This morning in my garden I found the top of the clay birdbath in three pieces, straddling one of the rose bushes. I looked for evidence of the culprit and immediately Lindsay Barrett George’s In the Garden: Who”s Been Here? came to mind.
 
On Sunday my sister-in-law was going on about trying to control the chipmunks in her backyard and all I could think of was Chippy Chipmunk Parties in the Garden by Kathy M. Miller.
 
I often find myself feeling a bit like Kevin Henkes’ Lily if I am engrossed in a conversation or experiencing something wonderful and all I can say is, “Wow.”
 
When you are familiar with a number of picture books, lots of things can bring them to mind. They get in your head and almost become a part of you. When my son, Brian, was little he had a favorite bedtime book called The Penguin That Hated the Cold by Barbara Brenner. There was a repeating line in the book that went something like – It’s silly to be chilly. I will go someplace where I can be warm. Years later, Brian had to decide between two colleges. Both had the program he was interested in and both accepted him, but one was in Miami and the other was in Boston. You guessed it, it was not a hard decision for Brian. He simply turned to us and said, “It’s silly to be chilly.”
 
Picture books can explain a lot.
 

We sat around the table – six novice picture book writers with copies of our budding manuscripts. We were joined by the critique leader – a published picture book author. Intimidating? Yes! Heart-pounding scary? Yes! One person read a manuscript (not her own) aloud while the rest listened, then commented.
 
I passed my story to the reader, my hand trembling slightly. My heart started pounding. My mouth was suddenly completely dry, all that moisture rerouted to my palms. I listened to the words I had written and revised and written and revised – a sigh of relief at “The End,” then more anxiety as comments were shared.
 
Over the course of my workshop weekend I participated in three critique group sessions and a first pages sharing with an editor. My “baby” was cut…and cut…and cut, revised…and revised…and revised, emerging as a new being (who still needs some nurturing). It was the most humbling, but at the same time rewarding, experience I have had in a long time. I learned to let go.
 
Note: If you have the opportunity to attend a Highlights Foundation Workshop, I highly recommend it. I attended “Picture Books and All That Jazz” this past weekend at the barn. I learned so much about picture book writing (and I thought I already knew a lot!) I was stretched and nudged in many ways, and I know I have grown as a writer.

​Around the middle of May I started to notice changes in the balance of amount and types of birds in the garden. It was about the time that I became aware of the presence of a house sparrow nest. Initially I was encouraged to find a new blue bird nest (with five eggs) by the hydrangeas. The beautiful tree swallows were happily residing by the maple tree. Every day they kept Allan company as he watered his patch of newly planted grass. But there were other changes I began to notice – larger birds at the meal worm feeder and a noticeable absence of chickadees.
 
I hadn’t seen any blue birds for a few days, so this morning I checked the nest. The eggs are still there, but there is a large hole in one – not a crack as if it were beginning to hatch, but a hole. The tree swallows, diligent in the protection of their nest, did not appear as I walked by. There are definite changes.
 
In my gardening journal on May 11, I wrote:
Everything I have read indicates that house sparrows should not be allowed to live with blue birds or tree swallows as they are predators, but I feel conflicted. Might be best to let nature take its course.
 
That is what I need to keep in mind – be patient and let nature take its course. Lessons that apply to many things in life, I think.
 
Just now, as I was writing this, a male bluebird came to the feeder. I think it is a good sign.