The Earth Worms Rise
May 10–14, 2021; Amherst, MA, USA
Seasonal Memoir #2
I can attest to this phenomenon, as I watched opportunistic small birds pull earthworms out of the ground. Easy pickings for the Aves in my backyard, but surely a bit of a shock for the worms, pushing cold earth out of the way in order to end their winter dormancy. The circle of life.
Birds, though they look harmless, are fierce creatures, if you really take the time to observe them. They are constantly harassing each other and fighting in the air, stealing from each others’ nests, or eviscerating roadkill. (Perhaps the sweet birdsong are really just dis songs to their avian rivals.) This savageness should not be surprising, given that birds trace a direct lineage to the theropod (meat-eating) dinosaurs. Yes, it’s true! That seagull has T-Rex as its genetic source material. (This book would make a great summer read for you.)
The backyard in Amherst, albeit small, offers plenty of flora and fauna for the viewing audience. Squirrels and chipmunks (what’s the difference?), various birds and even hawks, rabbits, and a friendly trio of wild turkeys, who make the rounds of the neighborhood, looking for God knows what.
I’ve been sliding back into life in America, slowly but surely. There really should be a user-guide for this cultural transition. I’ve seen the good (the overly friendly American), the bad (not wearing masks), and the ugly (a college kid wearing a T-shirt that asked Alexa to do something I can’t repeat here). America is singular, that’s for sure.
Because we are slowly pulling out of the pandemic (by sheer striving and faulty logic, it feels like, rather than solid science), baseball has come back into my life. This week I attended the home opener of the Worcester Red Sox, the AAA affiliate of the Boston club. The game had all the pomp and circumstance you’d expect, and included local legends like Bob Cousy (92 years young) to say “Play ball!”. Americana at its best.
At the game, as the socially-distanced crowd drank their craft beers, I did something that I saw nobody else doing, something that was once commonplace: I scored the game.
Logistically, scoring the game simply records what happened, play-by-play, with each encounter between pitcher and batter. But scoring the game is so much more than a historical record. It is a unique and powerful way to engage in the game. In watching each at bat, you are present, not missing anything. As the game progresses, you study previous at-bats to get a sense whether the player may be pressing for a hit (and thus making it harder on himself), or swinging freely because he already has two hits in the bank (and wants a big day at the plate to impress the scouts). It’s data at your fingertips, which keeps the game engaging. It explains, and can even predict, the unfolding drama.
What if we scored our day-to-day life? Hits for acts of kindness. Runs for when you meet your daily goals. Errors for when we make mistakes. A 6–4–3 (shortstop to second baseman to first baseman) double-play for collaborating with peers to get something done. A pitching change when you ask your spouse to take over watching the kids. In doing so, how might we look back on our day or week, and how might this data help us be the best versions of ourselves? I just might try this out!
