(John-5:30 a.m.) Very different thoughts ran through my mind as I drove the familiar route to Prompton Lake on my way to an early morning sit spot. Today I would be achieving a long held goal, sharing the sit spot experience with another, in this case my friend Jerry. This was an opportunity to see if others experienced the same nature magic that I did. This would be my chance to confirm if my methods for blending in, for achieving sensory awareness, and for merging into forest mindfulness would work for others as well as they did for me.

(Jerry-5:30 a.m.) For several years now John has invited me to participate in one of his sit-spot sessions, the hour-long visits that led to his book, The Stillness of the Living Forest. This winter I backed out at the last minute due to below zero wind chill, but today our schedules meshed. We planned to make a joint trip to nearby Prompton Lake, the site of most of the sessions described in the book.

Basically, I knew the drill and the kit required: a lightweight camp chair, binoculars, thermos of tea and a notebook and pencil. To this I added a camera and a Roland digital recorder for audio. After reading the book, I did buy a Sibley Birds East, so I threw that in the pack as well. John tentatively suggested heading out at first light, but he quickly compromised and agreed to meet at 6:00 am in the boat launch parking lot. This would give us plenty of time to walk down to the peninsula and get set up before sunrise.

(John-5:50) When I pulled into the parking lot Jerry was already there with all the right gear. We walked across the parking lot and I showed him the leafed in, almost hidden entrance to the West Shore Trail. We stepped quietly down the trail which was muddy in places and which showed very little sign of use, just one bicycle tire track, one set of boot prints, one set of deer hoof marks.

We paused to listen to the insistent teecha, teecha, teecha song of an ovenbird and stopped to look at the lush green, softly gurgling seep which I had so often described in The Stillness of the Living Forest. Once across the seep we turned off the trail and angled through the woods past landmarks familiar to me, the buried tire and the huge tilted rock. In a few minutes we arrived at the tip of peninsula, the spot where I had done my year of nature observations. The plan was for Jerry to set up under the big black cherry tree and I would make my way over to the nearby little peninsula.

I thought it best to leave Jerry alone, to let him experience forest stillness in his own way. We agreed to start our first observation at 6:15 so that our 10 minute intervals would be aligned.

(Jerry-6:05) John ceded to me his prime spot in front of the black cherry tree. He would head over to the small peninsula 100 yards north. While John walked over to his spot, I set up the recorder 100 feet away, so that it didn’t pick up a click every time I opened the Thermos.

(John-6:05) Heading toward the brushy narrow neck of land that led to the little peninsula I quickly saw that the water level was too high to get through. Angling to the left to find an alternative way I plunged into the thick, almost impassable, tangle of alders and red osier dogwood, only to discover that once again my path was blocked by high water.

Realizing that I couldn’t get out to the little peninsula, I began to search for an alternative spot along the shore line. The clock was ticking and I wanted to be in place by 6:15. Just ahead I spotted a little opening in the brush in front of a big white pine with an open view toward the lake. I bulled through the last part of the thicket, made it to the spot, set up my camp stool, sat down, and pulled out my notebook.

(Jerry-6:15) John uses a system that he credits to Jon Young (see his Prologue). Begin each ten-minute segment by drawing a circle, and then note what occurs around the compass during that segment. At the end of the hour, you end up with six circles and the attendant notes.

I drew my first circle at 6:15. I was facing east with the black cherry right behind me. The first thing I noticed was the waves on the lake moving gently from the south. There were small undulations in the smooth water. There was no wind to speak of. I didn’t install the windscreen over the mic on the Roland. But the water was not flat and the motion was persistently from the south. We could be looking at rain tomorrow. I better see if I can mow some more lawn this afternoon.

Back to my first circle, I heard a chickadee off to my left. Mom always called them phoebes, because that’s what the call sounds like, B flat – G. A half dozen geese flew overhead a couple hundred feet up, flying south. Maybe they didn’t get the memo on the Canada trip. I took a video pan of my sit spot site at 6:23.

(John-6:15) High in the lacy branches of a willow tree a small bird sang a repeated short incisive song ending with a down slur, tsee tsee tsee tsee-o. Binoculars up, I spotted a bright orange and black male American redstart, singing loudly, proclaiming his ownership over a carefully chosen breeding territory. Maybe his lady was already building a tiny nest; maybe he was hoping to use his bold presence high on a branch and his loud clear song to entice a female to join him on his turf.

Ahead, I had an open view of the pre-sunrise sky, a soft blue-gray canvas with puffy, streaky gray and white clouds floating above the horizon. The morning bird chorus sounded all around me; the lilting aria of a song sparrow, the cooing of a mourning dove, the rolling witchety-witchety-witchety of a yellowthroat, the loud rattle of a flicker, and the konk-la-ree of a red-winged blackbird

(Jerry-6:25) Sun is brightening the sky, but is not over the hill yet. The birdcalls are more plentiful now. SE one is very loud and close, but I can’t see him. Roughly, fa fa fa,so me fa fa. My sister could sing out whole bass lines for me in solfege, but I’m too slow. I need to think about each note.

