Morning has broken like the first morning,
Blackbird has spoken like the first bird.
Praise for the singing, praise for the morning,
Praise for them springing fresh from the world.
Eleanor Farjeon (1931)
Too often we take sound and the sense of hearing for granted. This involves both our, and other creatures’ ability to make noise and also the parallel function of receiving it. With humans, at least, and in some other species as well, there is also the ability to react to and appreciate what we have heard.
I have often marveled at the accomplished birders who have learned to bird-by-ear. These are the ones who have already identified the calls of a dozen birds in the parking lot while I’m still struggling with the binocular strap. But now, I can humbly say, that I have achieved some proficiency in this, and hope to learn even more. I’m sure you all know many more birdsongs than you even realize. Make a list of your repertoire and be surprised.
Recent additions to my list include the Tufted Titmouse’s plaintive monotonic call, the simple two-noted song of the Great Crested Flycatcher, and the White-eyed Vireo’s much more elaborate solo. Some gifted birders can recognize the different percussion patterns of the woodpeckers. I’m not there yet.
While sitting on the screen porch reading, one ear remains tuned to the yard noise. The Northern Mockingbird, Osprey, and Carolina Wren threaten to drown out the other, more subtle songs, and that mocker stills tries to fool me by mimicking the Blue Jay and Nuthatch, but I’ve finally wised up to this antic. The bird’s moniker is fitting–Mimus polyglottos.
Yesterday my reading was interrupted by a loud murder of Fish Crows and an unusual sudden silence of the songbirds. When the music stops, beware. Cease whatever you’re doing and investigate. I did just in time to see an Accipiter, probably a Cooper’s Hawk, gliding in low and heading for the hanging feeder. I think his sortie was unsuccessful and eventually the crows dispersed and the singing resumed. I wonder if the small birds appreciated the warning they got from the crows.
But there is still that nagging call you hear on the trail, over and over, and just can’t spot the unknown bird. Now there is a solution. Several years ago, over dinner with some tech savvy friends, they demonstrated the AP Shazam and its ability to detect a song in a noisy restaurant and identify the title and artist. We decided that a similar AP would be great for birding. I ran this concept by a engineer / business savvy member of the family who discouraged my further pursuit. Now, low and behold, Merlin has offered this very AP as part of their bird ID software and my chance for fame and riches has vanished.
Sound is nothing more than vibrations that pass through a medium, air or water, as waves. These are transmitted to a receiving device such as our ears. The pathway from our vibrating ear drum to the brain and our final preception of the sound is thankfully beyond the scope of this birding blog. Suffice it to say that the waves of sound have a variable amplitude or volume, and frequency or pitch. The sound can be a disorganized noise such as a clap of thunder or an idling engine, but can also be an elaborate and intricate pattern designed by a sender to express an emotion or idea.
In the avian world this creative ability is not shared equitably. Passerines, or songbirds, are divided into two suborders, the Passeri and the Tyranni. The former has a much more elaborate syrinx, (the bird’s voice box), than the latter and can add to a growing repertoire of intricate songs as they age. The Tyranni are born with a set and simpler play list, but they are still better off than the raptors and waders who can barely utter a screech or grunt.
For me the sounds of the solstice also includes music. Now I’m speaking of the human-composed variety. Chesapeake Music is a two-week gathering of some of the planet’s most accomplished chamber music artists who live among us for a brief visit in June every year and share their incredible talent. We in turn, share with them the delights of rural living on the Shore. Their usual lives are within the urban metropolises and famous concert halls.
Sitting through a recent performance of the masterpiece, Brahms Piano Quintet in F Minor in the small and recently refurbished Ebenezer Theater in Easton, Maryland, brought home to me the importance of sound, both avian and human, in our lives. Brahms, somewhat like our Mockingbird, was both the composer of the intricate work, weaving harmonies in ever-changing volumes, tempos, and rhythms, as well as the performing artist. In his day there were few better pianists in Europe. The notes of his quintet, created in 1864, was brought to us again in 2021. Where would we be without such sounds?
Unfortunately, as I rapidly approach my eighth decade, the ability to hear birds and Brahms is waning somewhat. They say the higher pitches go first–too many hours on the lawn mower. I’m not hearing the front doorbell or the Northern Parula and Chipping Sparrow like I used to. Cherish the sounds while you can. Beethoven eventually became deaf, but his genius allowed him to feel the sound as he continued to write masterpieces. I’m no Beethoven and probably am overdue for a hearing aid.