Room With a View
Having a view is one of the best and most unsung gifts I’ve enjoyed since I retired in 2022. What surprises me is that it took me almost 50 years of working to realize it.
Right now, one of my favorite things to do is to write at my kitchen table which provides a fabulous view of the back deck through sliding glass doors, and into the woods of the nature preserve beyond. It is beautiful and peaceful, especially in these colder months.
When I was still working, I set up my home office in the den during the pandemic. I got a desk that fit in the space and looked out toward the front of the house. Not much of a view there—mostly just the rest of the den. In my last job, for over 15 years, my office window looked out into a doorway vestibule. To feel less like a zoo exhibit that everyone peered at as they passed by, I closed the blinds. Hence, no view.
With my current view of the deck, I see so much nature. We have a bird feeder on the deck, so we are visited by all kinds of wonderful feathered friends—nuthatches, chickadees, finches, wrens with their sticky-uppy tails, red-bellied woodpeckers, cardinals, blue jays, and countless other bird species grace our feeder. We even had an appearance recently from a great crested flycatcher, and a flyby from a vulture who needed a rest on the deck rail. And, of course, the antics of the inevitable squirrels—who are delightfully fun to watch doing gymnastics to get a meal. We seem to have gained at least one resident possum. That’s in addition to the deer, fox, turkeys, and other incredible wildlife we see at the edge of our yard.
There is a downside, even though it is rare. Sometimes birds will accidentally fly into the glass doors. None that I know of in the 17 years we have lived here has ever died; they’re usually just stunned. We put pane dividers on the doors, intending to make it easier for the birds to avoid the glass. There are numerous other solutions available via Google.
A couple of weeks ago, I heard an unusually loud thump—one so loud that it startled me. My heart sank when I realized what it probably was. As I got up from the table, I was seized with sadness as I spotted the victim, a little sparrow who was out cold on his back. Of course, our three kitty boys—all indoor cats—like the view too, and they were very excited, eyes glued to the drama unfolding on the other side of the glass.
I watched the bird for a little while and he or she did not move. Her little eyes were closed and she didn’t appear to be breathing. Tears came to my eyes; I didn’t want it to be true. But apparently it was. It had been about five, maybe 10 minutes, and there was no movement. I said a prayer hoping the bird’s soul was welcomed into the afterlife. Resigned, I went to the garage to get a shovel. I would place the bird’s body in the woods, where at least it would feed the cycle of life.
I took my time, having to dig under things in the garage to locate the shovel. I found the shovel and brought it into the kitchen. When I reached the glass doors, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The little sparrow was gone. So either a really swift hawk swept in and grabbed the sparrow’s body from the deck, or my little buddy had finally come to his senses and flown away home. I was overjoyed. The cats would say nothing about the bird’s seemingly miraculous resurrection.
Sometimes, the gift of a view is a distraction from my work—a minute to breathe. Other times I feel a profound sense of connection—to the season, to the other living beings I share the planet with. Most of all it’s a connection to the rhythm of life around me. It’s something beautiful and free and it’s not clamoring for my attention.
The goings-on in nature, for the many years I spent living in one big city or another, had become a mystery to me; even unimportant. It took retirement to realize the need for having a view of nature while I write or read. It makes a huge difference, and if you can find or create one, I highly recommend it for the year ahead. ▼
Beth Shockley is a retired senior writer/editor living in Dover with her wife and furbabies.