The Killdeer is a bird that lays its nest on the ground, a couple of brown-spotted gray eggs in a raised hole of roots and stems, in the middle of a field. When you approach, they act wounded in an attempt to draw your attention away from what they are really concerned about. For thousands of years, evolutionary language has led this fast running and flighted bird to not leave the nest, dive bomb or squawk, not sit and hold down the fort with beak and talons, but rather to limp away with one wing outstretched awkwardly.
Do we do this? In essence, there are things that are like eggs in this world, both physical and in our minds, that we often distract others from, by sometimes, quite literally, flailing in another direction. I am this bird; my nest is my home, and there are many things that act as the roots and stems, but there are these deeply important eggs. In my mind is no different, where again, there are these patterns of thought that are more dear to me than others.
What is in that nest that is so fragile that you feel the need to flail, limp and chirp, so others will pay attention to you as opposed to this thing that you tirelessly care for and labor over? Something that will one day reap life or sow death in your life that you try and keep others away from?
—August Stolba, Land Care and Holistic Ecology Coordinator