Currently walking around one of my former favorite layovers that’s been upgraded to mainline service. Previous accommodations slightly improved, location alone by a factor of 100. Confused as to what to do with an entire day of no obligations, three tries at rising early finally prove worthwhile. First, a run along the shore. With paths like this, the memories of hotel bicycles being a California thing come to the forefront of my mind. Three hundred feet into the run, stop the workout, return to base, pack your trusty satchel for an adventure, attempt number two. Without much delay, time for plan C. Bicycles have all been checked out.
A slight tightness in my left calf pushes me to take this bag packed for the day and enjoy a nice walk. Remembering this hotel’s convenient location, beaches quickly fall behind me as a nearby bird sanctuary entices the amateur ornithologist in me to bump up these rookie numbers of species identified this year. What was a meteoric start in January of this year has plateaued while other pursuits have vanquished what some call “me time.” Nonetheless, a quick five minute walk to the east brings me to this pond with everything I need to make the most of this time.
Touting hundreds of species identified here, logging into eBird and Merlin initiates a process within me where I start clearing the dust on my observational skills and attempt to recall some basic knowledge of the distinctions visible in birds of this area. Song sparrow here, ruddy duck there. Time passes and the usual suspects are quickly accounted for in my records.
Shortly a bench atop a small dock jetting into the lake, a lake that almost perfectly conceals the life that constrains this quaint pond on all borders, offers me a moment to collect these thoughts. A month of constant motion removes any semblance of guilt while I sit here and stare into the wisps of fog that dance between these birds. Slowly, as I peer deeper into this refuge, named after a young girl who died of meningitis in her teenage years, I begin to see more. Sometimes with the eyes, mostly with my other senses. Anna’s hummingbirds, black phoebes, and scaly-breasted munias serenade me while polarized lenses make thousands of small fish appear underneath the murky fresh water.
Moments later a large group of people make their way into this tiny dock where the faint whistles of the Santa Barbara Zoo train echo. Not to get all high and mighty, but there’s other benches around. Why did they choose mine?
Always one to say hi, salutations are returned and slowly they drift further along the path to the next dock bench, where I can return back to this moment.
A handful or two prompts written in my journals remind me there’s been a lot of experiences as of late that I’ve have yet to transcribe. Our annual trip to Idaho became the foundation of a July where moments like this, alone, quiet, no immediate tasks to be completed (minus a few thousand unread emails and grant proposals that need to be tended to) were non-existent. Often taking a few seconds here and there to replay these memories in the hopes of finding what this pond has been showing me, I’m yet again yearning for the time, not necessarily to provide the opportunities I have been fortunate enough to partake in this month, but to sit in the tranquility of one’s self to find the deeper joy in those moments and record them for easier reruns in the future.
Life is quite busy, and these moments are quickly fleeting in the rigors of our modern lives. The irony is not lost on me that devices such as this phone where I type these words possess the capabilities to make this rerun process quite simple. Conversations with some amazing people I’m privileged to have known remind me that these slower mediums offer venues where which these reruns have more impact. Not necessarily the most popular outlets in our time-critical lives, but at least for me, worth more than any camera could capture.
Yearning more for these moments, and their infinite replays in my mind. And when those recordings slowly fade, the words written during these memories will have to suffice, until newer ones can be created and forged in the hearts of us all.
I’m supposed to be counting birds, alas my soul has succumbed to these introspective moments that as much beauty as Lake Powell has, or as many cheese curds Wisconsin has, I wish these moments upon us all. Quiet tender moments where we can count our many blessings, set our minds on those things below the surface, and our hearts outside of our own selves.