It’s not necessary to travel very far from home in order to witness small miracles. Case in point is the view from the large window in our kitchen. The window looks out onto our side yard. In spring and summer most of this area is taken up by a vegetable garden and strawberry patch. But now it’s winter. The garden is just weeds and dirt and the strawberries are dormant. There are four fruit trees; a pear, Gravenstein apple, pluot and a cherry. The trees are dormant now too, their bony branches silently awaiting the bud break of spring.

About 100 yards away in my neighbor’s yard sits a large Coast Redwood. Using the “stick method” for measuring the height of a tree that I learned on YouTube, I found this tree to be well over 100 feet tall. The other day I came into our kitchen and pulled the blinds up to let in the morning light. The redwood is one of the first things I see. I just love looking at this tree. Like a silent sentinel it towers above everything else in our neighborhood. On this particular morning the sky was overcast and gray, a light mist was falling which added an extra glow to the scene. I noticed a large bird fly towards and land in the very top of the redwood. It’s not uncommon for me to observe raptors like Red-tailed and Red-shouldered hawks perched up there. I grabbed my binoculars for a better look and was amazed to see that this bird as a Peregrine Falcon. Over the years, I’ve seen many different species of birds in and around our yard but never a Peregrine. Several decades ago this bird was an endangered species. In all my years of birding I’ve only see them a handful of times. This made my sighting extra special. Peregrines typically eat other birds. They hunt from a high perch. When prey is spotted, they dive down at speeds of up to 200mph. Their prey never has a chance. Now my eyes are really open and on the lookout. Sure enough, the Peregrine returned to the same spot the next day. It made me wonder, just how long had this bird been coming to this tree? I’m sure this wasn’t the first time it had been up there, it was just the first time I had noticed.

Another object that dominates the view from our kitchen window is a 25 foot tall privet tree. These trees start out as bushes but can quickly grow quite tall if not pruned back. Our neighbor clearly has not done any pruning. Every winter the privet is covered with thousands of small purple berries which hang in grape-like clusters. It is a favorite stop for many different birds but the one species that appears to love these berries above all others is the Cedar Waxwing. Waxwings are handsome birds. They are a lovely buff brown. Their crest sweeps back in a kind of hipster hairstyle terminating in a point behind their heads. A dark Cleopatra type mask frames their eyes. The very tip of their tail feathers is bright yellow. When the privet berries are ripe, I often observe flocks of 15-20 birds gorging themselves. I look forward to this spectacle every year. When the berries start to ripen, I know the waxwings are on their way. When the berries are gone, so are the birds. It is a fleeting and beautiful moment.

How many other small miracles have been going on around me unnoticed as I go about the mundane tasks of everyday life?  Miracles small and large are happening everywhere. We simply need to open our eyes to see them.

Last October, for the second time in three years, my family and I were forced to flee our home in the wake of the Kincade Fire. Fortunately, our home and neighborhood escaped unscathed. Having to decide once again what to take with us as we evacuated was a sobering experience. This is what I took:

Your handprints colorfully painted on stones

And your smiles on a golden autumn day

I took you and me

And the time we laughed so hard we cried

I took Hawaii

And our feet in the sand

I took a Santa Cruz sunset

And our apple tree bursting with fruit

I took our garden

And the rich smell of earth on my hands

I took a quilt

And the love that it was made with

I took music 

And songs yet to be sung

I took your pointy little ears

And the way you curl up at the end of our bed

I took the soft hum of the furnace

That warms our home

I took the creak of the porch swing

The song of the wind chimes

The blaze of the fireplace

I didn’t know what to take

So I tried to take it all

My wife Carol and I bought our first house, the one we currently live in, in November of 2002. Our home sits at the end of a cul-du-sac in a quiet neighborhood on the northwestern edge of Santa Rosa, CA. On one side of our front yard is a thick row of hedges. They’re about ten feet high and give us complete privacy from the neighbors. These hedges are also the home to various nesting birds in the spring and provide shade in the hot summer months.

A couple of years after we moved in, I came home from work one afternoon and noticed a tiny oak tree peeking out from the hedges. This tree was perhaps five feet tall and only a couple of inches around. It was trying to escape the darkness of the hedgerow so it was growing at a weird angle, almost perpendicular to the ground, its tiny branches reaching bravely towards the sun. I immediately fell in love with this little tree. I thought it was so cool, the randomness of it all that this tree had managed to survive long enough to grow out of the hedges and show itself to me. I was seeing one of the wonders of nature in action right here in my own yard. 

Seeds spread in many ways. Some hitch a ride on the fur of an animal or at the bottom of a shoe. Some drift down a river or sail across the ocean. Others are carried by the wind. Still others are pooped out by animals. Eventually a few of these seeds land, take root and grow. This is how a forest begins. The acorn that spawned our tree was most likely carried here, buried and forgotten by a squirrel.

The first thing I did was to drive a metal fencepost into the ground beside the tree. I pulled the tree as straight up as I could and secured it to the post and cut away some of the surrounding hedges to allow more sunlight in. That was it. I figured if this tree was strong enough to survive to this point, it didn’t need much more in the way of help from me.

As I write this our little tree isn’t so little anymore. The circumference at its base is 40 inches. I estimate it to be around 20 years old. About ten feet up from the ground the tree starts to branch, with one thick limb growing out from each side of the trunk. Another seven or eight feet up and it branches again, this time in a “v”. The branching continues, with limbs getting progressively thinner until the tree tops out, its spindly fingers touching the sky at around 35 feet. 

It’s winter now, the tree is bare except for a few oak galls that cling stubbornly to the branches. I love watching the seasons change through our oak. The first tiny shoots of spring give way to the verdant leaves of summer. This tree is so tall and broad now that when fully leafed out, it shades our entire front yard. The foliage is thick enough to offer birds sufficient cover to build their nests in. Flocks of bushtits move through the tree, foraging for food. Downy and Hairy woodpeckers can be seen drilling its bark for insects. Our resident Black Phoebe uses its branches as a taking off point for its hunting forays. Cedar Waxwings, Ruby Crowned Kinglets, titmice, scrub jays and mockingbirds can all be found at one time or another in its branches. I often see the Hooded Oriole, a spring and summer resident, sitting in the uppermost branches, its flaming orange breast and jet black crown catching the first rays of the rising sun. In autumn enough leaves fall for me to rake a respectable pile. I’m tempted to behave like a five year old and dive right in. Of course there are acorns, many of them. They litter our lawn, driveway and the sidewalk in front of our house. They’re a bit of a hassle to deal with but I don’t mind. Our yard has become a favorite gathering place for squirrels. Which brings me to this morning.

As I was planting bulbs in the flower beds underneath our front window,  I noticed several small plants that had just barely broken through the soil. Their stems were pale red and covered with tiny, very fine hairs. Atop each plant were four tiny pale green leaves. I dug down with my spade and saw that each of these shoots was connected to…an acorn! Clearly this was a good place for our oak tree to start a family. There was something about these tiny trees that put a smile on my face and filled me with hope. Perhaps it was seeing first hand the miracle and beauty of new life, of rebirth. If an acorn can survive being eaten by animals or getting stomped on by humans long enough to grow into a majestic oak tree like ours, then anything seemed possible. 

We are living in angry and uncertain times, I don’t  need to tell you that. As author Kurt Vonnegut once said, the world situation is “desperate as usual.” One of the most distressing things I see is people losing hope; hope for themselves, hope for the future. Well, I refuse to give up hope. I firmly believe that love is stronger than hate, hope more powerful than despair. I also believe that we can find a way out of the mess the world currently finds itself in. How about we start right now, one acorn at a time.