strength 

  • Hawks can represent strength, focus, and poise
  • They can show you your hidden abilities to lead yourself and others

Seeing the bigger picture

  • Hawks can help you see the bigger picture and avoid getting caught up in small details 
  • They can help you elevate your perspective and activate your inner sight 

Connection to the spirit realm 

  • A red-shouldered hawk can signify a powerful connection to the spirit realm

Vision 

  • The Cherokee believed that red-shouldered hawks are messengers of vision
  • They believed that when you see a red-shouldered hawk, whatever you were thinking about at the time is happening around you

Across cultures, hawks have been used to convey teachings and wisdom.

—There you have it, writer-friends. Hearken unto the calling.

Meanwhile, I know that as I stand watching this magnificent bird, it is watching me, with considerably less awe. I am simply on its turf.

*******

with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the annual March Slice of Life Story Challenge.
This is my ninth year participating alongside fellow teacher-writers.

Three objects

/ Fran Haley / 23 Comments

Today’s WordPress prompt:

What are three objects you couldn’t live without?

Okay, so…I have troubles with this kind of prompt because I want to ask: Does this mean everyday stuff like my phone (!) or Ticonderoga Noir Black Wood-Cased #2 Holographic pencils (the only kind I use, my students absolutely covet them, and they have to be SHARP, as I can’t bear a dull pencil, so I guess that means I can’t live without a pencil sharpener, either) or coffee or my favorite coffee mugs or my emerald green floor-length plush hooded robe or good bedroom slippers? Clearly I cannot say my granddaughters and dogs, as they are not “objects,” but I can’t live without them, for sure…although I do not have a dog at present, so I guess I am, in fact, living without one, just with a profoundly deep and raw dog-sized hole in my soul…note to those of you who remember Dennis the dachshund: He’s fine. My youngest took him when he got married last fall. Happy for my boy, but…oh, every single day, I miss that dog. Not that I don’t miss my boy. It’s different. Just saying.

And (I should have mentioned this first) there’s my study Bible, which weighs about 20 pounds, full of notes and highlighting, plus a new notebook where I am pouring out my thoughts in response to Bible reading each day, thoughts which are written as tiny as I can make them (with my SHARP pencil) and still I run out of room to record them all…words spilling all around the margins…

So. Where does this leave me with naming “three objects I can’t live without”? So easy for characters in fantasy stories and fairy tales. The “Rule of Three.” Harry Potter: The Elder Wand, the Cloak of Invisibility, the Resurrection Stone. Three Bears: Bowls of porridge, chairs, beds.

What about essentials? Food, water, shelter…sounds like an unimaginative student response, right? These are givens. These defeat the purpose of the prompt.

All right. Enough mind-racing. Here goes.

I cannot live without:

My phone. First and foremost, for the connection to my children, then for the Internet because of my insatiable curiosity, and even for the Bible, as I can access the same study version as my printed 20-pounder, plus a wealth of cross-references, commentaries, and the meanings of words in the original languages. I can access pretty much anything I want to read on my phone, although I still love actual books best. If I have to choose just three objects I can’t live without, my phone is a pretty high-yield choice. Not to mention the camera (again, granddaughters) or the Notes app. Priceless for my compulsive list-making. I wanted to say I can’t live without my laptop, as it’s hard to do much “real” writing on my phone…but between the two, the phone wins out. And, if you hadn’t already: Please note the absence of the words “social media.”

My glasses. Not a fun choice but it’s the truth. My eyes are getting so much worse, y’all. Just got a new prescription and need to pick out frames in the next couple of days. As in ASAP. Not being able to read is a personal and professional complication of epic proportions…not being able to see is generally an isssue for ordinary daily life (-what truck? Oh-)…not to mention negating choice #1, my phone. You really do not want to know how big a font I am using to type this right now.

Birds. Is it cheating to include living things here? I mean, I didn’t say “dogs” (gasp!) and birds ARE a thing, a noun, as is an object, defined as “a material thing that can be seen and touched,” for let’s face it, birds CAN be seen and touched. They will even sit on your finger. The real truth: I couldn’t live in a world without birds. There are tons of ecological reasons, of course, but for me it’s a matter of the spirit. I am awed by birds: the power of flight, the songs, the behaviors that are anything but random, their nest-making artistry, how they know so much and observe so much…birds have often been a balm to my world-weary, aching soul. In recent weeks, when I was particularly discouraged, I saw bald eagles. Several times. This is rare. I could hardly believe it. Could hardly breathe. And then I cried. But strength flooded my veins. Soon the hummingbirds will return, looking for their feeder; they will hover at the bay window, peering in, somewhat imperiously, until I put the feeder out. The house finches have returned to the front porch but they don’t like the wreath on the door; it’s not my usual grapevine, as my husband said to NOT let the birds nest there again. He’s tired of not using the porch all spring and summer while the precious, prolific finches raise several broods. But the current pair keeps coming to check things out. They want so badly, so very badly, to nest here. They see me peeking through the blinds and return my gaze in puzzlement: Where’s the good wreath?! We shall see what they do…meanwhile, the finch song is the purest, sweetest music I have ever heard. Almost otherwordly. Ethereal. Vibrant. So full of hope and joy. How can I not welcome it? How can I not do my bit to bring more finch-song ino the world?

There you have it, friends. My three objects.

Although I still need a dog.

*******

with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the annual March Slice of Life Story Challenge.
This is my ninth year participating alongside fellow teacher-writers.