The Wisdom of the Nest

What nature can teach us about change, growth, and letting go

For the past several weeks, a mated pair of dark-eyed Junco birds, built a nest in a strawberry plant outside my window. We watched them fly in and out, sit patiently over three tiny eggs, weathering the heat, rain, and even my intrusion as I tried to water and keep that plant alive. At one-point, scrub jays discovered the nest and nearly got to the eggs before we intervened with a protective netting. Two of the eggs survived but it was nature doing its incredible dance that inspired me. At points, while trying to water that fragile eco system, I worried I’d wet that incredibly well-crafted nest. And, hearing the pop tweeting and swarming at me (!) as I watered, all I could say out loud was, “Don’t worry. I’m not here to harm…just another protector.” What’s kind of funny is that my human nature had me thinking we had ‘control’ over the small outcome of the two birds’ ultimate survival…when really, we were just visitors in their kingdom.

Then one morning, the nest was empty. The babies had flown. The mom and pop no longer dashing in and out of the plant. The sound of chirping was a heavy emptiness in the air.

Sad as I was, I was also glad they’d made it out! They’d made their way! And the tears that came felt proud, and sad, and all levels of Wow. Their job was never to stay. Their job was to grow and then to leave.

As I reflected on that little family outside my window, I realized how fitting it felt for the month of June, a season filled with graduations, transitions, endings, and beginnings. Many of us are watching our children, or the children of friends and family, launch into new chapters of life. Some are leaving home. Some are graduating. Some are stepping into adulthood. Some are getting married. Some are getting older. Some are crossing over to the other side.

And many of us, whether we realize it or not, are navigating transitions of our own: financial decisions, jobs, relationships.

Recently, I spent two days hiking with my daughter, who is preparing to graduate from college. On one of those hikes, we nearly stepped on a rattlesnake coiled beside the trail. The old (and very large!) rattler was sunning in the east ridge of the early morning sun, near the top of Garland Park. Our dog saw it first, but its warning rattle stopped us in our tracks. For a moment, everything else disappeared: the schedules, decisions, responsibilities, and plans. There was only the present moment and the wisdom of paying attention.

Be present. Be alive. Step carefully. Respect what is right before your eyes.

In reflection of these recent events was the fact that nature is constantly changing yet rarely seems hurried.

Birds build nests and then leave them behind.

Snakes shed their skin.

Wildflowers bloom brilliantly and fade.

The seasons arrive in their own time.

The trees don’t rush toward summer. They simply grow.

Meanwhile, many of us move through our days carrying lists, deadlines, worries, decisions, and uncertainty. We often treat change as though it is an emergency. We want answers before the questions have fully formed. We want certainty before the next step reveals itself.

Yet growth often asks something different of us.

Not more planning.

Not more certainty.

Presence.

One of the reasons I return to nature again and again is because it reminds me of a pace that feels more aligned with being human. Out on the trail, surrounded by the generosity of the natural world, I am reminded that the only gift I have to give is presence. Walking the soil beneath my feet. Admiring the trees in all their glory. Allowing myself to belong to something larger than my worries. Nature doesn’t ask me to achieve. It doesn’t ask me to hurry. It simply invites me to pay attention.

Perhaps that is the invitation of June as well: to notice the transitions taking place around us and within us. To honor what is ending. To welcome what is beginning. To trust that growth is happening even when we cannot yet see where it is leading. The birds outside my window didn’t need to know exactly where they were going when they left the nest. They only needed to know it was time to fly.

Maybe we can learn something from that. Maybe this season isn’t asking us to have every answer. Maybe it’s simply asking us to trust the season we are in.

Go take a walk in the wild. Nature has a way of reminding us that growth doesn’t have to be rushed and that not every question needs an immediate answer. Sometimes the next step becomes clearer when we stop trying so hard to control it or “find it”. And more importantly, is the act of stepping forward.

Happy stepping, friends!