Once upon a time, a pair of swallows decided to build a nest in our garage. We never thought the eggs they laid would hatch; the odds were stacked against them. They had chosen to build their nest atop the metal box mounted on the ceiling that housed our automatic garage door opener. Every time we opened or closed our garage door, it must have felt like an earth tremor in that little nest. Yet, they hung in there.

The Mama and Papa would diligently take turns sitting on their eggs. We watched them come and go, trading places, never leaving the nest unattended. As they persisted, we became invested in their story. We were rooting for them.

When we realized the eggs had hatched, we stopped parking our car in the garage stall beneath which their nest sat. We pulled up lawn chairs on those summer days and sat with our gazes firmly fixed on the baby birds as they began to hop to the edge of the nest and then retreat back down into the cozy confines of the only home they had ever known. We held our breaths each time any one of them came close to taking the leap.

In the end, we never got to witness the fall from the nest, but we did see the little fellows once they were safely on the ground. The Mama (I always assumed it was the mother :) would call to them repeatedly, insistently, until they hopped their way outside to join her.

This is their story.

Just Breathe
Lucy Mathews Heegaard © 2009

I watched the swallow learn to fly
Caught between the earth and sky
But just as we all live and die
The swallow had to try

I listened to the mother call
Beckon her child to fall
No leap of faith is small
But the will to survive is in us all

Just breathe the sky
With open eyes
Just breathe
Breathe
And fly

I heard the baby’s crying song
As the mother coaxed her along
We all need a call to urge us on
But it’s our own voice that makes us strong

I saw the baby tumble down
Leave the next without a sound
Sometimes the way to higher ground
Means risking comforts that we’ve found

Just breathe the sky
With open eyes
Just breathe
Breathe
And fly

The empty nest sat alone
A familiar place outgrown
In the space between the foreign and the known
The silence tells a story of its own

Just breathe the sky
With open eyes
Just breathe
Breathe
And fly

Credits: Music and lyrics by Lucy Mathews Heegaard. Vocals and ukulele by Lucy. Harmony vocals by Jeff Tuttle. Synth pad by Barbara McAfee. Recorded at Wild Sound Studio, Minneapolis, Minnesota. Engineered and mixed by Matthew Zimmerman. Mastered by Steve Kaul.

Photograph at top ©2008 Lucy Mathews Heegaard Gulf Coast Sunset.

 

A photo essay on hiking in Tortolita Mountain Park in suburban Tucson, Arizona, during an abundant wildflower season. Click the image below to enter the story.

©2019 Lucy Mathews Heegaard Arizona wildflowers hiking in Tucson

A souvenir apron from New York City in 1964 becomes an enduring love note from my grandmother.

November 19, 1964. My grandmother—on her first and only trip to New York City from Alabama where she lived her entire life— bought this apron on the day I was born. 

After waiting a week for my birth, never venturing far so that she and my grandfather would be ready to take care of my sister while my parents went to the hospital, my grandmother nor my mother saw any signs that my arrival was imminent. With a return train to Alabama booked for the next day, my grandmother and grandfather went out to sightsee.

I would like to think that they made it to all the sights and attractions shown on the apron. I wish I knew exactly where she bought it, but the sheer fabric, the muted yellow color, and the pink accents make it clear to me why she chose it. It looks like so many of the delicate, feminine things she cherished during her lifetime. 

Near the end of the day, while my grandparents were still out, my mother went into labor. Not more than a few hours after I was born, my grandmother and grandfather arrived at the hospital to meet me. 

The fold lines on the apron are indelibly creased into the fabric, and there are no signs of use to indicate that my grandmother ever wore it. I take that to mean it was a treasure to her that she wanted to keep in pristine condition for me so that I would have an artifact of the day I was born. More importantly, I believe she kept it this way so I would always have evidence that she was there.

vintage apron 1964. photograph ©2017 Lucy Mathews Heegaard.

Given that I like to focus on positive, hopeful, nurturing messages and stories, I never thought I would write a post with the title I have given this one. But the truth is, everything is not always rosy. And not everything turns out the way you wish it would.

Part travelogue, part insider tips on the Minneapolis-St. Paul airport, and part confessional, this is a chronicle of my experience trying to get somewhere without success yesterday. Thunderstorms and flooding in the Atlanta area led to over 3,000 flight cancellations that began the day of the storm and rippled into the next several days, impacting flights across the country. I never made it farther than a few hundred yards from my gate and the airplane never traveled faster than I can walk on a slow day, yet luckily there were still some silver linings.

Travel Delays Headaches Snafus

Since I created this piece on Adobe’s Spark platform, which is becoming one of my favorite tools for quickly journaling an idea or telling a story, you have to click one the image above (or HERE) to read the 12 things I learned.