I just noticed the water running in a small stream 200 feet behind me. The soothing sound is quite clear, but I’m just picking it up now, 15 minutes in. SW a birdcall, seven tones evenly spaced all on the same pitch. NW a bird call two tones a whole step apart, so maybe fa fa so the fas being quarters and the so a half note. Traffic on the highway. Probably somebody needs to get to work by 7. And down the lake in front of the dam, I can now see ripples on the surface of the water. Two minutes later the leaves on the trees nearby are starting to shake.

(John-6:29) Absorbed in the morning birdsong chorus I lost track of time. A tiny bird flew by and perched on the tip of a dead branch. Binoculars quickly up and I had a clear magnified view of a hummingbird. I was transfixed by the sight of its long spiky bill, dark-green plumage and tiny feathers rippling in the breeze. It turned its head flashing a patch of iridescent orange-red neck feathers, a ruby-throated humming bird. It flew off leaving an imprint of absolute beauty in my mind and heart. The whole episode lasted only ten seconds.

I heard rustling in the leaf litter at my feet. Glancing down I saw a litter of tiny shrews drop out of a stump and scatter onto the forest floor. Thick gray-black fir, frantic movement as they burrowed under the leaves, scooted up logs, jumped down, and even crawled across my boots. They looked like a troupe of high speed tumbling acrobats and seemed to take no notice of me. Perhaps I was already blending in.

(Jerry-6:35) Two birds flew into the big black cherry tree right above me. Maybe I’ve been quiet long enough that they have accepted my presence. I am pleased to have them so close for some reason.

The title of John’s Chapter 7 is “Fitting In”. He touches briefly on the subject of being accepted in the forest. He has more to say on this subject than fit in the book. If you attend one of his presentations, pin him down on this point. To my mind it’s the main difference between this experience and the more common hour-long hikes or forest-bathing episodes.

South, nearby, some small birds are starting to move around in the bushes. At 6:39 there was a couple of birds really active and loud right above my recorder. Maybe I’ll be able to go back later and spot that on the tape. (Yeah I know it’s not really tape anymore.)

And at 6:40…. ta dah!!! The sun broke over the hill and started its trek to the far side of Prompton Lake. I took a vertical pan video of the black cherry tree as soon as the sun hit the bottom of the trunk.

(John-6:35) Birds seemed to love the big willow tree. The redstart flitted from high branch to high branch, paused and chanted his loud territorial song again and again. A yellow warbler landed high in the lacy branches, fluttered and gleaned for food before flying on. Two more warbler-sized birds ducked into the branches, tumbled around picking for morning morsels and flew on. A gray catbird landed on a low branch, sang a volley of whiny mews and flew away. How often had I seen this, a Feng Sui tree, a tree that all the birds seemed to like? A puff of wind arose and gracefully swayed the lacy willow branches.

At 6:40 the sun edged above the tree covered hills to the east. Spontaneously, I inhaled deeply, felt light and warmth hit my face, felt a tangible shift occurring all around me. It seemed as if all of nature welcomed the onset of daylight, the renewal of growth and life, the promise of new beginnings fulfilled once again.

(Jerry-6:45) Time for a 180 degree shift in position. The sun is bright enough that I don’t want to stare into it, so I’m turning to face the west. I dutifully draw the 6:45 circle with a W at the top. In flight I saw a black bird with a caw like a crow, but higher pitched. John said later that it might have been a gray catbird.

The stream sounds louder now that I’m facing it. Out of sight, out of mind? Crows cawed across the lake. The wind is strong enough now to sway the branches and is surprisingly cold. I’m dressed for it so I’m comfortable, but glad I checked the forecast. And remember, I’m just sitting here, so it’s not the same as dressing for a few laps at the track or a quick drive to the coffee shop.

(John-6:45) I heard the rich warble of a nearby Baltimore oriole nearby and the rattle of a kingfisher patrolling the shoreline. A flash of bright yellow high in a tree caught my eye. Binoculars up, a view of a male goldfinch, luminous golden yellow body, contrasting black head, blackish wings with a white stripe, and a black tail edged in white. I watched his bill open and his head and neck tilt back as he launched into his lively spring song of trills and twitters and lyrical swee notes. It was another moment of absolute beauty.

(Jerry-6:55) Prop plane high overhead. The birds over by the recorder have moved on, so it’s quieter in that direction. Wind is up to 8 – 10 mph and cold. The breeze would definitely move a sailboat, maybe even my round pop up kayak sail. No white caps, though. The birds just generally seem quieter now with the sun up and the breeze blowing. There is a woodpecker hammering on a tree over on the small peninsula in John’s direction.

