Okay. We really didn’t “build” anything. We purchased a pricey, fancy-schmancy, squirrel-proof bird feeder, filled it with equally pricey no-mess bird seed, hung it in a tree, and they came—birds young and old, male and female. Business at our Seed Smorgasbord was sluggish at first, but once word got out you might say these winged creatures flocked to our neck of the woods. My guy and I often spend time on the deck observing the comings and goings of these avian beings. Binoculars aid us in identifying certain markings, and then we flip through our Birds of Ohio guide to determine the exact species. We’re up to fifteen types now, all of which have been alphabetically chronicled in an Excel spreadsheet. Yep. We’re officially Bird Nerds.

Just weeks after our initial foray into all things birds, we expanded our operation with the addition of a hummingbird feeder. According to our handy, dandy bird book, only the Ruby-throated Hummingbird spends time in the Buckeye state. So far we’ve witnessed only a male (or perhaps more than one male) stopping by to quench his thirst with our free nectar.

It seems logical that some bird families would take up residence near a 24-hour diner, which is exactly what happened this spring as two robin couples chose our yard as a place to settle down and start a family. Nests were constructed, eggs were laid and then hatched, producing triplets for each set of parents. I wish I could report that the infant mortality rate was zero, however, that’s not the case. Sadly, I’ve found three fledglings who didn’t survive. And that’s not all. We’ve also had three adult birds meet a natural or unnatural demise as well.

At first I was a bit distressed over finding the remains of so many birds. Is it possible this new-found hobby that brings so much life, song, and beauty to an otherwise tranquil landscape can also contribute to the low-lying cloud of sadness that hovers over our homestead always poised to shed its droplets of grief? And even more so, am I ready to take that on? The obvious answer is “yes.” Our backyard bird oasis is merely a microcosm of the yin and yang of life—good and bad, positive and negative, beginnings and endings. And in the creature world, survival of the fittest is the norm not the exception, as is the very real existence of a food chain. (You can thank me later for the science refresher.)

I recently resumed my role as a volunteer with a local hospice after completing a mandatory one-year hiatus. I’m generally assigned one patient at a time, whom I visit  weekly or bi-weekly. I enjoy the camaraderie and connections gained via time spent with these individuals. I’m a captive audience of one as they share stories about their life, family, careers, hobbies, and more. I guess hospice volunteering is another way I invite “endings” into my life, though I don’t look at it that way. I am grateful for the opportunity to create a bond or friendship that won’t be defined by its length, but instead is focused on sharing, caring, and creating a space where reflection, laughter, and tears abound, often all within the same visit. I had such an experience today with my current patient who has chosen to spend her final days at the home she shares with her husband. Her hospital bed has been placed next to a large window where she can pass some of the daylight hours observing her own flock of winged friends who visit the feeders hanging within her view. I haven’t asked, but I’m hopeful that a connection to nature comforts her and provides her with some sense of peace.

This post’s (slightly modified) title is taken from a favorite movie, Field of Dreams, and its clever storyline that connects this realm with another. And so it seems fitting that it should be wrapped up with a quote from another treasured flick, The Lion King:

“It’s the Circle of Life and it moves us all, through despair and hope, through faith and love, ’til we find our place on the path unwinding.”

The Circle of Life is a real, normal, and necessary part of human and animal existence. And for me, the birds that stop by to nourish themselves within the confines of our yard serve as a reminder of this cycle. An “end” isn’t just for the elderly or infirm, but also happens to the young who seem so full of life and potential. I have witnessed both.