A shiny black raven is ‘wag-tail’ walking across the roof of a module just outside my window. It’s been bouncing from conduit to pipe to rooftop around the yard, sipping fresh cool raindrops from yesterday’s storms. I saw him and his ‘wife’ out this same window in January when they were maneuvering their way through a big blow.
Our resident ravens seem to easily tolerate minus fifty degrees and weeks of darkness, but when those are combined with wind speeds that would be called a hurricane in most parts of the world, even these hardy warriors struggle. On this day in January, the West Wind barreled across the hills and hit the end of our office building with a ‘whump.’ Buckets of polished snow bee bees rattled against the glass. I watched the ravens brace themselves within cable trays and even land on snow banks under the module stairs, seeking shelter. Each fierce gust threw them up into the storm, but over and over, they curled their wings to hover nearby until the torrent subsided, then settled again in relative safety, to await the next onslaught. There was really no escaping the storm, but it appeared they knew how to respond and recover from each blast. They were the picture of resilience.
I listened to Elizabeth Edwards book “Resilience” while flying to Portland last week. The sub-title is “Reflections on the Burdens and Gifts of Facing Life’s Adversities.” I liked the book because Elizabeth doesn’t come across as a heroine, or present a roadmap for facing recurring adversity. She comes across, not as a serene martyr; but a hearty warrior who reveals her struggles and weaknesses.
I was seeking wisdom while we were headed south to consult with a veterinary oncologist. Our little dog, Roxy has been diagnosed with spindle cell sarcoma, cancer. I was struggling because this news goes beyond what I consider to be the ‘law of averages’ that brings stability to my life. My ‘law of averages’ states that while many potential hardships appear on the horizon, one shouldn’t worry too
much as life in general turns out okay. Last fall, I accepted the odds of a stillborn baby are one in a thousand, and my grandson was that one. I found it harder to accept that seven months later, when the odds of spindle cell sarcoma in dogs are one in ten thousand, Roxy was the one. How could I face the loss of another loved one? Could I keep my feet on the ground in those circumstances? This trial felt new, beyond past experience.
A week later, I’m a little euphoric from news that Roxy’s cancer is treatable. I know there is still risk, but hope and resilience has suppressed my demons of despair. That takes me back to our resident ravens. Now that it’s June, they are busy feeding three big chicks, joyfully flying to and from the nest on wings made strong in their battles with the wind. I suspect they are not distracted by memories of those stormy days last winter, or worries about next winter, but are instead leaning into each minute of sunshine. A morning like this, with its puffy white clouds and soothing sunshine, holds seasonal amnesia for all of us. I can relate to this Chinese proverb about resilience: “One joy scatters a thousand griefs.”
Watching these ravens, I am re-evaluating my ‘average’ life. If an average year in the life of an Arctic raven includes battles with deadly storms that add insult to the day to day struggle for survival, then I can expand my definition of an average life to include extremes. Faced with extremes, I can find shelter among family and friends, hold some ground when I'm thrown off base, but remain flexible so I don’t get wiped out by a big blast. And when hard times have passed, I can leave them in their place, lean into the sunlight, and striving to be a hearty warrior, not miss a moment of joy.
Within a raven’s nest, I imagine lessons about resilience. Perhaps the adults recite Richard Bach whose writings about birds and flight have inspired thousands:
"When you have come to the edge of all the light you have and step into the darkness of the unknown believe that one of the two will happen to you either you'll find something solid to stand on, or you'll be taught how to fly."
Yes, there is an edge to the light we have, and there is darkness. And the light of an average day reveals abundance, and facing adversity pushes back darkness to expose more than we currently see.
“Evermore,” quoth the Raven, “evermore.”
Our resident ravens seem to easily tolerate minus fifty degrees and weeks of darkness, but when those are combined with wind speeds that would be called a hurricane in most parts of the world, even these hardy warriors struggle. On this day in January, the West Wind barreled across the hills and hit the end of our office building with a ‘whump.’ Buckets of polished snow bee bees rattled against the glass. I watched the ravens brace themselves within cable trays and even land on snow banks under the module stairs, seeking shelter. Each fierce gust threw them up into the storm, but over and over, they curled their wings to hover nearby until the torrent subsided, then settled again in relative safety, to await the next onslaught. There was really no escaping the storm, but it appeared they knew how to respond and recover from each blast. They were the picture of resilience.
I listened to Elizabeth Edwards book “Resilience” while flying to Portland last week. The sub-title is “Reflections on the Burdens and Gifts of Facing Life’s Adversities.” I liked the book because Elizabeth doesn’t come across as a heroine, or present a roadmap for facing recurring adversity. She comes across, not as a serene martyr; but a hearty warrior who reveals her struggles and weaknesses.
I was seeking wisdom while we were headed south to consult with a veterinary oncologist. Our little dog, Roxy has been diagnosed with spindle cell sarcoma, cancer. I was struggling because this news goes beyond what I consider to be the ‘law of averages’ that brings stability to my life. My ‘law of averages’ states that while many potential hardships appear on the horizon, one shouldn’t worry too
much as life in general turns out okay. Last fall, I accepted the odds of a stillborn baby are one in a thousand, and my grandson was that one. I found it harder to accept that seven months later, when the odds of spindle cell sarcoma in dogs are one in ten thousand, Roxy was the one. How could I face the loss of another loved one? Could I keep my feet on the ground in those circumstances? This trial felt new, beyond past experience.A week later, I’m a little euphoric from news that Roxy’s cancer is treatable. I know there is still risk, but hope and resilience has suppressed my demons of despair. That takes me back to our resident ravens. Now that it’s June, they are busy feeding three big chicks, joyfully flying to and from the nest on wings made strong in their battles with the wind. I suspect they are not distracted by memories of those stormy days last winter, or worries about next winter, but are instead leaning into each minute of sunshine. A morning like this, with its puffy white clouds and soothing sunshine, holds seasonal amnesia for all of us. I can relate to this Chinese proverb about resilience: “One joy scatters a thousand griefs.”
Watching these ravens, I am re-evaluating my ‘average’ life. If an average year in the life of an Arctic raven includes battles with deadly storms that add insult to the day to day struggle for survival, then I can expand my definition of an average life to include extremes. Faced with extremes, I can find shelter among family and friends, hold some ground when I'm thrown off base, but remain flexible so I don’t get wiped out by a big blast. And when hard times have passed, I can leave them in their place, lean into the sunlight, and striving to be a hearty warrior, not miss a moment of joy.
Within a raven’s nest, I imagine lessons about resilience. Perhaps the adults recite Richard Bach whose writings about birds and flight have inspired thousands:"When you have come to the edge of all the light you have and step into the darkness of the unknown believe that one of the two will happen to you either you'll find something solid to stand on, or you'll be taught how to fly."
Yes, there is an edge to the light we have, and there is darkness. And the light of an average day reveals abundance, and facing adversity pushes back darkness to expose more than we currently see.
“Evermore,” quoth the Raven, “evermore.”
