The Stories We Tell Ourselves
On book piles, bird sex, and everyday creative practices
I began this Substack in January to foster a space where curiosity, nature, and creativity could coexist. I hope to offer some inspiration while giving myself the joy of dedicated writing time and a weekly deadline.
As part of this practice, I wander my home each week, perusing shelves like a library visit. My very own, curated so perfectly that it’s challenging to find something not to love. As I jot notes about topics that interest me and concepts I want to explore, I gather up little piles of books related to those ideas.
Suddenly, squirrels and their behavior make more sense. As they hop limb to branch, I scuttle from one room to the next. As they stash acorns and sunflower seeds in beech trees and under decaying logs, I tuck a stack of poetry books next to my bed to read at night or pile volumes of essays near the yellow chair by the window.
So when a week’s worth of tiredness landed on me last night, I gave myself the gift of sleep and permission to spend my Sunday observing, reading, writing, and readying this week’s post rather than rushing to meet my arbitrary morning deadline.
I hope it may prove as worth it for you as it has for me.
Perhaps this week will offer you a moment to nurture what brings you joy and leave a ‘should’ by the wayside.
The Stories We Tell Ourselves
I wasn’t going to write about the vultures this week. But they returned this morning and perched together on the barn door, soaking in the sunshine of a cool February day, watching the sky and me. These are the mating days when black vultures return to breeding sites that have proven successful. These are the only days that reveal which bird is male and female.
Black vultures aren’t like other recognizable species with noticeable color differences between sexes. Like mallard ducks, for example – the male with his gleaming jewel tones, and the female a collage of tree bark and fallen leaf hues. The only absolute determination for male or female black vultures is genetic testing. Or to observe a bonded pair mating.
Yet, each year, I study these birds, trying to tell them apart, latching on to one defining characteristic to help me believe, ‘Yes, I know this bird.’ One bird’s soft round eyes, like deep amber in direct sunshine, milk chocolate in shade. These eyes have looked me in the eye since 2020. They express no fear and trust me to leave the fledglings in my presence. Yet this adult also keeps a safe distance for itself and its young.
When one of the adults went missing in 2021, leaving the remaining adult to raise the fledgling (Poppy), I watched its behavior, saw those eyes, and believed the surviving bird was the female parent.
So when a black vulture with those same curious brown eyes returned on February 9, 2022, and then again on February 14 with a new mate, I knew it was the surviving adult, and I believed it was the female, Mama Vee.
In the new mate, I noticed a striking difference in its eyes: this bird sported a furrowed curmudgeon brow like this Muppet character. With this crucial difference, I watched and documented, still sure those tender eyes belonged to the female. Any questions about my theory, well, I brushed those aside, at times more sure in my belief than in my observations.
When they returned two weeks ago, I cried with relief and joy. Their return is never inevitable, and not knowing what happens to these parents and their offspring when they leave my barn is a thought to release to the wind. So, on days like today, I continue to wait for moments when I can discern the eyes of each vulture and then watch for mating behavior to know who’s who.
Every so often I wonder why it’s so important to me to know.
This morning, the adult with the curious, mellow, chocolate-kiss eyes, the adult who has been here each year since 2020, that adult
stood tall next to its mate,
spread its wings wide,
stretched the back of its neck,
tucked its beak into the fluffy chest feathers,
and mounted its mate.
And just like that, the thing I thought I knew, the story I believed, changed.
The surviving black vulture, returning year after year, is the male.
I have been sharing the story of these birds for nearly five years, seeing the details that affirmed the story I wanted to tell.
Is this how the stories of our lives come to be and carry on?
Maybe this is how we elevate consciousness…noticing our own stories just as we observe a cardinal perched outside the kitchen window without attaching meaning.
Maybe we can’t separate our stories from what we believe they mean…like whether that visiting cardinal seeks berries or offers the spirit of a loved one.
Maybe the quest to understand our stories tethers us to their perceived importance… a comforting thread that is familiar, that we can say we know, even if it pulls too tight or barely holds us together.
Maybe we tell ourselves the stories we want to hear.
Maybe we should sit in silence and watch a dogwood bloom.
Currently Reading
“Something More Suitable”
By Andrew McFadyen-Ketchum from Fight or Flight
Please My Love dig a hole In the earth And drop me inside And bury me over with earth And build a fire where I lie And wait for my return As a red-winged blackbird As white noise As a drop of water On the tip of a leaf And I will come to you Each night And no one but you will know I am still here
Just four minutes…
Who? Here are some ideas: Mary Oliver, Billy Collins, Jack Gilbert, Rupi Kaur, Joy Harjo, Terrance Hayes, Amanda Gorman, and Ada Limón. The list goes on!
Who are your favorites?
Journaling prompt…
Andrew McFadyen-Ketchum’s book Fight or Flight has a poem titled “On the First Anniversary of Divorce.”
Use the beginning of that title as your prompt and write for 5-10 minutes.
On the first anniversary of…
See where it leads you.
If you enjoyed this week’s edition of “A Curious Nature”, I hope you may choose to subscribe, drop your thoughts below, or share with a friend. Thank you!
Wow, this was so good. I had no ideas vultures had paired mates and would return year after year.
I loved the poem, the story about vultures, and your writing prompt. Thanks for everything.