fish-hawks

After soon nine years, I have recently grown to the point that I decided no longer to feel obliged to write and post every single morning without fail, and I gave myself the liberty to decide and choose day by day; and I do skip some days. Though it no longer causes readers to email, text, and ring to make sure I'm still alive as it did early on, skipping is not good where intentional habits are concerned, including mental habits such as the thinking that goes into writing, because eventually the habit will drift off and fade away. I was remembering that this way of habits was the reason in my growing up years, that my parents never let there be a question on Sunday morning, "Well, shall we go to church today?" We just got ready, got in the car, and went to church, no exceptions ever, because the decision was made and permanent. I remember it from the late 1930s. And if there was any grumbling, "Why do we have to go to church?", I never but my sister may have, she was the gutsy one, my father always came back with his proverb that I've often recalled here, "We don't go to church because we have to, we go to church because we want to". And as I've said, it was always quite clear that if you weren't going because you want to, you were damn well going anyway because you had to. 

So, back to my thought, habits can be good for life and health. Daily exercise, for example, a long walk after coffee but before breakfast. I did that for some years especially after Kristen was born in January 1993, and doubtless am alive today and came through my decade ago heart event because of that very good habit. 

But as to this blogging habit, generally the only time I may blogpost more than once in a day is the Sundays when I'm the designated preacher. And I'll do that later today, posting this morning's sermon transcript as soon after church as reasonably convenient; I started that not out of any pride whatsoever, but because of a promise to a dear friend in 2014, and've not missed posting one since, doze on as you will.

For this early morning, though, I'm watching the fish-hawks again, here they are just now as I write, under the infra-red light. 

Yesterday I spent a good several hours both watching them and reading about Ospreys. And while watching, moving the red time line back and forth to see what had happened earlier in their day. At one point the father bird - - he's the one with the clear white breast, the mother has a necklace of brown feathers - - the father bird flew up with a fish, but nobody paid any attention, so he dug into it himself. At another point, one of the chicks hopped over and took a few pecks at a live fish, still flapping. 

Maybe what I enjoyed most was two things, one, the view of their situation that showed all the way across the creek and the other bank, the far side. Maybe the camera angle had been adjusted, IDK. At times last year, the camera was focused so I could see, and hear, highway traffic in the background, an interstate or other busy highway going by the Boulder County Fairgrounds. 

The other thing I enjoyed was watching the father osprey feed the chicks while the mother took a break on the other side of the nest. I'm sure that happens, but for the most part, it's the father's job to catch the fish and the mother's job to clutch the catch, tear off bits, and feed the chicks. So, I liked seeing the father feeding the two chicks, and he seemed to do it fairly and by turn so that each chick had supper. Or breakfast or dinner, I neglected to note the time of day. As a father myself, and this is Fathers Day, I loved being deeply involved in my children's lives.

And all of it reminded me of the fish-hawks circling by in William Alexander Percy's poem  "His Peace". In keeping, I suppose, with the poem itself, our Episcopal hymn tune is a bit somber compared to the bright tune I liked better that we sang from the Lutheran Book of Worship when I was in seminary fall 1980 to spring 1984; but the poem is quite moving and its message is clear: to follow the Lord Jesus is not a calling without risk. 

Here's Percy's entire poem including the first verse that sets the meditative tone but that was left off the hymn adaptation. 

They Cast Their Nets in Galilee The poem His Peace appeared in the 1924 book Enzio's Kingdom and Other Poems by William Alexander Percy. The last four verses of the poem became the hymn They Cast Their Nets in Galilee, and entered the Hymnal 1940 with the tune Georgetown, composed by David McK. Williams in 1941. The tune received its name out of friendship for F. Bland Tucker, who was then rector of St. John's Church, Georgetown Parish, D.C. His Peace I love to think of them at dawn Beneath the frail pink sky, Casting their nets in Galilee And fish-hawks circling by. Casting their nets in Galilee Just off the hills of brown Such happy, simple fisherfolk Before the Lord came down. Contented, peaceful fishermen, Before they ever knew The peace of God that filled their hearts Brimful and broke them too. Young John who trimmed the flapping sail Homeless in Patmos died. Peter, who hauled the teeming net, Head down was crucified. The peace of God, it is no peace, But strife sowed in the sod. Yet brothers pray for but one thing -- The marvelous peace of God!