Note: The following is based on my April 12, 2015 journal entry from our Wabash River to the Gulf of Mexico (source-to-sea) kayak trip.
After another chilly night and morning camping downstream from Lagro, Indiana, on the bank of the Wabash River, the unique sound of a Pileated Woodpecker hammering nearby serenaded us as we ate our dehydrated breakfast of eggs, sausage, and hash browns. Later, as it flew away, I was reminded what large birds they are.
My first sighting of a Pileated Woodpecker happened one fall a few years ago while John and I were strolling through a youth camp on Birch Lake in Michigan. The caretaker had locked the buildings for the season. The sun was shining, the air was crisp and clean, and the leaves on the trees were changing from their summer green to autumn yellow and orange. Leaves that had lost their battle of holding tightly to the branches crunched under the weight of our hiking shoes. As we passed the dining hall, we imagined the voices of eager children running to save their spot at their favorite table. The empty flagpole is surely the center of flag-raising and lowering ceremonies each summer day. We peeked in the nurse’s station windows. How many children does the nurse nurture each week? Do the campers count down the days each summer until they finally pick out a bunk? I know when I was a child, I crossed off the days on the calendar several weeks before church camp each July.
The monkey-sounding call broke the silence. Since we were sure monkeys don’t typically inhabit Michigan, we listened more closely. An ominous shadow moved across the browning grass speckled with colorful leaves. Shielding our eyes from the sun, we gazed up to locate the creator of the floating black shadow. A large black bird with white under its wings landed in a nearby tree. It had a red crown and long beak. Then a hollow, hammering sound, classifying the bird as a woodpecker, echoed. Later, studying a bird book, we identified the bird as a Pileated Woodpecker. The range indicated this species is found in Indiana, although we had never seen or heard one. Now, if I hear a monkey in our woods, I’ll know what it is.
Although the antics and noises created by wildlife can be quite noisy as they march through their daily routines, nature provides a sense of peace. I love that nature continues its routine around us despite our presence.
I hope the sights and sounds of nature never occur without my noticing them—like so many aspects of life. What parts of life at home have moved to the background without my realizing the transition? What activities used to create excitement and wonder but are now common place?
Many times something we anticipate becomes a burden. Shaving, a new house, a relationship, driving. The newness wears off and is replaced by a habit. Performed without thinking… Most of what children do is new to them—not their normal yet. They approach life with wild abandon—so much of what they see is still exciting.
Here’s the Thing: How quickly does wild abandon become domesticated? When did the child-like gleam fade from my eyes? Once it’s gone, can it be retrieved? When (and why) did I lose my sense of wonder? What would my life look like if I resisted allowing common daily adventures to become normal? Interesting questions I can’t answer because the transition from exciting to normal happens without my realizing. Next time I hear a monkey call, instead of continuing on my way, I will stop and scan the sky
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Editor’s Note: This is one of a series of articles written by a group of retired and current teachers — LaNae Abnet, Ken Ballinger, Billy Kreigh, Kathy Schwartz, and Anna Spalding. Their intent is to spur discussions at the dinner table and elsewhere. You may also voice your thoughts and reactions via The News-Banner’s letters to editor.
