the sound of drilling gets me down

Today they are repaving the street, thus deeming it unfortunate that this is the first Friday in a long long time that I’ve actually been home all day. Numbered among the factors that kept me at home instead of out romping in the forest and field with the birds were:  (1) logistical difficulties, (2) general malaise, and (3) the crash that comes at the end of migration (it’s just knowing that there will be far fewer birds out there, while most of the ones that are there are busy with family duties).  Even though I didn’t go out in the field, I did enjoy a bit of home birding.  I was happy to see some robins and mockingbirds gulping down wild cherries from both the tree out front and the weeping cherry out back.  And this morning a catbird’s constant song made the sounds of road resurfacing much more bearable.  Even a house finch stopped by to sit on the power line and sing his cheerful song, as a couple of goldfinches flew by in the background (haven’t seen many of them in the neighborhood this spring).

In general, though, I found that I did not enjoy being home all day.  I was restless and agitated, and while I did complete a few tasks I had wanted to, for the most part I languished unproductively.  I did not write the reviews I planned on writing (that are due in just over a week).  I tried but couldn’t bring myself to critique other people’s work, especially when I have absolutely nothing to show of my own, so really, what right do I have to criticize others when they are at least making an effort?  But whatever…it’s really neither here nor there what I did with my day.

As promised here are a few photos from last week, the first two of which are from Soldier’s Delight Natural Environmental Area.  

One of the blue-eyed grasses from Iridaceae, the Iris Family (I did not have my wildflower field guide with me, and the photo doesn’t allow for definitive identification of all the necessary field marks, but I think it’s either Sisyrinchium angustifolium or atlanticum). 

Eastern fence lizard (Sceloporus undulatus):

Finally, from the garden…

being yourself?

Ralph Waldo Emerson said that being yourself in a world that’s constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.  It sounds like a hokey kind of quote that’s been overused to the point of meaningless…the sort of thing you might hear during a high school graduation speech.  But it holds a sharp and poignant truth that many refuse to confront.  Last night I sat on the deck and watched the clouds drift into each other. Swifts chittered as they hawked insects above me, intersecting each others’ flight paths in and out of my field of vision.  The air felt clean from rain and the sky showed off its blue behind clouds stained by the setting sun. It was true beauty, despite the power lines, the roof lines, all the straight and narrowness that makes me restless.  I try to be myself as much as I can, and doing that has mostly made me feel eccentric and alienated.  But I’m okay with that.

I have a couple of photos to share from my wandering, but my camera’s battery is dead at the moment.  Migration is slowing, almost halted…I only saw a few migrants last time I went out.  Now I plan to focus on finding and getting better looks at some of the local breeders, particularly some of the skulking warblers like Kentucky, Yellow-breasted Chat, and Worm-eating.  I’m pretty sure I glimpsed a Kentucky at Soldier’s Delight the other day, but he wasn’t singing and popped down out of view and refused to show himself again.  At SWAP, I heard a chat sing just a few notes before clamming up.  I’ll be back to seek him out again.  As much as I love migration, it’s very hectic and for someone still learning all the songs, it can be overwhelming.  I’ll appreciate some quieter time where I can hone my ear birding skills and hopefully still see a few new birds while I’m at it.

gargling truth serum

Never swallow, never swallow, but keep that golden truth serum swirling around in your mouth. That way it can become anything you want. A brilliant answer to a dusty question, a missing piece to a bruised and broken puzzle, a misplaced passion found again. Passed by the stairs at the top of this page again a day or so ago. Stairs to the future…stairs to wildness…stairs out of this purgatory. Traveling through the woods with my avian friends…walking the Mason-Dixon trail…coulda kept walking and walking and never stopped. There was no real reason to stop. The birds just kept singing and they just kept moving, and I just kept moving with them, ticking them off as I went. The water was there, too. And the sky. And the trees. The ground below my feet felt good. Everything felt good and right and I felt alive. I felt so good, high on the experience of being where I was and nowhere else at that moment. Something extraordinary seeking to burst out from inside…seeds laid to rest on bare soil and rising toward the warm sun. Rich feeling pervades for mere moments, gulp enough to sustain another few days, few weeks, few months. Don’t wanna be the second-guesser anymore…don’t want to renege, reinterpret, revisit, re- anything. Just clearing the path, one heavy stone at a time….all we can do, all we know to do.

going to shows?

