🍃So-Slow Book Club, Week 11🍃
Seasons, aging, and the hope inherent in nature's "new normal"
This post is part of a weekly “slow book club” series exploring Margaret Renkl’s “The Comfort of Crows.” Jump in anytime!
The other day I was walking my usual favorite route, and saw one of my usual favorite sights - a group of deer walking quite casually across the road in front of me, then bounding into the ravine on the other side.
There was one thing about the sight that wasn't quite so usual, though - a fawn, still spotted and quite small. My brain struggled to make sense of this information. I'm used to seeing baby deer in the early summer, perhaps the late spring, but never winter. And while young, this deer was up on its feet, running with the herd - clearly not a newborn. In late February. Is this normal?
I Googled it, and it turns out the answer is "maybe." While most deer are born around May, that's not always the case, and a late-fall baby could still have spots and look quite small in February.
Still, I can't remember ever seeing such a small fawn this time of year. The image felt out of place and triggered a deep-down "wait, what am I seeing here?" reaction.
With discussion and effects of climate change ever-present these days, it's hard to know how many of the "hmm, this ain't normal" stuff is actually abnormal, and how much of it was happening before without our notice.
And at some point, I suppose, what was once "abnormal" just becomes normal again. What will "normal" look like in the future? It's uncomfortable to imagine. At 46, I want my normal to look the way normal has always looked.
I thought of that baby deer as I read Chapter 11 of The Comfort of Crows yesterday. Renkl begins the chapter by observing some of the "not normal" and worrisome effects of out-of-whack seasons, shifts into musing about aging and what's ahead for her in the season of life she's calling her "final third", and finally, ends on a hopeful and quite lovely note, sharing a moment from nature that instills hope, even if unexpected for the season.
What will "normal" look like in the future? It's uncomfortable to imagine. At 46, I want my normal to look the way normal has always looked.
"Radiant things are bursting forth in the darkest places," she writes, and it inspires me to look for them as well, even if the "radiant things" aren't quite what I'm expecting to see during any given month. A baby deer is never an unhappy thing to see, after all, no matter the time of year, and there is hope to be found in the way nature carries on.