Wood Thrush Summer

We recently passed our 32^nd anniversary of living out here in this blessed wilderness. By now we've pretty well come to understand what this place has to offer, and look forward each year to what stand-out experiences nature will be providing. Each season brings its exceptional offerings and phenomena, and it's fun to pause from our daily tasks and devote some time and attention to those exceptions. Questions we pose ourselves: What has made this summer special and different? What has been particularly bountiful in the vegetable garden? What events will we experience and remember for years to come? Is this a one-time event, or is it similar to an exceptional experience that occurred a decade ago? How do we assimilate all this?

These are simple pleasures—but they are pleasures, because we have the time and inclination to pay attention to them and enjoy them. On the evenings when I soak in the outdoor tub, I often let my mind wander over and savor this year's recent special events. Not all are joyous, of course. The gnats may have been especially pesky, or several weeks may have passed now without a decent rain, but that's all part of the flow; and we have learned a key lesson in life: the unpleasant experiences soon fade from memory, as the fine ones persist.

As I was soaking in the tub recently, in this mental mode of appreciating what Mother Nature offers, I was being regaled by wood thrush songs. I've written in this blog a few times about the fact that no avian singer around here tops the wood thrush, as to its spectacular singing voice. They have a song that constantly changes, is incredibly melodic, and literally stops you in your tracks (or hot tub reveries)—forcing you to pay homage to its call.

I've also written about how the wood thrush population is in decline in the Americas, and that we've noted fewer and fewer of them out in the woods each summer. Habitat destruction in both the United States (its summer home) and Latin America (its winter abode) threatens their existence.

After the last few years of many fewer wood thrush songs, this summer has been very special. It's literally a wood thrush summer! Not only do we hear several of them calling out, but they are much closer to the clearing this year. (The wood thrush prefers dense forest, so it's a treat when they approach the clearing.) When they are near, we can clearly discern each part of their intricate call—especially that third part: a high-pitched melodic trill that is amazing.

With so many thrushes calling at once—sometimes we've heard three or four in competition—they really provide a show! And it is a form of rivalry. I'm sure they do hear each other and try to best their rival. We can hear them pause, listen to their challenger, and respond. So what's the cause of these calls? Are they still vying for mates this late in the season? Is it just a song competition? We don't know. Sometimes it's as if they are egotistical opera stars—competing for the lead role at La Scala.

Is each wood thrush aware of how well he's doing, relative to his competition? Is each of them aware of how superior is his song, compared to the squawks and simple whistles of the titmouse? Is his aesthetic judgment anything like ours? Does he compare the complexity and beauty of his call to that of his rivals? Does he realize that he is the premier songster of this forest? I would guess that most of the beauty we perceive and the pleasure we derive are not necessarily shared by him.

He's probably just trying to become alpha bird—the most intimidating and admired thrush of the forest. I doubt that he has any comprehension of the joy he brings to our ears. I wish we could make him aware of our appreciation, but I doubt that he'd understand. Let's just call it grace.