Beecher B Brown Jr
In 1993, we moved into a three-bedroom, third-floor apartment, in Alexandria, Virginia. Jeannie, my wife hung a wreath on one of the outside balcony walls. For the next seven years, we witnessed multiple babies being born and leaving the nest. by the time they last nested there, we could walk up to the nest and talk to the mother or father setting on eggs or cuddling their babies under their wings. take pictures and show them off to our friends. That nest was a safe and secure home to all who lived there for nearly eight years. They had their last brood of babies in early February. That was the earliest I had known them to breed. We watched mom and dad patiently sit on the eggs through rain, snow, hail and blistering cold winds, After hatching, we watched the babies grow through more of the same conditions and get ready to leave the nest.
We watched the fledglings struggle to leave the confines of the nest. You could see them building the courage to launch themselves into the air and test the destiny of flying in the air. Mom and dad were nearby on a balcony rail or on a nearby limb encouraging them in bird talk to take that leap of faith. One launched wings fluttering radically in the air. He managed to the balcony rail where he perched until enough courage was summoned to launch again. He fluttered and wobbled in the air. but kept wings struggling to land on a limb in the tree just past the balcony guard rail. His journey to independence and to fulfill his purpose in life had begun.
His brother, or sister, wasn't as bold. It was still summoning the courage to face the open early spring air, fraught with dangers beyond the warm comforts of the nest, It finally launched pumping its wings but not quite fast enough. I didn't make it to to the guard rail. It went under it, beyond the balcony floor and wings still flapping descended toward the ground. I pushed the sliding door aside, burst out the door and bent over the guard rail to witness that little bird attacked by a cat just before it hit the ground. Mom and dad left that day. They never returned to that nest and for the remainder of our time in the apartment, we felt like we did when our last child left the nest.
For me, that story tells as much about life as any I could conjure up to describe the beauty and purpose, the warmth and security, the fears and dangers of growing up and love of parents and children, of family, a roof over heads and food for bellies,
and of strength found in supporting one another.
I have eleven siblings. Ten are younger than me. Our parents were not as constant in their support as the doves, Our mother was stronger. She constantly provided emotional and faith-based support. She fed us at times when no one else would have believed there was anything to feed and held us in love that abounds throughout our families. My dad was around us sporadically, abusive, and domineering as alcoholics often are, but whatever condition of the nest we were in, we all managed to leave with our feet on the ground. We have seen a lot of tragedies, learned and progressed from them, made and left a lot of nests, and pray all to be passed on to future generations as blessings helping them surpass all the tragedies they will encounter.
