Sometimes, I sit on the porch with a cup of coffee and appreciate the silence of two small children and seven chickens. I ignore the kweek-kweek-kweek of the relentless red-throated wryneck who lives nearby. I look away from the carnage of the now six fluffy bunnies sampling every pot plant they can reach.
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Instead, I gaze out at the cliffs and fairy-like forest below the house, determined to reflect on more positive things. Ethan Kross says that awe is something that allows us to ‘think and feel beyond’ our needs or wants, a self-transcendent emotion that helps us deal with life a little better. Oribi Gorge has awe in abundance, visible right from my porch.
Before the end of summer, there was an unusual flurry of wings close to where I was sitting. A female amethyst sunbird appeared with a long piece of grass in her beak. She looked intently at my hanging wire fish decoration and back at me. The fish keeps a green beady eye on things and sways in the breeze. The sunbird convinced herself that I was not a threat and threaded that piece of grass onto the wire frame in a few seconds, and then she was off.
It was fascinating to watch as she wove feathers, moss, hair, spider webs, and grass into a perfect little home that looked almost like a baby’s shoe. It was cathartic watching her prepare so diligently to raise her family. Afterwards, she sat in the nest for long periods, an elegantly curved beak the only visible sign of her presence.
I’d hear small chirping noises as effort or loneliness or hunger drew her out.
Her speckled body and dark throat were nowhere near the male’s dazzling black and lilac features as he glinted in the sun not far away. It was her that captivated me, though. Relentless energy to create a home for her soon-to-hatch eggs. Bravery to return to the nest when a nosy human or loud toddler was playing right beneath it. Fortitude to sit in that nest and incubate eggs while we went about our days within an arm’s length of her sanctuary.
She was the picture of patience and courage, and I knew that there was something I should be taking from that for my own mothering.
When the chicks hatched after three weeks of incubation, she fed them continuously with everything she could find in the garden. For two weeks, she hardly rested as the young birds chirped for a meal at regular intervals. She braved rain, humans, and nosy Cape white eyes trying to raid her nesting materials. When it was over, she left it all behind without a second thought.
What a privilege it is to see nature so intent on achieving its purpose and then moving forward onto the next season of life. May we all find the inspiration to do the same wherever we find ourselves, even if it’s within six feet of potential trouble.
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