Bryan, thank you for posting your talk with Erica. What delightful company you were when I drove up the mountain where dump trucks outnumbered cars. Brave people in orange vests (no comparison to the glorious orangest orange of Baltimore Orioles) repaired the half of the highway that slid down the mountain with the rains of Helene. Month seven and we continue to rebuild.
Gratitude for the beauty you add to our understanding of the world.🌱🌿💚🎼
Thanks so much, Katharine. You and North Carolina and environs suffered such great loss from Helene -- and I'm sorry the rebuilding continues. Here in Vermont in 2023 (and 2024), the rivers rose to flood buildings and people and wildlife, to take some structures with them, but nothing like Helene from what I can tell. Helene was more like a tsunami. Nonetheless, we now have — oh, what's the right word for it? — kinship. 😉 You yourself use it so elegantly. So I'm sending you notions of terra firma, of strength, of solidarity and kinship and action. And please do enjoy the warblers and butterflies along the way!
I learned from listening to how you opened up your latest podcast with your predictions of what will come next. You have a wonderful way about you.
I am still putting in my practice hours. I know what I think is coming next but after listening to your cool nature — well, it’s quite conversational and refreshing — and I feel my shoulders drop as I ponder how aspects of my work fit together.
Do you have any book recommendations for habitats for birds and animals? I am curious about architecture, construction, and how they handle storms. (And I was utterly blown away by your excellent response to the question you get about what happens the non-human world during storms and how that really is not the pertinent question.)
- Stokes Guide to Bird Behavior (published long ago)
And, gosh, I think I've forgotten in which episode I spoke about non-human responses to storms. Eek! Sorry! But, yeah, wildlife tends to do better than we do in most disasters, but not so good with the chronic ways we destroy or deplete the natural world.
I lived in Vermont for six months. The soundtrack of crickets, birds, and frogs still resonates with me. I spent a month in Montpelier. I wished that I had done some birding while I was there. Vermont is enchanting.
You introduced me to Rumble Strip years ago. Thank you for reminding me in this essay. I love how you both expressed the joy of discovery... the details.
I also respect your take on knowing where you belong. I felt that way about my home town. It enveloped me in that it contains a great variety of habitats more wild mammals live here than domestic ones. That is a general sense of belonging.
And how you feel about bogs is more personal. I feel that way about any watery habitat. I couldn't pick just one. Spring seeps, small streams, pond edges, and of course bogs. When I hike those are the places destinations. They are habitat edges where I can sit and blend in so nature gets back to its business. Thank you for making aging and focusing on place OK.
Thanks, Sue. Since that birdwalk with Erica, I've also come to know and cherish sacred places among friends, no matter where we are. Although bogs and other wild places are, as I said in the podcast episode, where I genuinely belong, I'm finding more and more belonging among people I love -- even in places of artifice.
Thanks ... as always ... for reminding me to connect with nature. I hear the birds singing every morning here in Portugal and you reminded me to find out who they are and where they came from.
Listened to this on my drive across the mountains, day before yesterday and loved every minute of it, Bryan. I was headed for snowline, hoping for calming swaths of Glacier Lily and Trillium and maybe a few early warblers. The wildflowers were there in abundance, but birdiwise, it was pretty quiet. A few chickadees. One Golden Eagle on the soar. I was most grateful for the company on the drive.
Bryan, thank you for posting your talk with Erica. What delightful company you were when I drove up the mountain where dump trucks outnumbered cars. Brave people in orange vests (no comparison to the glorious orangest orange of Baltimore Orioles) repaired the half of the highway that slid down the mountain with the rains of Helene. Month seven and we continue to rebuild.
Gratitude for the beauty you add to our understanding of the world.🌱🌿💚🎼
And Erica inspired me! I just signed up for Merlin.🌱
Thanks so much, Katharine. You and North Carolina and environs suffered such great loss from Helene -- and I'm sorry the rebuilding continues. Here in Vermont in 2023 (and 2024), the rivers rose to flood buildings and people and wildlife, to take some structures with them, but nothing like Helene from what I can tell. Helene was more like a tsunami. Nonetheless, we now have — oh, what's the right word for it? — kinship. 😉 You yourself use it so elegantly. So I'm sending you notions of terra firma, of strength, of solidarity and kinship and action. And please do enjoy the warblers and butterflies along the way!
Bryan, thank you for all you sent.
I learned from listening to how you opened up your latest podcast with your predictions of what will come next. You have a wonderful way about you.
I am still putting in my practice hours. I know what I think is coming next but after listening to your cool nature — well, it’s quite conversational and refreshing — and I feel my shoulders drop as I ponder how aspects of my work fit together.
Do you have any book recommendations for habitats for birds and animals? I am curious about architecture, construction, and how they handle storms. (And I was utterly blown away by your excellent response to the question you get about what happens the non-human world during storms and how that really is not the pertinent question.)
Thank you for your kinship.🌱
Thanks for the kindness, Katharine. Back atcha.
Two suggestions:
- The Sibley Guide to Bird Life & Behavior
- Stokes Guide to Bird Behavior (published long ago)
And, gosh, I think I've forgotten in which episode I spoke about non-human responses to storms. Eek! Sorry! But, yeah, wildlife tends to do better than we do in most disasters, but not so good with the chronic ways we destroy or deplete the natural world.
I lived in Vermont for six months. The soundtrack of crickets, birds, and frogs still resonates with me. I spent a month in Montpelier. I wished that I had done some birding while I was there. Vermont is enchanting.
Thanks, Patricia. I cannot conceive of living anywhere else. And you're always welcome back!
Vermont is a friendly place.
I'm on the other side of the country now--Pacific NW, also green and lush. Different birds though. I miss the cardinals.
You introduced me to Rumble Strip years ago. Thank you for reminding me in this essay. I love how you both expressed the joy of discovery... the details.
I also respect your take on knowing where you belong. I felt that way about my home town. It enveloped me in that it contains a great variety of habitats more wild mammals live here than domestic ones. That is a general sense of belonging.
And how you feel about bogs is more personal. I feel that way about any watery habitat. I couldn't pick just one. Spring seeps, small streams, pond edges, and of course bogs. When I hike those are the places destinations. They are habitat edges where I can sit and blend in so nature gets back to its business. Thank you for making aging and focusing on place OK.
Thanks, Sue. Since that birdwalk with Erica, I've also come to know and cherish sacred places among friends, no matter where we are. Although bogs and other wild places are, as I said in the podcast episode, where I genuinely belong, I'm finding more and more belonging among people I love -- even in places of artifice.
Thanks for a lovely story and thanks for the birds.
I'm honored to share them with you, Ray. Thanks for listening!
Thanks ... as always ... for reminding me to connect with nature. I hear the birds singing every morning here in Portugal and you reminded me to find out who they are and where they came from.
Listened to this on my drive across the mountains, day before yesterday and loved every minute of it, Bryan. I was headed for snowline, hoping for calming swaths of Glacier Lily and Trillium and maybe a few early warblers. The wildflowers were there in abundance, but birdiwise, it was pretty quiet. A few chickadees. One Golden Eagle on the soar. I was most grateful for the company on the drive.
Ha! I had to listen to your podcast to hear an Oriole for the first time. Now, if only they would show up here and win a few games for Baltimore...
I could listen to that chorus of spring peepers and wood frogs on an endless loop. So beautiful and soothing.