Vancouver winters are characterized by long bouts of rain, starting in October. Like any of the cities along the Pacific Northwest, we start to see life shrink into the muddy depths of soil, going into hibernation until the spring (which is coincidentally also characterized by long bouts of rain). It’s not uncommon to see angles of geese flying south, honking like so many cars stuck in traffic. The birds and bees quite literally go elsewhere. Bear sightings increase and then slowly decrease. Coyotes lope back into the urban swathes of wilderness.
Our home is in a sparsely populated urban area in a suburb that is desperately trying to become more urban. We have hardware stores and lots of parks nearby. I like it most because of the flowers that line our walkway in the summer and the cascading skyline of mountains behind tall fir trees. And the Starbucks that is also conveniently a block away.
It’s fairly normal for bugs to fly into our home. The ideal mix of nature and uncharted territory that is the tall apartment building makes it so bees are fairly (and frighteningly) at home here during the summer. They sometimes die a valiant death trying to get out of the apartment. This is generally not a problem in the winter, and no other creatures have ever made their way in.
This winter day, my husband and I were getting ready to go out to one of the many holiday festivities that seem to start earlier and earlier each year. As I was waiting for him to finish getting ready, I heard a very loud buzzing sound. I turned around to where the windows are, and spotted a hummingbird. A hummingbird! Twelve stories above ground level. In late, rainy (frankly depressing) fall, a fully grown hummingbird had made its way into the home.
Thereby, started an adventure of trying to get it out of the house. We opened all (two) of the living room windows. We switched off the light, figuring the artificial glow was going to attract it. It fluttered overhead as it flew the full length of the living space. I screamed - you would too.
The bird kept hitting the glass windows. It had spotted the horizon and couldn’t get out, regardless of our best efforts to usher it outward. We tried to shoo it to no avail. Finally, exhausted, it settled on the strings that we pull to raise the blinds. It seemed all of us were exhausted by this entire ordeal that had already gone on for the last 15 minutes.
A short while later, it finally - and with no lack of effort - made its way out. We quickly shut the doors and windows before it had any other bright ideas.
As a writer, I’m prone to seeing the symbolism in the unusual. And so I think, it’s the perfect little lesson in unusual things that feed into the mundane. So here goes.
We all, at times, find ourselves in unusual situations, in unfamiliar territory. We are going along in life, when suddenly, we end up somewhere different from where we thought we would be, at a time we didn’t expect to be there. Despite all the best efforts of those around us to open windows and usher us out loudly, we keep hitting our heads against the same obstacles. We can see exactly where we need to be, but can’t seem to find the opening to get there (even though it’s utterly obvious to others).
And when we get tired, it’s okay to stop for a moment and re-evaluate. I’d like to think that Hummingbird needed a second after frantically expending all that energy in one go. Soon enough, those openings become more clear to us as we slowly gather our wits about us again. And then we’re off to where we might need to be next.
I hate to belabour a point, which may have simply been a freak moment of nature. But I can’t help but think some things come to us exactly when we need them, as unwelcome or unwanted as they might be at the time.
So this is a good last thought for 2019. We’re rounding off the decade (if that means anything to you). For those seeking clarity or those facing the unfamiliar (I think we all are), there is always a way. It’s not always totally clear. It helps to listen to those whispering or yelling that way out for you.
For this next year, I hope that clarity becomes more apparent. And that you rest when you need to, before you journey forward.