A Life of Migration

Here in Montana, we live in a land of migration.  For centuries the critters that inhabit this land have migrated in search of sustenance and safety in the vast landscape of Big Sky Country.  They gather to survive the winter before dispersing in the warmth and growth of spring and summer.  The avian population comes and goes in migratory routes in all directions seeking the warmth and hospitality of warmer climates.  Historically the indigenous, the Native Americans, moved back and forth across the land seeking the animal herds that would sustain them—winter and summer hunting grounds.  They followed the herds.  Even today there is movement among the people as “snowbirds” head south seeking refuge from the harsh winter months.  Migration is intricately woven into the identity and fabric of Montana. 

For the past couple of weeks, I have watched the return of our avian friends as they re-introduce themselves to the usual suspects who refuse to ever leave.  There are several birds that mark the transition and arrival of spring in our area of Montana.  The melodic song of the Red-winged Blackbird is always a certain announcement of spring.  The cooing sound of Sandhill Cranes feeding in the fields hastens the welcome of spring.  Varieties of waterfowl not seen except for spring and summer fill the waterways with a cacophony of sound.  Ospreys are evicting brash Canada Geese our of their lofty nests.  The Mountain Bluebirds are back in their splendid blue gracing the fields.  The migration is on and the birds have bugled their arrival.

 

Bears have already been seen as awakening from their winter hibernation.  Now they move across the landscape seeking sustenance after a long winter nap.  The lek are moving from their winter grounds to summer grazing separating themselves into smaller bands—male and female, until the return of the Rut . . . until the mating season comes in the fall.  The moos are on the move.  Life and critters are on the move.

 

If has been said that “migration is the movement of people, animals, or organisms from one place, region, or country to another, typically to settle, live, or work, or find better seasonal living conditions.  It can be temporary or permanent.”  So, that is the case for critters.  It is nothing new for them.  It is in their biological make-up.  It is who they are.  It comes with the changing seasons.

 

Someone else described it: “Migration is the movement of people away from their usual place of residence to a new place of residence.”  I appreciate this understanding of migration as it has the potential to convey so much more than the usual understanding of migration.  With this there is an opening beyond movement from one physical place to another.  There is an invitation to consider other movements such as psychological and spiritual movement.  As we move from place to place physically, we also move psychologically and spiritually.  Thus, we are all migratory sojourners.

 

The idea of migration has been waltzing around my brain for several weeks now as I have been watching the movement and return of the birds and critters in our area.  It is always a fascinating spectacle to witness . . . practically magical.  But the notion of movement from the usual residence to a new place of residence revealed to me the fact that I am a creature of migration.  I have spent a lifetime migrating . . . physically, psychologically, and spiritually.  While in the midst of this migration or movement it has been difficult to see, now with perfect 20/20 hindsight . . . it is revealed.

 

I get the feeling that migration comes about in different ways.  It can be ingrained in the fabric of who one is . . . genetic, like animals and birds.  It can be based on needs and choices as the earliest inhabitants of this land experienced . . . the following of the food sources.  It can be forced upon in circumstances than necessitate movement . . . things like war, drought, persecution, and so much more.  It can be strictly by choice . . . movement towards something bigger and better than what one has.  Migration comes in many shapes, forms, and sizes.

 

Migration in my life spans the spectrum.  As a child of a career military parent my siblings and I experienced constant movement from base to base, communities, and schools as our father was transferred.  Every couple of years we packed up and moved around the country—Massachusetts, the District of Columbia, Arizona, Georgia, Colorado, Nebraska, Panama, Maryland, Gaum, and back to Maryland.  All in the span of 20 years.  Changes in scenery, cultures, and societies.  Constant change and adaptation.

 

After awhile one gets used to it . . . the constant movement and change.  Another day, another new place.  When I got the chance, I flew the coop.  I went to college and ended up in Nebraska . . . 1,500 miles from where I graduated high school.  I started my major to be a Special Education teacher and ended it with a bachelor’s degree in Speech Pathology and a heavy minor of Special Education.  All forms of migration in a span of four years.  Then I dumped it all, moved to Kentucky to attend seminary and the pursuit of the pastoral life.  I got married, graduated, was ordained, and moved to southern Indiana across the river from Louisville, Kentucky.  All in three years.  Again, migration.

