Living in the country has some wonderful
advantages to the city. It's quiet. Private. Tranquil.
We get more visitors than we do in town. Of
course, they're more often of the feathered, scaled, four-footed and
eight-legged kind, but who's complaining? I find them wonderful (except when
the red-bellied water snakes and blue herons eat the fish in the pond).
I love the outdoors. I truly do. Maybe it's
because I've been a city girl all my life, and moving to the country opened my
eyes to the beauty and wonder of the natural creation. When the wind rustles
the leaves it's like watching the unceasing movement of the ocean. The variety
of insects - many of which look like little 'aliens' to my worldview - leaves
me spellbound. Squirrels, possums, (the neighbor's cats) and the occasional
deer or wildcat wander through our back yard…and the birds! Bird species here
are countless, but in my city experience, sparrows, pigeons and the occasional
dove – and on the coast, seagulls – were all I knew.
Out here, I can't even name the species I
hear singing to me (well, they don't actually sing to me, but I feel
like they do), in our backyard ‘playground’.
It's unfortunate, then that the outdoors
doesn't love me back. I won't go into that (I promise). But the situation
required a bit of doing on our part to get me outdoors without being
outdoors. Hence, the sunroom.
I love my sunroom. Three walls of windows
through which I enjoy the outdoors all year round in indoor comfort. In winter,
I curl up on the love seat with a cup of Swiss mocha while the snow turns the
world into ‘wonderland’. Many a day finds me standing in awe as God cleanses
the earth with mighty rainstorms. Weeks fly by while I watch spring paint the
yard in glorious colors. The room is a precious gift.
This past fall a new – and rather comical –
joy arrived at my haven. I was scrounging some lunch when I noticed my two
younger cats in the sunroom, staring out the window with that fixed
concentration at which cats excel.
They were vocalizing that strangled noise
unique to cats when they want to hunt, but can't. Curious, I moved closer, and
then I saw it: an exceptionally territorial cardinal landed on the sill of the
window above the sunroom door and began shadow-fighting his reflected image.
The cats' whiskers and tails twitched with his every fluttering movement. Their
bodies strained toward the window as if by sheer will they could reach the
critter.
The little fellow did this from dawn to
dusk for weeks. I thought he'd eventually realize it was a hopeless venture and
give up. He never did. In fact, he also discovered his adversary in the window
above the other sunroom door, the kitchen window and yes, even in the
reflection from the shiny black surface of our little round barbeque pit (I've
never read that cardinals were smart).
Suffice it to say our little red wing
fighter taught me a lesson.
Being a writer (and an aspiring
self-pubber) is fun. It can be rewarding and fulfilling, but it can also be
hard work and teeth-gnashing to the point of saying, "Forget it! I can't
do this."
When those times come - and inevitably,
they do, like now, when I’m two months behind schedule on getting my first book
published - I gather the shreds of my fortitude, remember my reasons for
writing, and consider the instruction of my feathered tutor.
To this day, he still fights that
interloper in his territory. I don't believe he'll quit until the day he meets
his Maker. Neither will I…and if you are an aspiring author with a heart full
of stories to tell, neither should you.
