Treehouse Dispatch
taking a cue from nature on living one day at a time
This July in Tennessee, I revel in the magic of a mid-South Summer.
It’s in the rising and resting twilight hours. …even (especially) when a few twilights are enjoyed in my Midwest “homeland.”
It’s the wood thrush’s song, the first of the morning, just as a twinge of extra light signals their awakening… as the gurgling brew of coffee does for some of us.
It’s the black vulture fledglings standing tall with wonder on the barn door as they ponder the wash of green and sky. It’s their zoomies in the barnyard and demanding ‘wuffs’ (yes, just like a puppy) when a parent arrives to feed.
It’s the ruby-throated hummingbirds jostling for position at the sugar-water feeder, mini fighter jets with glistening feathers.
It’s the glimpse of the purple coneflower rising from the garden, a splat of hot pink dancing in the breeze.
It’s air turned honey gold by the fading sun, even if just for a few seconds.
It’s the awakening of the firefly show.
Queue the katydid symphony.
The daytime creatures nestle down for the night.
The black vultures are nestled safely in the barn, resting after a day filled with feedings and flight lessons.
Until tomorrow…
The black vultures that first started using my barn as their nursery in 2020 occupy my attention for no less than six months every year. Aware of their comings and goings, they punctuate every day, and I find comfort in their constancy. They go about each day unaware of the turmoil in our world. They do all they can to survive and thrive, one day at a time.
From the moment they descend into the forest canopy above my home in February, I can (and do) chart their ever-so-predictable behaviors:
3-4 weeks of preening and mating
End of February or early March, 2 eggs are laid on the ground in the barn
38-40 days later, at least one, sometimes two, hatch after being incubated nonstop in 24-hour shifts by both parents (both hatched right on time at day 38 this year)
10-11 weeks of feeding, nurturing, and protecting commence, also in shifts, before the hatchlings make an appearance on the barn door (barn door appearance at 10 weeks on the button)
Then, it’s July, and here they are exploring their new big world!
Once the offspring begin to spend days outside the barn, their learning patterns are equally predictable. The parents often arrive together for feedings and demonstrate short flights to the ground, from the ground to the fence, then to the roof. That’s what I’ve been observing this past week.
Today, the parents took turns flying up to low tree branches while the ‘kids’ watched closely. One attempted to fly to a tree, the other to the barn's roof. As much as they are strengthening their wings, they also practice landings, which require dancer-like coordination of their gangly legs and nearly five-foot wing span.
And they show off their silly side jumping and running around my driveway and to the wheelbarrow for water. The parents have already taught them to visit the wheelbarrow, which also provides a great chance to learn landings just feet off the ground.
(If you haven’t read previous newsletters, I do not feed them or have contact with these birds. I only provide water and allow them their wildness. While they know me and are not threatened by my presence, it is essential for their survival that we keep a respectful distance, especially so that the offspring learn to be vultures from their parents.)
You can enjoy more of their backstory here and here and here.
This is a 2-minute snapshot video of their day. Apologies for the shaky camera work. Both parents were here feeding the ‘kids’. The young have more feathers up on their head and still sport some beige downy fluff.
Featured poem… Darkling I Listen By Adam Clay A professor once mentioned as an aside that there are lines in “Ode to a Nightingale” written to mimic the bird’s call. Maybe he was right or maybe he wasn’t—either way the class spent a stretch looking, listening, mouthing the stressed and unstressed words on the page. On Keats’s poem, a critic writes that “lyric is thus a mode that simultaneously erases and expresses selfhood.” I think of an eraser and a pencil working alongside each other. Part of me can’t help but think Keats called the birdsong “immortal” because of his poem and not the Romantic idea that nature, through its cycles and turns, will ebb and flow forever. Sometimes the ego’s optimism remains beautiful even when it’s utterly and completely flawed. I’d rather think of Keats, sketching himself back into place. On the Golden Record that’s out of the solar system now, scientists deemed the sound of birds important enough to include as a marker of our planet. Listening this morning to a clip of what someone or something might hear one day, I can’t help but wonder if they’ll even know what it is. Maybe they’ll think it was the language we spoke to one another to say what we longed for, the language we used to say one day when I’m gone, and you’re out among the trees, please, please remember me. A selection from Poet Laureate Ada Limón’s new anthology, You Are Here, from Milkweed Editions.
Journaling prompt…
At long last, the return of a journal prompt for you! Because we need more love, here’s a prompt to inject love and help you find something to love at least three times a day for the next week. From the book “Writing Toward Home: Tales and Lessons to Find Your Way” by Georgia Heard.
“Each day for one week, fall in love at least three times. Write down — describe in detail what you fall in love with. What feeling comes over you when you experience falling in love? Each time we fall in love, something that before was closed inside us opens, and creativity begins to flow.” (pg. 61)
p.s. Extra music bonus!
My favorite Prime music playlist: Mellow 70’s Gold.
Or, if you need to dance: George Michael Live, FREEDOM!
I enjoyed this multi-media immersion into a southern summer. Sounds and smells are equally as evocative as sights. The prompt is amazing. Thanks.
A lovely snapshot of a day in your part of the world, Sandy. I find time moves more slowly and gently when I take notice of the natural world around me. Like your black vultures, we have a pair of currawongs here in South Australia that return every year to built their nest and raise their young. Thank you for sharing your day and your reflections. Glyn