The morning began with a phone call from home.
My mother’s voice carried a quiet joy, a simple report from her daily life in the countryside.
She spoke of the swallow family living under the eaves.
She described the delight of watching them, observing how they tirelessly provide for their young. Even in the driving rain, they find food to fill those wide, demanding mouths. It is a spectacle of nature's persistence.
The swallows at my mother's house are particularly fortunate.
Typically, these birds spend immense energy scouting a location and weaving mud and grass into a home. However, because my mother never tore down the nest from last year, they were spared that arduous labor.
Perhaps that is why, while most birds leave after raising one brood, the families at our home often stay to raise a second generation.
When she called, it was the peak of their feeding season. They must have been flying frantically back and forth, a sight my mother watched with deep interest.
Truthfully, coexisting with swallows is not without its burdens.
One must accept the dust, the stray feathers, and the porch floor that inevitably becomes their restroom. The mess is sticky and stubborn to clean.
There is also the matter of hygiene, as their nests often harbor tiny, almost invisible insects.
For these reasons, many people stand guard to prevent swallows from building nests in the first place. Yet, witnessing their quiet dedication often softens the heart. People eventually find themselves relenting, offering a small corner of their home as an act of grace.
There is a specific reason why my mother has protected that nest for several years.
Every early summer, she used to say she would make sure they didn't settle there this time.
And then I told her:
'Mother, you remember your trip to Vietnam?
That is where these swallows come from.
The distant lands we speak of in stories are actually places like Vietnam or Thailand.
You took a plane and it was a long journey, wasn't it?
Imagine those tiny wings flying all that way just to reach our house, to lay eggs and raise their young.
Mother,
even if it is a bit inconvenient, could we let them stay?
From the swallow's perspective, finding their home gone after such a flight would be heartbreaking.'
Since that year, my mother has never touched the nest.
The annoyance has turned into a warm welcome.
"You used those small wings to cross such a vast distance just to find our house?
Well done.
Welcome, precious guests," she says.
While Seoul is humid with the monsoon, the rain is falling in my hometown.
Even today, those birds will be flapping their wings tirelessly to provide three meals for their young.
I can picture my mother sitting on the porch, watching those chirping, yellow-beaked chicks for hours.
Though they are small creatures, the scene of nurturing and growth feels like a profound canvas of life.
Today...
Thanks to my mother’s gentle report, a smile lingers on my face.
A quiet, warm smile.