Hey friends,

In her memoir “Refuge”, beloved environmental writer Terry Tempest Williams writes:

“I pray to the birds. I pray to the birds because I believe they will carry the messages of my heart upward. I pray to them because I believe in their existence, the way their songs begin and end each day, the invocations and benedictions of earth. I pray to the birds because they remind me of what I love rather than what I fear. and at the end of my prayers, they teach me how to listen.”

The birds, and our natural world as a whole, are my solace and my temple. Connection to the land is where I find sacredness. In this dialogue with the earth I feel the most held, loved, and accepted for being nothing more than who I am.

Last week I spent a couple of days in Oregon’s high desert again —and am actually writing this note to you just a couple hours ahead of leaving to go right back for another round. I can’t stay away.  The desert landscape is undeniably holy. It has become an inextricable part of me over years spent exploring its secrets. The vast sky and quiet desolation that offers space to breathe, rest, and observe, and to sink into the world around me in reverent relation not as a visitor but as devoted kin.

During our 48 hour whirlwind trip we counted at least 100 different bird species including a few lifers (birds I’d never seen before) like a flock of Brewer’s Sparrows and a Gray Flycatcher. We were in such a relatively remote wetland area that we only saw a few other people the entire time, which meant extra great looks at some usually elusive birds like a mama Virginia Rail and her tiny fluffy baby, a first for me, and at least 6 Bitterns out in the open, which is very rare indeed. Both of these marsh birds can usually be heard from the dense reeds but not often seen. I reveled in their presence.

Everywhere we went we listened for the birds. We listened for them on quiet walks along the soggy edges of wetland lakes seeping across the valley. We listened as we fell asleep to Nighthawks shouting “peent!” as they danced through the lingering 9 PM summer solstice sunset. We listened at first light as the dawn chorus sprang to life: Western Tanagers with their rolling arpeggio, the broken staccato of Pygmy Nuthatches syncing with their hop-steps as they scaled down tree trunks foraging for insects, and all kinds of songbirds filling in the gaps of this grand overture with their conspicuously cheerful refrains.

From this practice of listening came a notable softening in my mind and body. The record-scratch of anxiety and fear I held during prior weeks were drowned out by bird song. In focusing outward I was able to quiet the chaos within, to find comfort by opening my ears, eyes, and heart to that ancient song humming through this viscerally rhythmic world.

Blessed be the birds.

I’ll catch up with you again after another week of birding, listening, and gathering inspiration in the desert. I hope you find small ways to connect with the wider world this week to harness more love and less fear, as Terry reminds us to do.

And pick up a few of her books! I’m currently reading her newest book The Glorians and can’t recommend it enough. A stunning piece of writing about awe and devotion to all living beings and the land itself.

Jenn