Cooperative Living September 2015 - 15

Grandmother's Love Inspires
Student's Winning Essay
I
read Terry Tempest Williams' When Women Were Birds
after my grandmother passed away last fall. Her retreat
from this world left me silently heartbroken. As I
turned the pages of Williams' book, the words were quietly
reassuring; they buried themselves deeper and deeper into
my conscience. My grandmother's presence drifted slowly
back to me as she became increasingly intertwined with
my ethereal passion for birds.
One of Williams' thoughts, in particular, was responsible
for this spiritual reunion: " Once upon a time, there was
the simple understanding that to sing at dawn and to sing
at dusk was to heal the world through joy. The birds still
remember what we have forgotten, that the world is meant
to be celebrated. "
My love for birds and for the natural world existed long
before I picked up Williams' book; however, her sweettempered
words certainly solidified my adorations. More
importantly though, these words expressed the very
essence of the relationship that I shared with my grandmother.
In coping with her passing, I was struck by perhaps
the most perfect example of timing in my short life:
the combination of Williams' lovely message and an
ornithology class that I was enrolled in for the spring
semester.
My grandmother was gentle and she was passionate.
She celebrated the natural world, and she shared with me
her song. Her garden, her love for the water, for old
Virginia, for good-natured tradition and a breath that was
often stolen by the beauty she encountered in her life. Her
home in Virginia Beach on the Linkhorn Bay, a heaven of
sorts, was where I spent many summers as a child.
After she passed away, I often put myself to sleep by
tracing the edges of a map of the Chesapeake Bay affixed to
my bedroom wall with thumbtacks. The gentle but intricate
curves of Virginia's rivers and coastlines reminded me of my
grandmother. They reminded me of her morning walks
through her garden to acquaint herself with the new day,
her attention to the fluctuation of each year's ocean, and her
eye for all things simple yet remarkable at the same time.
Virginia's coast and the birds that I imagined encountering
on its beautiful shores became a welcomed distraction to the
grief that I was experiencing. As the days grew warmer, I
anticipated my professor's daily announcement about which
warblers had migrated through the night and made it to his
neighborhood. He described their sweet songs, a sensation
that I regret never fully appreciating until the year my
grandmother died.
The fresh and fragile landscape of spring and its spectacular
fleeting migrants absorbed my troubles. I spent much
of spring in my garden where the aroma of peonies and
lilies filled the air. I focused on opening my ears to the chorus
that echoed
above me in the
treetops, remembering
what my
ornithology
professor had taught
me in the last weeks
of class. I looked
beyond my garden
fence and saw a
Chestnut-sided
Warbler for the first
time. I stared in
disbelief as the bird
retreated to the depths of the ravine. How could I have possibly
been so oblivious? These birds, which for a time lived
only in the pages of my field guide, existed in my very own
backyard. Why was it just this year that my eyes were introduced
to the most brilliant ornaments of the natural world?
Timing is a strange, but remarkably beautiful creation.
September 2015/www.co-opliving.com
13
PEYTON SMITH PHOTOS
Cooperative Living September 2015

Table of Contents for the Digital Edition of Cooperative Living September 2015
