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Birded a favorite warbler area on the NE corner of Vadnais Lake - in mid-way - historically a 100% certainty of seeing a year's worth of tiny, beautifully artisted birds - but t'was not to be. Not a visible warbler past the rush of yellow-rumps on this day- but wait, what is that sound. Now I am not one to have learned every call and song and tweet of these little darlings I seek. But there I was amidst a cacophony of tweets, buzzes, cheerios, chick'a's, teachers, chirps, caws, chi's, rattles, poshes, whistles, squawks, whinnies, chips, trills, hoots, honks, nasal yenks, fieews, tee yous, wuks, tew-whees, picks, screams, quavers, crr-eeks, ti-dee-dees, kraars, and chucks - not having much of clue as to what was hidden amongst the upper canopy, thickets, pines, trunks, branches and leaves. And then it hit me - I was being honored with the Pre-warbler Tabernacle Choir with full orchestral accompaniment. The crows, pileated woodpeckers, ducks and geese held down the bass, while the jays, woodpeckers, thrush, and flycatchers wailed out the alto - the goldfinches, sparrows, and cardinals filled the sapranos, and the yellow-rumps and gnat catchers inspired the high sapranos. Behind them the percussions of the woodpeckers and rhythmic outpourings of the great crested flycatcher, oven bird and the one- and two-note hidden teaser birds. The brass amply provided by the geese and alarmed jays - the strings by the intermittent warblers and massive flocks of myrtles - the oboe (more imagined than heard) from the red fox and kits along the road side - the woodwinds by the airy calls scattered and filtered from the woods - all topped by the occasional xylophone of the veery. Getting beyond my building frustrations of the missing chestnut sideds, blackburnians, and Cape Mays, I stood in that moment transfixed by the beauty of what my ears could dream from songs and cries from creatures, some no larger than my thumb, performing in the forest - just for me. In that moment - just for me. I developed a new appreciation of the calls and songs of birds in that moment. I had been so caught up in having to see them - and deep inside I still do - but with this, as a whole nother piece, like the dream within the dream. To stand in the quiet of nature and finally hear the cacophony of the tuning orchestra and flexing voices and begin to appreciate the symphony and choir available just for the hearing. Could there be anything better? Thomas Maiello --------------090303020305050707010200 Content-Type: text/html; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit <!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> <html> <head> <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=ISO-8859-1"> <title></title> </head> <body text="#000000" bgcolor="#ffffff"> <small><font color="#000000"><font size="3"><small><font face="Verdana">Birded a favorite warbler area on the NE corner of Vadnais Lake - in mid-way - historically a 100% certainty of seeing a year's worth of tiny, beautifully artisted birds - but t'was not to be. Not a visible warbler past the rush of yellow-rumps on this day- but wait, what is that sound. Now I am not one to have learned every call and song and tweet of these little darlings I seek. But there I was amidst a cacophony of tweets, buzzes, cheerios, chick'a's, teachers, chirps, caws, chi's, rattles, poshes, whistles, squawks, whinnies, chips, trills, hoots, honks, nasal yenks, fieews, tee yous, wuks, tew-whees, picks, screams, quavers, crr-eeks, ti-dee-dees, kraars, and chucks - not having much of clue as to what was hidden amongst the upper canopy, thickets, pines, trunks, branches and leaves. And then it hit me - I was being honored with the Pre-warbler Tabernacle Choir with full orchestral accompaniment. The crows, pileated woodpeckers, ducks and geese held down the bass, while the jays, woodpeckers, thrush, and flycatchers wailed out the alto - the goldfinches, sparrows, and cardinals filled the sapranos, and the yellow-rumps and gnat catchers inspired the high sapranos. Behind them the percussions of the woodpeckers and rhythmic outpourings of the great crested flycatcher, oven bird and the one- and two-note hidden teaser birds. The brass amply provided by the geese and alarmed jays - the strings by the intermittent warblers and massive flocks of myrtles - the oboe (more imagined than heard) from the red fox and kits along the road side - the woodwinds by the airy calls scattered and filtered from the woods - all topped by the occasional xylophone of the veery. Getting beyond my building frustrations of the missing chestnut sideds, blackburnians, and Cape Mays, I stood in that moment transfixed by the beauty of what my ears could dream from songs and cries from creatures, some no larger than my thumb, performing in the forest - just for me. In that moment - just for me. I developed a new appreciation of the calls and songs of birds in that moment. I had been so caught up in having to see them - and deep inside I still do - but with this, as a whole nother piece, like the dream within the dream. To stand in the quiet of nature and finally hear the cacophony of the tuning orchestra and flexing voices and begin to appreciate the symphony and choir available just for the hearing. <br> <br> Could there be anything better?<br> <br> Thomas Maiello<br> <br> </font></small></font></font></small> </body> </html> --------------090303020305050707010200--
