Freedom, Obligation, and Timekeeping

This post is for Marilyn Meiklejohn, who asked me to explain what I meant when I said on the 100 Thing Challenge Facebook, “I’m reminded that some people live a life of simplicity because it frees them, allows them to have no obligations. I live simply for the exact opposite reason.”

There has been for the last several weeks a mocking bird couple nesting in a bush in our backyard. The bush has tentacular branches, dark green leaves, and vivid purple flowers. My father, who knows a thing or two about gardening, tells me that the plant is commonly referred to as a “potato bush,” though neither he nor I know its botanical name. Two weeks ago the baby mocking bird lifted its beak heavenward and peeped peep, peep, peep, peep like a five-year-old practicing piano with a metronome. Peep, two, peep, four. Peep, two, peep, four. Feed, me, now, four. . .

The parents (I’m not wise enough to discern mother from father) knew this song. The (I’ll just guess) father would hear the music begin and then he would pick up the tune. Up to the ornamental olive tree, over to the chicken wire fence surrounding our garden patch, down onto the soil, hop-hop to the tomatoes where he’d nab a hornworm or some other creepy crawly. Bless his heart! We love tomatoes and dislike worms, except our youngest daughter Bridget, who feels just the opposite. Then the mocking bird would go back the way he came. It all went something like this. Peep, two, peep, four. Olive-tree, chicken-wire, soil, four. Hop, hop, worm, four. Chicken-wire, olive-tree, nest, four. . .

Then the song would stop for a time, because the little baby mocking bird was full. But it was a fleeting silence, because that little baby mocking bird was growing fast and was eating even quicker than that. It’d rest on its tail feathers quiet from the delight of a content stomach. Moments later it’d raise its metronomic beak back up to heaven, which had sent it parents who brought it food. Peep, two, peep, four. Peep, two, peep, four. Feed, me, again, four. . .

Besides giving it food, the only other way to get that little mocking bird baby to stop its musical timekeeping was to go outside and visit it. The moment we slid open the door to our backyard, the music stopped. Peep, two, peep, four. Peep, two, pe--

Then a parent would flutter to the olive tree or else the corner of the deck over our garage that looks down on the potato bush and squawk! “You’re going the wrong way. Squawk! I’m over here. Squawk! Seriously, there’s nothing over there in that potato bush. Squawk! For the love of God, come and get me! Squawk! Squawk!”

We’d apologize to the mother (or father, whichever one it was) and walk over to the potato bush and peek inside at the nest. We’d crick our necks and bulge our eyes trying to see that little melodic timekeeper. But we never got a good look. It was as if when the music died the musician disappeared. This, of course, was because the father (or mother, whichever one it was) squawked out a warning, “Silence! Those foolish spectators are approaching. Be silent and scrunch yourself down into the bottom of the orchestra pit. Squawk!” The little musician was an even better scruncher than singer. The best we could ever do was to see his top-most feathers, which looked a lot like the twigs of a nest.

This past week, however, we’ve seen more of the baby mocking bird. It’s working less on its music and more on its flying. Right now it’s not great at either. In time, however, it will be an expert flier. Mocking birds are deft in the air. And it will stop singing its song, though it will remember its song. The baby will grow up not singing but remembering its song, because at some time in the future it will be obliged to pick up the tune again. It all will go something like this. The sound of peep, peep, peep, peep will stir a memory. “Oh! Oh, yes. I know what that song is.” Peep, two, peep, four. Off, for, food, four. Just, be, patient, four. Here’s, the, worm, four. You’re, my, child, four. And, I, love, you. . .

So here’s my question to those practitioners of simple living who feel that the purpose of living a life of simplicity is to be as free as an uncaged bird. My question is this: Exactly how free is an uncaged bird?

Here’s what I think about the life of simplicity. We make music, to be sure, but not a one of us is a soloist. Our song is either harmonic or out of tune. Living a life of simplicity is not about being unattached, fluttering about crooning freely in whatever manner we choose. The life of simplicity is about removing dissonance so that we can pick up the tune. We’re obliged to the timekeepers.

American-style consumerism is like the clanking of pots and pans during a musical performance. Lots of pots and lots of pans. Calphalon. Le Creuset. All-Clad. Mauviel. There’s this lovely song peep, peep, peep, peep. Peep, two, peep, four helps us keep time and know what we’re supposed to do. American-style consumerism interrupts the rhythm. Peep, two, peep -- BANG BONK BOOM! -- four. Peep -- CLANK CLONK CRASH! -- two, peep, four.

So we remove the pots and pans. Why? So that we can fly away? Is our journey all that matters? Is our freedom all that matters? Do we free ourselves from stuff only so that we can disrupt the song with oursevles?
We are obliged to the timekeepers. Moreover, we are obliged to the Timekeeper. We’re musicians. Timekeepers. It’s our responsibility, not to find ourselves, but to be harmonious.

Comments

[baby sling]

We are a free nation but we sure have commitments to fulfill that keeps us bounded.