d1 April 8, 2005 - April 18, 2005

Submitted by Laura on Fri, 04/08/2005 - 19:56.

The volume of bird song is set at full blast for April. As soon as the first dim hint of dawn cracks, the air explodes with the flute song of the robin. The screaming of the crows, the soft chirping of the chickadee, and the haunting voice of the varied thrush follow quickly as grey mornings warm. But today, I am not listening for birdsong; I am listening for the space between the sounds. I am listening for the stillness and the silence, and trying not to name the species. I am trying to stop breaking the forest into component parts and start appreciating the space between the parts. A relationship is defined by space and silence. I can not hear it, see it, smell it, touch it or own it; but I can be a part of it.

Robins are homely and common; no bright colors really, just a splash of red on the chest. I find mobs of robins eating berries in the holly brush, and pulling flaccid earthworms out of prim suburban lawns. The robin is not a glamorous bird, but the robin is reliable. Robins can tell you things if you can learn to listen. I learned this lesson the hard way.

Last summer, my mother and I were hacking at a thick tangle of blackberry bramble in the southeast corner of my yard, when I heard my mother gasp. I ran over to where she was working to see what was wrong. She held up a severed vine; a nest dangled in mid-air; baby robins thrusting their naked heads up at us, mouthing for food. In that moment of ruined nest, and doomed babies, all of the sudden, I could hear what I should have been listening for all along. I could hear shaking, flapping, and screaming above me. The mother and father robin were shrieking calls of distress, and I could not hear them, because I did not know how to listen.

A good friend told me that if I could sit down and give the robins an hour of my time, I could learn to understand their language. This of course, does not mean that robins are simple and all that they will ever have to say can be learned in an hour. It is just that if you give yourself completely to a robin for an hour, you will learn just enough to keep you listening. Now I listen to the robins. They let me know when the house cats are stalking, they sound an alarm when the children are climbing to close to their nest, and they let me know that the morning is fresh, and that the sun will rise soon.

Enjoy this week's dirt.

Cheyenne

Hear a neat article about bird songs recently covered on NPR.
‹ VOLUNTEER TO BE A LAND STEWARD AT CAMASSIA NATURAL AREAupODE TO THE EARTH REMINDS US OF UPCOMING EARTH DAY SEND IN YOUR EARTH DAY EVENTS! ›
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