(John-6:55) I looked at my surroundings. Thick brown wild grape vines twined up the bushes and trees to both sides forming a natural arbor around me, a shelter from the wind. I felt the strong tall presence of the white pine behind me. The two lacy branched willows stood to the right, scattered shoreline trees to the left, and in front slender saplings and shrubs partially veiled the view of the lake. The sun, now well above the far ridge, shone directly on me, warming the soft morning air, warm enough for me to take off my hat and unzip my fleece. The litter of shrews swung back into action and I heard them rustling over and under the leaf litter.

My gaze fell upon a big triangle shaped rock in front of me. The surface of the rock was covered with fallen pine needles, last year’s brown leaves and scattered twigs; debris that in past years had composted enough to support a little colony of life, clumps of green moss, a climbing vine, a few weeds and wildflowers, and scattered patches of gray-green lichen. A gust of wind whooshed through the branches above and seconds later I a few tiny twigs fell down and landed on the rock.

Suddenly I realized this was another system of forest life; debris—twigs ,leaves, pine needles, tree flowers, soft catkins, pollen constantly drifting down, settling, decaying, composting creating fertile pockets for growth. It was a complete recycling system; pruning and trimming above, composting and growth below, a system that I had never been aware of before. I glanced at my notebook and saw that two tiny twigs had fallen upon an empty page.

(Jerry-7:05) Back to the wind. It’s cold enough now that I did a 90 degree turn and faced north. There is a new call over near the recorder. It’s a single pitch, round tone in groups of quarter notes like 3 then 7 then maybe 5. A fish jumped out on the lake. NNW about 120 feet is a dead tree, hollowed out with an arch top doorway. Looks like a window in Rapunzel’s castle tower. I heard a familiar sounding bird song with a call that slid off in pitch. SW, I caught a flash of orange from an oriole flying along the shore.

(John-7:05) My hour was winding down. I watched the redstart up in the willow singing his clear song again and again. He was fully on duty and obviously not fatigued by his recent trek from the Caribbean Islands and Central and South America. I was impressed. He looked and sounded strong and energetic and eager to carry on his biological duties, eager to perpetuate his species.

I caught a nice view of a black and white warbler climbing up the trunk of the willow. I heard another redstart singing, but he must have been far enough away and on his own chunk of turf. Behind me a white-breasted nuthatch called ank ank ank, an ovenbird chattered and a veery called a loud veeer, veeer veeer. Crows and blue jays and a flicker called in the distance. Two catbirds darted into a thick bush and began to feed busily on old berries. A splash out on the lake, and then another; fish were jumping. I felt surrounded, almost embraced by a matrix of growing, falling, singing, flying, calling, splashing life, all of it warmed and nourished and illuminated by the ascending sun.

(Jerry 7:15) I thought we were done, but no sign of John. Maybe he fell asleep. You definitely hear a lot more than you see. It’s all about the birds, especially in May and at daybreak. It’s a continuous chorus. Did I fall asleep or get hungry? Not really. I finished half of my tea and never got to the Kind Bar I had tossed into my pack. The Sibley guide just sat there adding weight to the pack. There never seemed to be time to pull it out. 

(John-7:15) I gathered up my chair and notebook and made my through the woods toward Jerry’s spot. As I approached I felt the cold wind blowing off the lake. I realized that the microclimate at my spot, a mere 100 yards away, had been quite different, much warmer for sure.

We exchanged greetings. We did it! Our plan now was to head back to my house for hot coffee, scrambled eggs with garden herbs, and toast slathered with sweet raspberry jam. We would compare notes and impressions, try to determine which observations overlapped and which were unique.

(Jerry-9:30) The key to the experience is the notepad and the circle every ten minutes. Whether the notes are legible afterward is less important than the process that keeps your senses engaged. Just sitting there it would be easy to drift back to sleep or have your mind wander over to the stock market or worry about how the kids are doing.

The ten-minute interval is about right. The physical process of turning the page and drawing the circle serves to refocus your attention and sets the stage for comparison with the previous page – what’s different? After reading the book, I had gone out behind the house a couple of times on a sort of trial run. It’s woodsy, but I can see the house and after around 20 minutes, I basically just had a mental picture of all the chores I was skipping and came in.

If you’ve read John’s book or his blog posts, I would urge you to try out the whole routine. Set aside the time for the full hour and draw the 10-minute circles on the notebook. If you go with a partner, set up separately out of sight. I suppose it helps if you are an expert birder, but I think it’s enough to notice the different calls and just make up your own notation system. Perhaps you can identify the birds later with the Merlin Bird ID app.

When I walked in the house, my wife said I was relaxed and looked like I had been on a weeklong vacation. Maybe there is a bit of escapism in this whole thing. And remember, there’s no right or wrong. This is for fun, so treat it that way.

This shared sit spot session was conducted at Prompton Lake on May 9, 2019. If you would like to participate in a shared sit spot session please contact me.