When the initial two-week lockdown became indefinite, I looked for the good in the slowdown
of our days. I was very guilty of the homeschool version of keeping-up-with-the-Joneses
mentality. Juggling classes and playdates along with our curriculum, the upkeep of the house and
laundry and brag-worthy hobbies. Every week at least one ball dropped.
It felt like I could finally lose the filter and rest easy. We would be home all day every
day and I could keep things under control. No outings meant no forced small talk, no need to
prove yourself worthy of association. See, I have it all together? Look what my kids can do.
What I didn’t count on was the dauntless influence of social media. I had already sworn
off Instagram for all the buzz-worthy books and manipulatives it convinced me I needed. But
Facebook and news apps were still atwitter with quarantine “it” hobbies. Baking and organizing,
cross-stitching and gardening. I was still behind. Caught in the same old fundamental attribution
error trap. I wasn’t doing enough, wasn’t good enough to make this time count.
One thing I did ensure was that we spent time outside each day. Playing in the backyard
or driveway, walking the neighborhood. My youngest son is enthralled with construction
vehicles, and when we saw an excavator parked along the canal bank, we knew we needed to
expand our horizons, leave the confines of the neighborhood, stretch our wings.
After a full examination of the monstrous machine and its parts, arcing arm at rest, engine
still, we decided to cross the street and continue our walk along the canal. This strip of irrigation
network faces the back of a neighborhood alley, not the front and side of houses like in our
section. It is quieter, lined with more brush cover. The birds are more abundant. About halfway
down the bank we come upon a paddling of whistling ducks. There is a wide range of size and
maturation, perhaps some juveniles from a previous clutch. Much to the delight of my children,
there is also a duckling.
As I pull out my phone to document the sighting, their ecstatic vocalizations cause the
birds to take flight. All but the mother and her duckling. It continues to swim about in the
shallow water, its mother keeping vigil. She leads it closer to the opposite bank, where the black
and yellow striping in its feathers is more likely to camouflage, but there they remain.
I see myself in the circles she swims. I have no time to feed and care for a sourdough
starter, our garden is not as sustainable as I had hoped, we abandoned cross-stitching after the
first simple project. For me to take flight would be to leave them behind. And I find I am fine
with the shallows for now.
Originally Published by eucalyptus & rose 2021
Melissa Nunez lives and creates in the caffeinated spaces between awake and dreaming. She makes her home in the Rio Grande Valley region of South Texas, where she enjoys observing, exploring, and photographing the local flora and fauna with her three home-schooled children. She is contributor for The Daily Drunk Mag and Yellow Arrow, and staff writer for Alebrijes Review. Twitter: @MelissaKNunez