Hummingbirds, Snails, and a Heron

Oh my. The fires should be enough to tell me I’m in a different land, but there are so many other signs. Forget the obvious ones, like cactuses and palm trees. I can honestly say I’ve never seen as many hummingbirds as I have in the past few months. I’m sure they exist in the northeast and southeast, but I don’t remember seeing them. I admire their blurry-winged flights daily here. While walking up to a neighbor’s door the other evening, I gasped because I almost stepped on a snail. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve come across one of those. And then one of my favorite encounters . . . I was banging away at my keyboard, working out the final pages of my WIP, when a fascinating heron lands on our deck and decides to perform an elaborate act. Highly entertaining. Five stars. Needless to say, it was a lovely distraction.

I’m enjoying being awake to my surroundings here.

I’ve forgotten what rain sounds like. I almost ran downstairs last week because I thought it might be raining and I wanted to see it, but the gushing sound was only the lawn sprinklers. Certain trees rain here though. Not really, but they drizzle on your head. I haven’t figured out the name of these raining trees, but I have identified that they have flower blossoms in them. It’s pretty wild, and if I close my eyes when I’m under one of these trees I like to pretend I’m being rained on.

I share these things for two reasons. One, paying attention to everything around me helps me to feel more engaged with life. Two, moving like this has done a real number on selecting settings for my novels. Connecticut or New England has been home to most of my characters. I lived there for almost half of my life. It’s the place where my roots had the best chance to grow. During the short stopover in Georgia, I tried to envision characters there. Georgia never cemented as a fresh setting. California, however, is vining around me like a gorgeous Clematis. My eyes are opening to its thriving habitat, the land, and the people. I’m taking it all in. And maybe one day it’ll show up as the backdrop to a whole new cast of characters. Wonder if a heron will show up in that book?

To Nest or Not To Nest

When we moved to our new home in Georgia a little over a year ago, I had plans. I was determined to root and to do all I could to help my girls to acclimate to the area. I foolishly believed we’d be in this house for a long time, maybe forever. My determination to feel settled turned into a mild obsession. I researched everything. I memorized streets, programs, and other aspects of the community. In time, I’ve come to understand I’d been mimicking the behavior of a mama bird. Wiring in my brain triggered me to make this place home in every way possible.

While attempting to ingrain in our new surroundings to the best of my abilities, I simultaneously found myself hesitating. And I never understood what was behind that hesitation . . . until now.

One year later and we’re headed to a new home. California here we come. I’m about to hit the restart button on all that acclimating and adapting.

I liken my experience here in Georgia to a bird I grew quickly fascinated by outside my office window last year. The mama bird captivated me as she gathered grass and fronds, creating a messy nest atop a column. I loved watching her work, and even captured a few photos. Mama bird proved a nice distraction from writing on more than one occasion. In hindsight, I’m glad I took the time to study this bird.

Because she’s me.

She fretted and swooped and tamped down twigs before they could fall, but they fell anyway. The mama bird never did lay eggs in the nest she spent hours to build. After I told my mom about the bird, she informed me some birds create fake nests to distract predators from the real ones. I wouldn’t say our current home is a fake nest, but I do see now how temporary this stop-over in Georgia was. I’d laugh at my crazy attempts to root and nest, if it weren’t so human—such a mom thing to do.

Building a safe place for my girls is my highest calling—teaching them resiliency through change, strength through opposition, bravery through trying times. The older I get, the more I’m beginning to grasp that a home doesn’t exist inside brick or stucco walls.

Home is the security that comes from trusting that you’re loved where you are—wherever that may be.