 

Migrated to parenthood while in the first parish in the first for two years.  Then a return trip to Nebraska where I graduated college to pastor a congregation there.  Six years later and three more children, there was a move to another location in Nebraska where my wife received a call to minister.  A switch to another denomination and receiving dual standing in both denominations.  Learned one of our children has severe epilepsy –now we were parents of a child with a severe disability.  I went back to grad school earning a master’s degree in mental health counseling . . . a slight shift and addition in careers.  It was a period of transition and migration on many levels.

 

Then it was off to Iowa and new parishes.  Changes in scenery and cultures.  New ways of understanding and doing things.  Learned that our youngest had a learning disability.  Migration once again.  After a few years it was back to Nebraska, back to the community and congregation we had left before moving to Iowa.  There were years of commuting two hours as my wife and I served in two different communities in different time zones while still being in Nebraska.  Again, the dual standing of serving a variety of congregational settings.  Lots of miles . . . lots of change.  A year after our youngest graduated we moved again.

 

Since my childhood I have always been fascinated with Montana.  One reason was because it reminded me of the years I spent in Colorado as a child.  The other was because there are less than six people per square mile.  An introvert’s wildest dream!  We moved to Montana when there were two congregations near each other needing pastors.  We packed up our stuff, threw the pets in the vehicles, and headed off to Big Sky Country.  Another migration.  We now have been in the same place—location and home—for nearly 18 years.  All of our children, their families, and grandchildren live in Montana too.

 

I have experienced a lot of physical migration in my lifetime and there may yet be more, but I am really happy where I am.  Psychologically there have been many migrations from being single and independent to married and reliant upon another . . . parenthood . . . parenthood with children having disabilities . . . shifts in callings, employment, and education . . . movement from parenthood to being a grandparent.  Over the span of my life, I have moved psychologically over the landscape with each residency adding shape and perspective to who I am and where I am at today.  Migration—chosen, unchosen, forced, or accidental, has been integral to my growth as a person.

 

Spiritually . . . well, it has been a constant migration . . . a constant movement . . . a journey.  From a childhood of seeking an understanding of God and a place to belong to an adolescence of exploring my place in the world.  I have had a spiritual journey.  A deep dive into theology and organized religion to a “buy in” to the “church”, I have sought understanding . . . sought an anchor.  To disillusionment and disdain for organized religion . . . I continue to search and grow, change, and realize the great mystery and vastness that is the Holy . . . that is God.  I have gone from point to point . . . beliefs, teachings, doctrines, and dogma . . . faith communities . . . to the solitude of the moment.  Constant migration. Spiritually . . . migration.

 

That is the thing about migration . . . we all do it throughout our lives if we are living, growing individuals.  We are constantly changing, learning, and growing.  We are movement.  With that perfect 20/20 hindsight we can see it through thoughtful reflection and discernment.  We are all migrants of one sort or another.  None of us is the same as we were when the journey began.

 

Three months into retirement I am aware of another migration upon me.  Thus far I would not say that it has been easy.  A few health issues have slowed me down. Hernia repair surgery and a case of shingles can muddy the waters.  Still, the migration is taking place no matter how slowly I embrace it.  I’m still trying to figure it all out.  Though not moving anywhere physically, nothing seems the same.  Routine is gone.  Lots of freedom.  Lots of time.  Not quite sure what to do with it all.  Needing to figure out its purpose . . . its meaning.  One thing is certain, there is movement.  Where I was three months ago is not where I am residing today psychologically or spiritually.  No, there is migration happening . . .

 

. . . that’s what it is.  And it has been on my mind lately.  I guess I could blame it on the critters, but I think it has been lurking around the shadows of my mind for a while.  The actual reality has brought it to the forefront and forced the issue.  As the migration of nature unfolds around me, I am aware of the changes taking place within me and my life.  The traveling shoes are upon my feet.  I do not know where they lead, but the journey has begun.  I’m on the move.  The migration has commenced. For myself and all of us journeying . . . migrating physically, psychologically, or spiritually . . . I have a simple prayer: “Traveling mercies.”  May our journeys be blessings . . . ah, migration . . . the joy of being alive!

