It starts every morning around 5am, a gathering of noisy neighbors. Like most parties, the host is ready first and starts calling his friends, “Hey y’all, the party is starting. Where are you?” No answer? Okay, I’ll say it a little louder and more insistently. “The party is starting everyone. What, did you run out of steam and go to sleep? Slackers! Get up and come on out!” Pretty soon the RSVPs start coming in. They may be half-hearted at first, but as the blood begins to flow and others join in the chorus, the energy is infectious and the whole neighborhood starts to get in on the act. Since I don’t speak the language, I’m not invited to the party. I don’t even bother to look out the window to see who it is. Most mornings I lay in bed groggily, enjoying the music, or groan and plead with the universe to allow me one more hour of blissful sleep. What else am I going to do? It was their neighborhood long before I showed up. Another morning, another cacophonous hour of “bird light”.
I often think about that long-ago evening on my porch and try to emulate what I heard from the birds in my own playing. I’ve found relating to nature and translating its rhythms to be a powerful experience. It gives me the sense that my participation in music makes me part of a bigger whole. It was a warm, fuzzy feeling. Until I saw this video and found out that it may not be birds at all, but a bunch of Turks outside my window harvesting tea! Oh well, it’s still beautiful! Enjoy the video!
I'm very interested in the intersection of communication in nature, human communication, and music. I saw a piece like this many years ago and was fascinated. I don't know if it was this region of the world or another, but I think that by observing and mimicking nature we stay close to our human roots even though technology keeps pulling us further away by the day. I'd love to hear from you how spending time in nature feeds your daily life. Drop a line or two and we can start a conversation.
Until next week, stay upbeat,
Jason
PS- The seed of this post came to me after seeing a segment from 60minutes that got me thinking of birds. While not trying to provoke any political discourse here, I do enjoy the absurd. You can find “The Origins of ‘The Birds Aren’t Real’”, the namesake of this piece here.
PSS- It’s interesting (and kinda sad) how technology continues to evolve replace beautiful human solutions to communication challenges. The phone replaced the telegraph. Email replaced sitting down and writing a letter. And cell phones are replacing this very unique way of mimicking nature to communicate in the mountains.
Spring is one of my favorite times of year, in part because I love listening to birds. Sit attentively listening to birds for long enough and you’ll begin to hear distinctive rhythms. I have a vivid memory of sitting on my back porch one evening, cradled in a wicker chair with my eyes closed, listening to the conversation of birds and the low whine of insects playing on the gentle azalea-perfumed breeze. The sharp squawk of a cat bird caught my ear. As I listened, I began to understand the cadence of its call. I could almost predict when the next burst would sound. It reminded me of tumbao (the lowest voice of conga drum in rumba). As I sat listening, my hearing began to orient itself to the calls of other birds. After tuning in for a few minutes I realized that each call had its own space, and that while pieces of calls would sometimes overlap, each stayed distinguished from the others and stayed in its own space of time in relationship to the cat bird. What was once a cacophony of sounds became clear and identifiable threads of conversation among the birds. I was spellbound. Of course, I knew that birds sang to communicate, but to recognize how intricately they spaced their songs so that each remained a distinct voice was a revelation.