A Life of Details
On distant memories of Midwest scents, wood thrushes singing, and time
In Clint Eastwood's 1995 film "The Bridges of Madison County," Meryl Streep's character Francesca plays an Iowa housewife and Italian immigrant who still carries the accent of her home country.
I've always loved this movie, in part because I think it captures the Midwest and Iowa so viscerally. Fields there brim with Red-Winged Blackbirds and you can hear them in the film. Eastwood's character ponders about the "loam of the soil", its earthiness, and that's so true of Iowa. The air is different too. Maybe it's the lilacs, the dryness of early summer, or the eerie calm as a storm approaches. Having spent 34 years of my life in the Midwest, its sights and sounds and people will always conjure a feeling of that place where I really belong.
Late in the film, Francesca tries to explain her decision to stay with her family saying that a woman builds "a life of details." With her Italian accent, she emphasizes the second syllable of details - dəˈtāls. It sounds better to say it that way. Try it.
What struck me this week, without even having watched the film again, was that line.
A life of details.
Hearing it in my mind felt like an invitation to notice...
Mourning Doves blink as often as we do and have a startle reflex quite similar to mine, it seems
Groundhogs run faster than you may expect, only outpaced by scared baby bunnies
Rose Breasted Grosbeaks have no qualms sitting in the feeder for five to ten minutes replenishing after a long migration
90 minutes pass quickly while trying to identify a new bird (Palm Warbler)
It's impossible not to smile while listening to Goldfinches
The wee-little Carolina Chickadee defends her eggs as fiercely as the Black Vulture, but she huffs and puffs instead of growls and hisses
Oakleaf shoots pulled from the garden still have the acorn attached to the stem
Woodpeckers laugh a lot, or so it sounds
The ‘Linden Rose’ bush I salvaged last year to keep the memory of a very special place alive…well, it’s thriving
It's comforting to hear the eager chirps of hungry baby bluebirds every time a parent visits the nest
It's even more special when those visits happen while I'm just feet away
Birds don't seem to know self-doubt -- each is quite comfortable in its own feathers
Pulling weeds is a metaphor for everything
The White Breasted Nuthatch announces my presence with such urgency when I venture out to fill the feeders each morning -- bee-bee-beep, bee-bee-beep, bee-bee-beep
A Downy Woodpecker will sit in one place for minutes while preening after his bath
Lily of the Valley flowers are barely the size of a fingernail
What will you notice this week?
The Return of the Wood Thrush
One of my most anticipated details made itself known last Monday morning.
The 'ee-oh-lay', the trill, the flute-like call from inside the branches dripping with the fresh unfurl of Spring leaves. The Wood Thrushes have returned, crossing the Gulf of Mexico in one night.
Not often seen, their song is unmistakable. Have a listen to this clip from my front deck on April 18.
Last year was the first time I spotted the wood thrush since I moved here in 2015. It's their normal behavior to isolate in the woods and forage through the leaf litter for bugs and berries. A little smaller than American Robins with similar rich brown backs, their mocha speckled white chests and eyes lined with distinctive white circles make them difficult to spot within the trees. To date, I've only snapped dark fuzzy photos.
With forest habitats becoming more and more fragmented and acid rain negatively impacting their food sources, the wood thrush population has decreased nearly 50% since the 1960's. They are very unlikely to be lured to a feeder, or I would try. But the leaf litter and bugs in my woods are ample and fresh spring water is always accessible at the bottom of the hill. As freshwater mussels are to a healthy river system, so are the wood thrush to thriving woodlands. May they always return here.
In the week since the first migrant made its way back, others have arrived to fill the forest with call-and-response singing. They are usually the first to announce the day, beginning around 5:30 am. Since I wake the moment I hear them (and I always hear them even if I sleep through thunderstorms), perhaps I'll have more productive mornings in coming weeks. While on bright days they quiet by 8:30 or 9:00 am and go about their day until dusk returns, they fill cloudy days with the song I struggle to describe.
Fortunately, Thoreau captured it for me.
From Henry David Thoreau:
“This is the only bird whose note affects me like music, affects the flow and tenor of my thought, my fancy and imagination. It lifts and exhilarates me. It is inspiring. It is a medicative draught to my soul. It is an elixir to my eyes and a fountain of youth to all my senses. It changes all hours to an eternal morning…I long for wildness, a nature which I cannot put my foot through, woods where the wood thrush forever sings, where the hours are early morning ones, and there is dew on the grass, and the day is forever unproved, where I might have a fertile unknown for a soil about me." ~ from The Writings of Henry David Thoreau: Journal
The Forest Unfurls
It makes no sense to me that it is nearly the end of April. Or that the trees changed so rapidly with just a little heat, some cool nights, and ample rain.
My native plant garden has transformed in an abrupt way too. I'm surprised almost daily to discover several fresh inches of greenery and new blooms.
It's as though the recent solar eclipse was two months ago instead of just two weeks. As much as I try to ground myself in nature, to savor the details in an attempt to slow time, the hands fly around the clock faster than the sun circles the Earth…or so it seems.
Still, I try to slow myself, my days, my thinking, my to-do list, my commitments almost like an act of defiance towards this loud, hustle, extroverted sensory assault that is our culture.
I watch the Ruby Throated Hummingbirds enjoy their sugar water.
I listen for the soft songs of the Eastern Bluebirds that will soon lure their hatchlings from the nest.
I lean over to smell the baby lilac bush (that I've still managed to keep alive) every time I go outside. I turn off notifications and ringers.
And I wait for the Wood Thrush to sing at dusk, willing the sun to linger along the ridge before it drops from sight.
Just four minutes + daily journaling prompt…
Give yourself four minutes (or more) every day to be outside and notice. Then journal about it, or take photographs. Let what you see inspire you to pluck a book from your shelves and read.
What will you notice this week?
A Curious Nature is a weekly dose of curiosity and inspiration delivered to your email inbox each Sunday. Featuring my essays and stories about the natural world, as well as journaling prompts and works from some of my favorite writers, I hope to provide readers with kindling for your own creative fire and insights about the natural world. Mostly, I hope to nurture a community for curiosity and wonder. Thank you for being here.
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Thank you!
Really enjoyed this read.
Thank you for sharing your wood thrush and woodlands with us. And a lovely quote, I too wish spring mornings would last forever. 💚