I have this thing about going to shows now. I see that a band I like is coming to town and I get excited. But then the night of the show draws closer and my enthusiasm wanes. Maybe it’s that I heard their latest stuff and it lacks an edge it used to have. Maybe I try too hard to picture myself there, and fail miserably. Or maybe it’s simply that I’ve been burned too many times before and don’t want to waste my time and money again. Leatherface was playing tonight. I found my favorite album of theirs available for download today and bought it. I’ve been looking for this album for years. It’s typically only been found as an expensive import or listed on eBay for a ridiculous sum. While I waited for the songs to download I listened to snippets of songs from the brand new Leatherface album, the one they’re touring in support of now. It lacked a spark. The roughness I loved before sounded too polished. It wasn’t bad, but I wasn’t bowled over, either. Don’t get me wrong. I have much respect for Frankie Stubbs. He’s a punk icon who rarely got his due. He’s smart and hard-working, and DIY to the teeth. His lyrics and music consistently ring true in a genre choked with cookie-cutter copies and commodified horrors. Leatherface is still putting out good music, but maybe it’s just not for me anymore. I fully admit to being a flighty fair weather fan of many bands. Maybe that’s why I fall in love with bands that put out few albums, and play even fewer shows. I still remember a few years ago seeing Wilderness play at Floristree. That show was transcendental. It was one of those shows where you feel your soul leave your body and float around near the ceiling. I don’t often feel that way during shows anymore, nor did I even really ever feel that way. Mostly in the past it was drunken flailing around…a primal reaction. Visceral, yes, but different from that floating at the ceiling feeling. Live music is special; I won’t deny that. But these days, it often seems less important to me. I know I can get what I need just by sitting in my room with headphones. I don’t have to navigate the outside world, with its coarse unpredictability. It’s more personal listening by myself, with no distractions, and as such, takes on that much more meaning.

it’s not our fault

Commentary on the oil spill from former EPA agent Scott West, now director of investigations for Sea Shepherd Conservation Society.

Of course it’s not their fault; it’s never their fault.  They represent the same blameless old, bald, white men that are never at fault for any epic failures at corporate responsibility throughout history.

Urge to seclude myself in the woods risiNG…riSING…RISING!

doing the good work

Read more here.

last friday

After a week of sickness, I finally escaped into the woods on Friday. I visited three different local birding hotspots, and was fully rewarded for my efforts. Of course, as migration heats up, I am painfully reminded each time I go out how many more songs I need to learn in order to feel even semi-competent. At home, I listen and listen to songs on the computer and iBird.  I also bring iBird with me in the field, and keep one earphone stuck in my ear.  I try to match up the songs, but when there are dozens of birds singing, it often feels futile.  I know I’m missing out on so many.  Ah well, here are some photos from my day. I wish I had a good enough camera to capture some of the amazing views of birds I see while I’m out.  Probably the highlights this time were the Prairie Warblers at Soldier’s Delight.  I went over there expressly for the purpose of finding them, and as soon as I stepped out of the car, I heard them singing.  I found one pretty quickly just a few steps in from the road, and watched him singing at eye level for quite some time. Truly a beautiful bird with a very pretty song!

First couple of photos are of Liberty Dam.  I found some Spotted Sandpipers feeding on the steps of the spillway, as Northern Rough-winged Swallows flew in and out of one of the drainage holes nearby.  The second two photos are microcosmic shots at Soldier’s Delight.

infirm

I picked up some kind of spring bug…it hasn’t been that bad so far, but it’s got me down.  I haven’t been sick since early last fall when I had a mild cold.  The law of averages finally caught up to me, though.  I stayed home from work today, mostly because I can’t stand when people go to work when they’re sick and spread their germs around for all the rest of us to breathe in. 

On Friday I went to Philly to see Screeching Weasel on their reunion tour.  They played most of the right songs, and they played them well, but it was all very mechanical.  Ben Weasel exhibited asocial behavior during the show, never changing his expression and speaking to the crowd with a level of aloofness I’m not sure I’ve ever witnessed from a punk rock frontman.  I never saw SW back in the day so I don’t know if he always acts like that on stage, but having read Ben’s columns in MaximumRocknRoll, I always suspected he wouldn’t be the type to effectively demonstrate genuine enthusiastic gratitude to his fans.  Sure, he thanked us and all, and maybe he was being sincere, but it seemed very cold and calculated.  I told my friend afterward that I felt more like I’d just closed a business deal than watched a punk rock show.  The Troc is a really nice place, though.  I hope to see some more shows there in the future.

