This is what I saw in the refuge parking lot one evening in late May. I’ll never forget the moment I realized what was happening. Alternately snapping photos and retreating to the car, I spun entries of wonder and excitement and “yaaayyy!” The last sentence was going to be, “Life is so cool.”
(Go ahead, watch and squeal with me.)
That night I woke up to their unmistakable shrieks. The feral cats—kittens really, with small sinewy bodies and hard eyes—got them all in a few days. By the end of the next week, the mother was once more on eggs in the parking lot, the traffic cones shielding her from inadvertent motorists as she tried again.
Maybe this is what draws me to the field. It doesn’t sugarcoat death. It reminds me that to focus only on life, however joyously, is to neglect half the picture. It is a place where beginnings and endings are arbitrary, with value attached to neither. There is only survival: uncertain, unadorned, cells dividing relentlessly until they stop.
I envy that lack of judgment, and I need the reminder every year that death is to be acknowledged as much as life. I know one day this idea will be unspeakably painful to hear and I’ll wish I could be impervious to grief.
But if there’s one thing the field restores in me, it’s a sense of balance. The flip side of life’s coolness is its cruelty, yes, but they’re two halves of a picture that shape each other. Magnitudes of love and loss, equally matched. I think I can work with the whole human mess of emotions if I see them as the price for loving the people I do, as scary as it will be, come the day.
(This is about dying from natural causes, not from mass murders or terrorism. There aren’t really non-primate field equivalents for those. But the same bargain we’ve struck, to feel goodwill and mourning instead of briskly moving on with neither, seems even more important when those things happen to strangers. Thinking weary thoughts toward Colorado.)
I left the field before the killdeer’s second clutch had hatched. May the chicks long be scurrying among the watered lawns; may their ends be quick and painless. And may the invasive cats long be feasting upon the invasive iguanas.
Some links I thought of while writing this entry:
This is the end (Guardian, 31 Mar. 2008): an extraordinary series of portraits before and after death
‘You Will Die Someday and It Will Be Sad,’ All Area Man Thinking During Dinner with Parents (Onion, 19 July 2012)