drop of rain

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Sometimes it’s funny how nature presents itself; it's often serendipitous as we stumble into insight at the most opportune moment.

Recently, I heard the soft warbler of a bluebird, but try as I might, I could not find it. I looked but the source of the call seemed to come from no place specific. It just floated on the breeze.

I'm not the first to be so puzzled. Within the hour I read a passage in 19th century naturalist John Burroughs' first book “Wake-Robin,” originally published in 1871.

“The [blue]bird at first seems a mere wandering voice in the air: one hears its call or carol...but is uncertain of its source or direction; it falls like a drop of rain when no cloud is visible; one looks and listens, but to no purpose."

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reveille to spring

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"Passing through the woods on some clear, still morning in March, while the metallic ring and tension of winter are still in the earth and air, the silence is suddenly broken by long, resonant hammering upon a dry limb or stub. It is a Downy beating a reveille to spring. In the utter stillness and amid the rigid forms we listen with pleasure; and, as it comes to my ear oftener at this season than at any other, I freely exonerate the author of it from the imputation of any gastronomic motives, and credit him with a genuine musical performance."

Tomorrow is the first day of spring, oh my.

- From "Wake-Robin" first published in 1871 by John Burroughs

- Photo taken at Ijams Nature Center

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iron wall

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“The only time there is a suggestion of an iron wall in front of me is in winter, when ice and snow have blotted out the landscape, and I find that it is in this season that my mind dwells most fondly upon my favorite themes. Winter drives a man back upon himself, and tests his powers of self-entertainment.”


- From “Wake-Robin” first published in 1871 by John Burroughs

- Photo taken at Ijams Nature Center

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pert busybody

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“This pert little winter wren, for instance, darting in and out the fence, diving under the rubbish here and coming up yards away, — how does he manage with those little circular wings to compass degrees and zones, and arrive always in the nick of time?”

The little busybody “does he travel by easy stages from bush to bush and from wood to wood? Or has that compact little body force and courage to brave the night and upper air, and so achieve leagues at one pull?”

Asked John Burroughs in his 1871 book "Wake-Robin."

I've wondered much the same thing. How do they get here with such short little wings? Do they hop from brush pile to brush pile to brush pile. I'm sure winter wrens have already arrived in the Tennessee Valley but I have yet to see one of the little ground-loving busybodies this season. But somehow it's a comfort just knowing that they are there.

And speaking of winter wrens, special thanks to Ruth Anne. As part of the second annual Beaver Creek Water Association Winter Bird Count and Birding Workshop, I spoke about the winter birds of the Tennessee Valley (the species that only spend their winters here) last week.

After wards, Dr. Bob Collier outlined his plans for a bird count to be held on Saturday, January 9.

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seasons mix

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Is this winter’s last gasp? Big, luscious snowflakes fell briefly this morning. They fluttered past me like cabbage whites. The seasons mix. And I had already pronounced winter dead and gone. She knew better. She always does. Snow often falls on the earliest spring wildflowers, that’s the risk they must take.

In 1908, naturalist John Burroughs wrote, “One may brush away the April snow and find this finer snow beneath it. Oh, the arbutus days, what memories and longings they awaken!...Trailing, creeping over the ground, hiding its beauty under withered leaves, stiff and hard in foliage, but in flower like the cheek of a maiden.”

Burroughs' "finer snow," the white-flowered trailing arbutus he refers to grows low to the ground from Florida to the northern reaches of Quebec. Consequentially, it must be prepared for a little late snow.

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100

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“To know is not all. It’s only half. To love is the other half.”

- John Burroughs (1837-1921) American naturalist and essayist


This is my 100th posting since I began this adventure in January. Goodness, what fun.