On Saturday, I lurked around out in the countryside all day, visiting flea markets and auctions, and liberating abandoned trees and shrubs from a nursery’s dumping ground.  It was good times with old friends, and long overdue.

Last night I woke up at 3:40 AM and a robin was singing.  I knew they started early, but I’d never heard them at that hour before.  Interestingly, scientists in the UK published a study that showed urban robins sing later (or earlier) based on the levels of ambient noise they have to compete with during the daytime.

Meanwhile, migration is really heating up.  The birding discussion list I subscribe to overflows with reports of returning warblers, while I am sick and/or have to go to work.  NOT FAIR!  Also, this time of year is rapidly becoming the one rare period where I sometimes actually wish I did own a car.  Being city-bound seriously limits my birding options, and the easiest spots to bike to haven’t been that great so far this spring.  Losing the hour or more necessary to ride somewhere farther away crimps my plans when the most productive time spent in the field is usually in the morning.   I’m thinking that maybe next year I’ll just take the entire month of May off and go birding every day.  That way I won’t feel so bad about missing so many bits and pieces of prime time.

40 minutes over

Even before 11:30, I’m getting antsy.  I’ve been sitting imprisoned for an hour and a half, legs bouncing, hands restless, brain screaming.  Nothing to contribute, not much of personal relevance coming across the table to distract me.  Just listening to the others talk, and oh, do they love to talk.  The scheduled end comes and goes as everyone jockeys to get in the last word. “Well, I just have two points to make regarding what you just said.”  “Okay, I take your points and raise you three more!”  “Actually, I was thinking it would be more like this.”  “Oh, but what about this issue?”  More debate, more talking to hear themselves talk.  The temperature rises from all the hot air spewing out around spoken words.  Back and forth. Point, counterpoint.  I feel my skin tingling, my throat tightening.  I literally clamp my teeth shut to avoid screaming.  Several times I contemplate getting up and leaving, with nothing more than a mouthed “I have to go” to my boss.  Why not?  Would anyone really care?  Why was I even invited to this?  I have zero contributions to make.  I should be at my desk, doing arguably more important things.  [Of course, on a philosophical level, it’s quite difficult to determine what is of actual importance in this case.  On a personal level, were I to make a list, there would certainly be very little on it.  In fact, I really should be outside looking for warblers.]  For 40 more long minutes hope grows and dies over and over in the space of a few seconds as each person dispenses another useless nugget into the mix.  My stomach growls as the lunch hour approaches, then begins to pass.  Several of us gather our things to leave only to then replace them on the table with an air of resignation as we realize we were fooled yet again.  A guy on the phone speaks in a throaty warble…please clear your throat, please clear it, I don’t want to hear you struggle to talk through a clot of phlegm.  He finally tries to clear it, but the quaver rapidly returns.  Inside I kick and yell and curse with abandon. Outside I just look down at my notepad and outline the same words over and over and over until the black ink screams off the page. Finally, the end comes.  I can barely speak.  I am completely spent with nothing to show.  There’s another one scheduled in 50 minutes but I will blow it off.  There is only so much I can take.

blurred

I’m tired…allergy season is upon me and it seems like this year it’s gonna be particularly rough. I feel like I’m sorta falling apart at the seams and simultaneously sewing them back up. A little stuffing drops out each time. My dreams have broadened, become richer and more verdant, but I still struggle to recall them. This distresses me. I don’t think I’m prepared for another summer in the city. It seems different now…the violence more palpable, the callousness in the streets hardened to an impermeable crust. I seek open fields with endless skies and not a building in site. I just keep blundering along, not really knowing what I’m doing at all. I miss writing…it’s like an old friend I keep meaning to call up on the phone. It’s a challenge for me to prioritize.  I shouldn’t have to prioritize that. But there’s no forcing it, either. I feel like I should know a few more things than I do at this point in my life. Other people’s lives fascinate me…do they also doubt themselves on a near-daily basis? Do they also feel like proto-adults? And by proto- I mean primitive. Ah well…another epic zen fail for the day.

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