 

 

God Lessons

I have heard the story of the guy who prayed to God to teach him patience.  In return the individual received into his life situations . . . frustrating situations that tested his patience . . . over and over again.  God was teaching the man what he wanted—patience.  God seems to have a wicked sense of humor.  Ever since I heard that story I have made sure that I never prayed to God for patience.

But God seems to have a unique way in teaching us lessons.

One of the hobbies that the wife and I have engaged in is bird feeding.  We have various bird feeders throughout the yard to supply the “least of these” creatures with food throughout the year—especially the winter.  And, for our efforts we have been blessed with a huge variety of birds gracing our feeders: Lazuli Buntings, the Gray Catbird, Black-capped and Mountain Chickadees, Red Crossbills, Mourning Doves, Cassin’s Finch, Northern Flickers, Goldfinch, Common Gackles, Evening Grosbeaks, a Loggerhead Shrike, Dark-eyed Junco, Magpies, Clark’s Nutcracker, Red and White-breasted Nuthatches, Bullock’s Orioles, Robins, Gray-crowned Rosy-Finch, Chipping Sparrows, House Sparrows, European Starlings, Western Tangers, Downy Woodpeckers, Hairy Woodpeckers, and the Pinyon Jay.  I must admit that I enjoy our hobby, and I especially enjoy the way that it feeds into my other hobby of photography.  Over the years the gathering of the flocks has provided me with a bevy of wonderful pictures of some of the most beautiful creations I have ever seen.  For the most part it has been a blessing.

I say, “for the most part”, because of one flock of birds that seems to have created a major frustration in our bird feeding hobby . . . and that bird is the Pinyon Jay (pictured above).  The Pinyon Jay is a pretty bird with a blue-gray coloring and it takes wonderful photographs.  God did some pretty fine handiwork with the Pinyon Jay, but . . . yeah, I know, God doesn’t like us using the “but” argument . . . BUT, the Pinyon Jay is the most gluttonous bird I have ever encountered . . . they are the bird version of the Hell’s Angels the way that they come flying in and making waste to whatever feeder they are at . . . they have no respect for any other of the winged creatures of God’s hand, often bullying the smaller and more timid birds away from the feeders so that they can bring a feeding frenzy upon the feeders.  Pinyon Jays are a “flock” bird.  By that I mean that they mate up and run around in flocks of about fifty pairings . . . or a hundred birds.  In the winter the flocks come together and create communities of up to 300 birds.  There is power in numbers and the Pinyon Jays often have the numbers.

Pinyon Jays also eat anything and everything that is in a bird feeder . . . they have never found a meal that they didn’t like.  They can empty out several bird feeders in minutes and have the gall to sit there and demand more.  All the while the other birds go hungry.  I wish that they could be like the other birds that frequent the feeders by showing a little respect, sharing the feed, and taking turns . . . but, NO!  They have embraced the seventh deadly sin—gluttony—and made it their own.

Pinyon Jays make me mad.  Pinyon Jays have driven to the edge of hatred . . . hatred of them.  In the beginning I took the philosophical route . . . the so-called “Christian” route . . . that believed that God created all these wonderful creatures—these birds—and that they all need to eat . . . so, let them eat.  That sucked.  Pinyon Jays don’t know when to quit eating . . . so they bully the other birds by sheer numbers and they whip through a fifty-pound bag of sunflower seeds in less than a week.  They would make any major league baseball team look like rookies when it comes to sunflower seeds.  Sunflower seeds are like crack to Pinyon Jays.  And, sunflower seeds are not cheap.  So, their behavior is not the only hurting me, but it is affecting my wallet.  I get a little touchy when any of God’s creatures start messing with my wallet.  The heck with let the birds eat!  Heck with letting all of God’s creatures eat!  I say, shoot ‘em!

Despite our frustration with the Pinyon Jays, the wife won’t let me shoot them.  I can throw a rock in their direction to scare them . . . or slam the door to scare them . . . or run outside like a screaming lunatic (which has worked at keeping the neighbors away, but has had no effect on the Pinyon Jays) . . . but, not only are the Pinyon Jays gluttonous, they are smart.  They have a system.  While the mass of the Pinyon Jays descend upon the feeders, they stake out the area with scouts . . . scouts that warn the flock of impending danger . . . and, scouts that let them know that the coast is clear.  Unless one has an hour to kill it is almost a worthless endeavor to try and scare the Pinyon Jays away . . . there are too many of them.  They out-number you . . . and, they are more patient.  As pretty as they are . . . they have brought me close to the edge of hatred.

