To Look Up and Hope
Of wandering thoughts, old books, soaring raptors, and paying attention
Poem: “Love” Christine Valters Paintner from Dreaming of Stones
Color of amber, life seized inside
taste of summer’s first peach
sound of a dog’s satisfied grunts
smell of compost, leaves, earth, dust
feels like a winter’s day by the fire
with nowhere else to be.
The Scent of an Old Book
My original set of the Laura Ingalls Wilder Little House on the Prairie series is tucked away in a childhood bookcase now at home in my treehouse guest room. This faded set of paperbacks is my first thought when prompted to write about the scent of an old book at a recent writing group gathering.
Then I meandered along the trail of thoughts that followed…
…the thought that despite growing up in the Midwest, I had never visited the Ingalls’ family landmarks and historic sites in Wisconsin, Minnesota, or South Dakota.
…the thought that it’s time to stop pondering the six-hour drive to Mansfield, Missouri to visit Rocky Ridge Farm where Laura wrote her books and to actually book the trip. (I did, btw.)
…the thought that she didn’t write and publish her prairie stories until she was in her 60’s.
…the delusion that I still have plenty of time.
…the magical thinking that maybe a hundred or so years from now, someone wandering their own path may be inspired by the story of the black vulture family that trusted me.
July 2023: A Black Vulture Fledgling Emerges
Every July, my Tennessee forest of white oak, beech, and the random tulip poplar feels thick with humidity, grass pollen, mosquitos, and no-seeums. Though the breeze offers relief high in the tree canopy, the air is stagnant near the ground along the side of the hill.
But this view, as I lean against the weathered barn fence watching for spiders, wiping sweat from my neck and under my glasses, kicking at my own feet and ankles as those no-seeums feast, it’s all worth it for this view
.An 11-week old black vulture fledgling has found its way to the barn door opening, seeing for the first time the lush green of a Tennessee summer forest.
This year’s fledgling I decide to call “Clover”, following in the long-toed, blunted-talon footsteps of the previous year’s fledglings:
2020: Flower
2021: Poppy
2022: Rue and Blue
Since hatching 11 weeks ago, Clover has grown from a beige fluff-ball that could nestle in a human palm to nearly the full size of the adult black vulture parents that I have affectionately dubbed my “VeeVee’s” since they found my old barn in 2020 and made it their nursery.
[Brief interlude to share that I do not risk the well-being of the parents or especially the fledglings by interacting in ways that risk imprinting. Imprinting means that young birds identify a human as the parent. Oftentimes the healthy, non-releasable raptors cared for by wildlife organizations around the world are there because humans interfered or tried to raise a raptor only to get in over their heads. Once imprinted on a human, it is too late for the bird to survive in the wild. This won’t be the last on this topic…more to come in future posts.]
For several hours and oblivious to the morning heat, Clover sits in the barn door window observing an expansive world for the first time. Every blink and head tilt is filled with curiosity. A few hops and awkward flaps of its young wings brought this young bird from the dark shadows of a ten-by-five foot barn stall to what we might liken to Disney’s Fantasia. Imagine taking it in. Does this bird sense the wonder in the air surrounding us both?
I stay still, snapping photographs, swatting at my ankles now swollen with bites, as we wait together both knowing a parent will arrive between 9:00 and 11:00 am as they have done, in shifts, every day for months.
It is now nearly February 2024, and the parents should return again within a couple weeks to assess the barn as a suitable breeding site. I always feel sad when they go in August/September to return to their extended family group to the Southeast.
But then there are these mid-winter days to look up and hope.
Currently Reading
Excerpt from Wandering Through Winter by Edwin Way Teale
As I shared last week, I’m reading my way through Teale’s 100,000 mile journey of the American seasons, as documented in his four-book series. What joy to find this reference in “Chapter 13: Summer in January” when Teale and his wife Nellie journeyed through Texas, late January 1962.
“Without a curve for fifty miles, our road traversed the immense King Ranch. For us this stretch was a highway of hawks. Red-tails and Harris’ hawks were all along the way. Here we saw, for the first time, Mexican black hawks at rest and in the air. And always, somewhere in the height of the sky, we caught sight of circling vultures.
According to an old Texas superstition, to see one vulture means bad luck; to see three, good luck. So frequently met are these scavengers that propitious omens must be the rule.”
Just four minutes…
Settle into a comfy seat outdoors and see what you observe in the height of the sky.
Journaling prompt…
The beauty of a prompt is that we never know where it might lead. What matters is to move the pen or tap the keys and allow the words to find their place on the page.
This week’s prompt: write about the scent of an old book.
Let’s see what comes up for you. I’d love to hear how these prompts resonate with you in the comments, if you’d like to share.
A bonus for music lovers…stream George Winston’s Forest, released in 1996. I find his music especially comforting while enjoying hot tea on a rainy morning.
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Really enjoyed this article Sandy. Glad to have you here on Substack.
I had that same set of Little House books as a kid. I wonder if they are still in my parent's house in Missouri? And I love George Winston. I haven't listened to his music in years, thank you for the recommendation. I am going to add him on Spotify right now!