This time of year on campus, the huge palo verde tree near the south entrance to the science building blooms heavily with yellow flowers. I like to walk over before lunch and stand beneath the tree while the flowers shower around me like gold, listen to the bustling bees at work in blooms above me, and wonder at the beauty before the summer blast moves in and dampens the mood. Otherwise, I generally avoid this part of campus, mostly because I don't need to be there, which led me to forget one important change with the seasons. There is a bird that nests in this tree with its young, and when he feels threatened by people, he bombs them as part of his campaign to protect his family.
My bird brained friend is doing what he ought to do. I've seen the large birds, the stray cats that live near campus, and the damaged eggs on sidewalks all around, and so I know he has every reason to be protective. I wish some human fathers would take a page from his book and look out for their offspring with even a tiny fraction of the fervor this bird shows. He knows where to go, how to hit the target, when to hide, and to always be on alert. He doesn't discriminate; adults and children alike risk his bombardment if they come too near by his definition to the nest. Despite the buzz of bees masking the sounds of his nest, he doesn't rely on them to mask the sound or look out for him. He is out there doing it himself, taking responsibility, and so I don't fault him one bit for the momentary surprise or inconvenience.
Most of his attacks orient themselves around the head of the intruder. In addition to myself, I watched him dive bomb students, concessionaires, and other visitors. Usually, he brushes the top of your head with his feet before flying off out of reach once more. When he, to my great surprise, flew down yesterday and perched on my shoulder, I was shocked. In fact, I spun around quickly thinking someone had snuck up on me and grabbed me by the shoulder. For a brief moment, I felt like a Disney Prince, since I managed to get a bird to perch on my shoulder, but I think I got different treatment because he knows me. After he flew away, he made another pass, I told him that I remembered him, and then I never saw him again.
Like I tell my students, the purpose of life is to perpetuate life. Each cell goes through the cell cycle in order to undergo mitosis and create a duplicate copy of itself. When sufficient numbers of cells achieve this, most Eukaryotes then procreate and have offspring. Despite what people tell you and despite what Planned Parenthood exists to do, the purpose of life is to procreate. I'm going home tonight to work in my garden, to nurture the plants, to check on the fruits, to add a few more, to repair the shade net, and to water the dogs. The only kind of husbandry in which I'm engaged is animal husbandry, but my garden is my family. I protect it, I nurture it, and I help it bring forth new life. I do what I can to look out for it. I put a hedge around it, a tarp over it, water beneath it, soil around it, and seeds in it so that when I die, I can say I did what I could to bring more life. Men are that they might have life and have it more abundantly. Maybe I'm a bird brain too, but I'm doing what I believe I ought to do.
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