Hate is a powerful word . . . one that the wife and I taught our children as unacceptable in relationships and in life . . . but, here I am on the brink of hatred . . . and, I am wondering what in the world God is trying to teach me.  The Pinyon Jays . . . despite the words of bird experts in the big city promising us that they will go away . . . will not go away.  They mock me.  I have tried the philosophical route . . . the Christian route . . . the Zen route . . . the bird lover’s route . . . I have tried to ignore them . . . we have removed the feeders and bought feeders that they are not supposed to be able to get into . . . and, they keep coming.  Nothing works!  What . . . what is God trying to teach me!

This brings me to the second “for the most part” . . . the neighbor’s cat.  We never imagined that our “bird feeders” would become “cat feeders” . . . but, since the neighbors move in about half-a-year ago, we have made a regular buffet of select birds for their cat.  I imagine that the neighbor’s cat thought it had died and gone to heaven when it moved in next door to us . . . birds for the choosing with little or no effort.  At least once a week there is a pile of feathers in our yards marking the demise of another bird thanks to the cat.  But, I have to admit; at least the cat is an equal opportunity killer and has no trouble with killing any bird that makes itself available for a snack. 

The neighbor’s response?  That is what cats do . . . they kill things like birds and mice.  It is a part of their DNA.  The killing is scaring off the birds . . . and, this is frustrating.  It is especially frustrating when the cat comes and lies at the food of the feeders in wait . . . it is amazing how poorly birds see and never see that cat until it is too late.  I have gone several routes with the cat . . . I have scared the cat off . . . I have thrown rocks at the cat to scare it off . . . yelled, screamed, and chased it (darn cat is fast) . . . and yet, it continues to kill.  Like the Pinyon Jays, I am closing in on hating that cat.

So, what is God trying to teach me?  What is the lesson God wants me to learn?

Is God attempting to teach me about the circle of life?  Is God attempting to teach me patience?  Is God trying to show me that all God’s critters got a place in the world?  That maybe the wife and I should give up bird feeding as a hobby and take up something more constructive like planting a rock garden?  I don’t know . . .

Or, is God giving me a solution through the two frustrations . . . through the Pinyon Jays and the cat.  It has dawned on me that if I could only catch the cat . . . keep the cat for a few days . . . and train it.  Train it to kill Pinyon Jays.  That way I could kill two birds with one stone.  The problem would be solved.  All the other birds would have plenty to eat without having to worry about being bullied, and the cat would have its game and food.  There are plenty of Pinyon Jays to go around.  The wife and I would no longer be on the brink of hatred or frustration . . . and, we could hang onto our good “Christian” values . . . we could save face.

The only problem is . . . I can’t catch the stupid cat.  It is scared of me, but not of the birds.  Plus, the Pinyon Jays are too smart . . . remember, they have scouts watching out for each other.  The cat would never have a chance . . . besides, one cat against hundreds of Pinyon Jays would probably resemble something out of Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds.

In the meantime, I guess I will continue to ponder what the lesson is that God is attempting to teach me.  I will shoo the Pinyon Jays away only to know that they will return.  I will shoo the cat away only to know that the cat will kill again and again.  I will continue to watch the dollars fly out of my wallet.  And, I will go through my mind and think . . . think really hard . . . did I ask God to help me with my Pinyon Jay problem?  If so, will God let me take that prayer back?  Darn, maybe I asked God for patience . . . if so, I hope it comes soon!  

Marauders

It began innocently enough . . . first one showed up.   With its bright blue grayish body it was a pretty bird to watch . . . especially in the winter against the snow and grayish skies; but, little did I realize at the time it was only the beginning . . . the beginning of the battle of wills.  My will against the will of the Pinyon Jays.  It is a battle that has been waged going on nearly eighteen months now.

