How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. What we do with this hour, and that one, is what we are doing. –Annie Dillard
In the hardware store I ask for netting to cover my blueberries, netting that won’t harm the snakes. Once long ago I found a black snake dead, tangled up in old netting I’d cast aside in the shed. Another time, I found a live snake caught in a tangled mesh web, and as I held him, he lay docile until I’d cut away every last bit. And I have always sworn that as I set him down in the grass, he looked over his shoulder to thank me as he slithered off in regained freedom.
In the hardware store we go back and forth about whether to buy burlap or frost cloth and finally I’m directed to buy the bird netting that has squares so small a snake can’t slip through. I return home and cover the blueberry bush, laden with berries, clipping the mesh down with clothespins. Pleased and thinking all is well, I sleep peacefully and awaken to the usual routine of feeding the birds and watering the plants.
I hear them before I step outside. Twisting and shrieking, caught upside down in their tumult and tangled in this manmade web of menace are two terrified jays. They’re flapping and thrashing and I fear they will die of fright or injury. At first, I didn’t understand but it doesn’t take a brain surgeon to see what has befallen these two.
I begin speaking calmly, walking slowly towards them. But the closer I come, the more they struggle, putting them at greater risk of death. The one on the outer edge breaks free, but the other I can see is tangled beyond hope. Still, I advance. I begin speaking softly again and reach for him. He flaps and flutters, then goes deathly calm like the black snake so long ago. Yet I can see he’s still alive and I begin to try to pull the black mesh away from his feathers and clinging bird feet, but all the while feeling my attempt will be futile. He remains quiet. I’ve heard there’s a “go-limp” mechanism by which prey animals caught in the mouths of predators simply give up or let go. Acceptance of some greater design. But I also think that when our hearts are set on helping another, when our hearts feel only love and compassion, these emotions are readily transmitted to the animals and they understand. I have never thought humans were at the top of the evolutionary ladder, but rather that animals often far surpass us in their sentience and their emotional capacity. Finally, holding Mr. Jay against my chest, I realize I have him completely free except for one foot, pulled back awkwardly, caught and completely wrapped in the netting. Slowly, I cut it away, and in realizing his freedom, the jay flaps and flutters in one big burst then flies off into the infinite blue sky.
I rip the netting off the berries, pick three pints and decide the birds are welcome to the rest. Never, ever again will I use such a covering. I will buy burlap or simply share our bounty with the wild ones.
Later that day, I am out walking when Sparkle slips partially into a ravine. She scrambles, her front legs straining to drag herself forward, a look of panic in her eyes. I reach and easily pull her out. And I think to myself, I guess this is what we do in life. We rescue one another.