Sometimes Nature teaches us lessons. I learned one from a mourning dove.
Backstory and Surprise
Last year, birds nested on the brick ledge outside our bathroom window. This year, to discourage a repeat of that behavior, I pounded dozens of nails through a board and placed it, with nail points up, on the ledge. A few days ago, after returning from a trip, I spied a bird’s nest resting amid the nails. I climbed a step-ladder and chased the bird away. In the nest lay a single egg. Had the egg not been there, I’d have removed the nest and pounded more—and longer—nails in the board. Instead, soft-hearted me allowed the nest, egg, and bird to stay.
Classification and Assessment
Not being a bird-watcher, I’m guessing, by appearance, this one is a mourning dove. I started calling her Momma Mourning Dove. I’ve since learned both expecting dove parents take turns minding their nests. Half the time, I suppose, Pappa sits there.
I wondered what kind of pea-brained idiots would pass up a pleasant and traditional home in any of the plentiful trees in our area, and instead build their nest on a ledge full of nails. That can’t be comfortable.
Realization and Apology
Then it hit me. I know the sort of idiots who do that. I’ve written a book about people who do something similar. The book is The Seastead Chronicles. In it, my characters abandon the safe and long-established location for housing—the land—to live on the danger-filled oceans. They do this for various reasons—economic, political, religious, etc. But they don’t act from stupidity. So, doves, I get you now. Sorry I called you idiotic and pea-brained.
(However, when you’re done with that nest, I still plan to remove it and put more nails in the board.)
As I write, a dove sits there, as one has for many days, incubating and turning that egg, unbothered by nails. Unaware, too, I imagine, how its behavior inspires—
Poseidon’s Scribe