That is the name of this beautiful bird . . . Pinyon Jay.  It is a pretty bird, a beautiful bird in fact.  I love to photograph the bird because it is always a wonderful contrast to anything else that might be in the picture.  Alone, I appreciate the bird . . . the problem is that the Pinyon Jay rarely travels alone.  No . . . it travels in packs . . . it travels in gangs.  This ornithological wonder is an opportunistic marauder.  A marauder, by definition, is one who roams or goes around in quest of plunder or to make a raid for booty . . . the very essence of the Pinyon Jay.

It turns out that that single Pinyon Jay who innocently appeared at the bird feeders at the Keener Homestead was actually the scout whose task it is to find and relay new sources of food to the rest of the pack/gang.  I am not sure how it did it . . . whether it was some sort of shortwave radio or a type of science fiction mind meld; but within ten minutes, approximately another fifty of its buddies showed up and proceeded to lay waste to each and every bird feeder in the yard.  Several pounds of seed gone within a matter of minutes . . . these are the feather piranhas of Mother Nature’s design.  It was an awesome sight to witness as they stripped clean every ounce of bird seed available.  Swoosh . . . it was gone.

Now, I believe that the birds that we support through the Keener Welfare Program deserve and need our support to survive.  I believe that, for the most part, we support pretty much all the birds that make an appearance . . . and, we have quite an assortment of birds passing through our feeders; and, that includes the Pinyon Jays.  At least that is what I thought when they first appeared.  I figured that they would take what they need and head on out.  HA!  They fooled me.

It seems that this species of bird has a bottomless pit for a stomach . . . an insatiable appetite . . . an addiction to free food.  I think that their only purpose is to wipe out any source of food, shut out the other birds, and to establish world domination in the ornithological sphere of existence.  They do it so well.

These birds are smart . . . they are organized.  Besides the scouts they have those whose role is to hop on the feeders and knock the seed out as others gather on the ground to catch the falling seed.  They have sentries posted to warn the pack/gang of intruders who might be a threat.  With a quick caw they are out of there . . . at least it seems that they are out of there; but, they are not.  They leave behind spies who watch for that moment when the coast is clear and then send out the message . . . again through short wave radio or mind meld . . . calling all their fellow marauders back to the scene of the crime to plunder, pillage, rape, and strip whatever remnants of food are left.  They are methodical in their marauding.

Loud noise scares them off . . . for a while.  Throwing rocks at them scares them off . . . for a while.  Sending the mighty guard dogs, or at least as mighty as two Dachshunds can be, scares them off . . . for a while.  I thought about play Justin Beiber music loudly over loudspeakers, but I don’t think anyone—including our feathered friends—should be inflicted with such inhumane torture.  I think popping a few of them with a BB gun would slow them down . . . you know, hang a few dead bodies around as a message to stay away . . . but, the wife won’t let me shoot them.  I thought maybe a shot gun blast would help . . . but, once again, the wife wouldn’t let me; and, besides we are not allowed to shoot off firearms within the town limits.  It seems that no matter what I do, the Pinyon Jay has become a part of the bird welfare system whether I like it or not . . . they are here to stay.

For a pretty bird they do not represent my preconceived idea of birds.  Most of the birds that come to the Keener Homestead are cordial little fellows who only take what they need and leave.  Pinyon Jays are gluttons . . . feathered pigs . . . who eat until they pop!  They are bullies to the rest of the birds scaring off their competition with numbers.  They are noisy . . . which is often their downfall because it announces their presence.  Which makes me think that they are arrogant . . . which fits their marauding personalities.  It just rubs my fair-mindedness the wrong way.

At the present time the war is at an impasse.  My sneaky foe appears less frequently, but is still doing major damage to the bird feed we are putting out.  I am not sure that it is anything that I have done personally to curb their marauding . . . I think it is the new neighbors . . . they have a cat . . . a cat that likes to eat birds . . . which is a whole other post on this blog down the road.  Since Sam has showed up the Pinyon Jays have quit showing up like clockwork to pillage the feeders.  I noticed that Sam looks as if he has put on a few pounds since moving into the neighborhood.  Whatever the case, it is a vicious cycle . . . and, I will be damned if I am going to let some feathered creature, lower than me on the food chain . . . win!

But, the birds have got to eat . . . even the Pinyon Jays!