Fisherman, football coaches, and photographers all know the one that got away. As an amateur nature-picture-taker whose subject often flit around nervously, I’m used to this repeated sense of loss. This morning, walking around Beech Hill, there were several such instances: the chestnut-sided warbler that teed up perfectly, only to take wing as I was focusing; the white-breasted nuthatch hunting for food directly in front of me that simply wouldn’t sit still; the tiny mushroom nestled in a bed of green moss and lit by a filtered ray of sunlight… Well, I suppose I could’ve stopped and snapped that last photo, but Chuck and Greta had come up behind Jack and me on the trail, and I felt the press of urgency. Sure enough, on our return trip, the little mushroom was hidden in shade.
Still, I can see that mushroom in its kelly green field just as vividly as if I had a photo. I can recall the exact endearing posture of the chestnut-sided—which, by the way, was singing. And I can even get to chuckling a bit to think of the nuthatch hanging upside down on the limbs of that conifer at the summit (the same one the red-breasted was poking around in yesterday, by the way).
It sometimes seems to me that the most valuable treasure we in the human species have is our memories. They’re how we learn. They’re tied up in our dreams. Familiar things and faces and feelings give us warmth and love; unfamiliar adventures thrill us with the promise of new memories. You might say our gift of recall is what makes us human in the first place. And I can only hope mine lasts right up until I inhale my last breath.
I swear I can still see that little mushroom in its sunbeam.
Otherwise, I saw a lot of birds again today—and heard even more. Most notable perhaps was the voice of a raven, first in a week or two. All five sparrows again. Many yellowthroats chipping from the understory.
The weather, meantime, was lovely. Not as hot as the past couple days, nor as humid. Somewhere in the 70s (F), I’d guess, with a slight breeze off the water. While out cycling this afternoon, with gulls and crows overhead, I felt sort of like I was flying.
This evening I attended a poetry presentation at which my friend Kristen read. She had her iPad with her—we share this ironic love of things both natural and technological—and on it were aerial photos she’d taken today of Beech Hill, which she showed me before the reading. I could’ve looked at them for a lot longer.
P.S. Tonight I saw my first fireflies of the year. Love me some fireflies.
Beech Hill List
Beginning at 7:30 a.m., I walked all trails.
1. Chestnut-sided warbler
2. Common yellowthroat
3. Ovenbird
4. Red-eyed vireo
5. Cedar waxwing
6. Black-capped chickadee (voice)
7. American robin
8. Rose-breasted grosbeak (voice)
9. Veery
10. Eastern towhee
11. Gray catbird
12. American redstart (voice)
13. Black-and-white warbler (voice)
14. Alder flycatcher (voice)
15. Yellow warbler (voice)
16. Common raven (voice)
17. Song sparrow
18. Eastern phoebe
19. Mourning dove
20. Savannah sparrow
21. Field sparrow (voice)
22. Tufted titmouse (voice)
23. Chipping sparrow (voice)
24. White-throated sparrow
25. Hairy woodpecker (voice)
26. Hermit thrush (voice)
27. American goldfinch
28. American crow (voice)
29. House finch (voice)
30. Nashville warbler (voice)
31. Tree swallow
32. White-breasted nuthatch
33. Wild turkey (voice)
34. Black-throated green warbler (voice)
Elsewhere
35. House sparrow
36. Herring gull
Tags: alder flycatcher, American crow, American goldfinch, American redstart, American robin, black-and-white warbler, black-capped chickadee, black-throated green warbler, Cedar waxwing, chestnut-sided warbler, chipping sparrow, common raven, common yellowthroat, eastern phoebe, eastern towhee, field sparrow, gray catbird, hairy woodpecker, hermit thrush, herring gull, house finch, house sparrow, mourning dove, Nashville warbler, ovenbird, red-eyed vireo, rose-breasted grosbeak, savannah sparrow, song sparrow, tree swallow, tufted titmouse, veery, white-breasted nuthatch, white-throated sparrow, wild turkey, yellow warbler