4:33 a.m. Wake Up

Eyes open, wide awake. I had set the alarm for 5 knowing full well that I would be too late to be in the field at sunrise. But last night my lazy self couldn’t face getting up before 5. Yet some part of my mind had registered the 5:13 sunrise time and now that same part of my mind was rousing me from my sleep. My sit spot mind knew the rewards for being present at sunrise and seemed determined to get me up and going. There was no sense in further delay.

Climbing out of bed, I glanced out the motel window, saw the first hints of daylight spreading over rolling farm land, did a quick morning wash up, donned outdoor clothes, grabbed my gear, and 10 minutes later was in the car. My destination was the Chiwaukee Prairie State Natural Area, a 410 acre plot of original tall grass prairie near Lake Michigan just south of Kenosha, Wisconsin.

5:10 a.m.  Arrival and Approach

I parked by the gate, shouldered my backpack and camp stool, and strode down an abandoned road through dew drenched grass towards a promising spot I had scouted two days earlier. In the dim light the landmarks I had set, a solitary tree and a bluebird house, were hard to locate. After some searching I found the trace of a trail that led to a patch of open ground with a shallow pond on one side and scattered brush, willows and red-osier dogwood, to the other side, a location with both edge habitat and an open view.

5:19 a.m. Interval One: Acclimating

Setting up my camp stool, I sat down, and settled in. The temperature was a pleasant, fresh 55 degrees, the wind light from the southwest, and the elevation 610 feet. I faced due south. Pulling out my notebook, I drew my first sensory awareness circle, put a dot in the middle to mark my location, and began to look and listen, and to make notations all around the circle of everything I saw, heard, felt, and smelled.

A band of pale pink-purple color stretched along the southern horizon. Higher in the sky, pale blue turned to deep blue where a few wispy pink tinged clouds floated with the wind. To the east, toward Lake Michigan, behind a dark line of tall willow trees, rising layers of red to yellow to blue presaged the coming sunrise. It was another morning color show.

All around me birdsongs filled the air. Slowing my breathing down I tuned into the chorus trying to sort through layers of song. Some were clear and easy to detect; the cheerful cheerily-cheerup, cheerily-cheer-up of a robin and the numerous konk-la-ree songs and chack, chack, chack calls of red-winged blackbirds. Listening more closely I picked out the rolling witchety-witchey-witchey of a yellowthroat, the sweet-sweet-sweet, a little more sweet of a yellow warbler, and the liquid twitter of tree swallows as they swooped and banked above me deftly snatching insects in the cool morning air. Guiding my hearing to an even more subtle level of sound I detected the faint sneezy fitz-bew song of a willow flycatcher. Levels and layers of sound out here I realized.

By sitting still, listening, and allowing my hearing to grow more acute I was able to hear much, but I guessed there was more to hear.

5:29 a.m.  Interval 2: The Crescendo

A solitary sandhill crane flew above the prairie; long neck stretched forward, long legs trailing, strong wings flapping, gray and rust plumage illuminated by the soft morning light.

A duck in flight far ahead. It grew larger as it winged towards me. I saw its green head, a drake mallard. Setting its wings, it glided and with a veep, veep call splashed down on a patch of open water behind a line of shrubby willows. The sun slowly pushed above the tree line.

A small bird flew by, a graceful, lilting, dipping up and down flight, a sweet per-chik-oree call; a male gold finch, bright yellow plumage luminous in the sunlight.

The bird songs grew louder, more energetic, more insistent, more enthusiastic, sounding like a rollicking, multilayered, Beethovenesque hymn of joy. Robins, grackles, red-wings, yellow warblers, and goldfinches joined in. A black and white warbler added its rusty hinge weesa-weesa-weesa song. The air was filled with a continuous jumble of bird songs without even a second of silence.

It was the crescendo of the morning chorus. At that moment, I thanked my sit spot mind for rousing me from sleep, for bringing me out to hear this celebration of life, this wave of sound that continuously circled the globe.

5:39 a.m. Interval 3:  Sunlight and a Sweet Surprise

As the morning sunlight spread across the prairie I began to discern various shades of green around me; light green grasses, yellow green willow leaves, dark green prairie plants, forest green oak leaves, all of them glistening with morning dew.

A goldfinch flew in and perched at the top of a willow. I watched it bounce up and down on a slender branch. Bringing up my binoculars, I brought it into focus; saw its bright gold-yellow back and breast, its natty black head cap, its dramatic black wings and tail. I watched its conical orange bill open and heard its melodious spring song pour out. I saw it turn to face the sun and launch into another verse of its sweet song. Ah, I thought, if I was a bird I too would face the sun to sing my morning song.

Movement in my peripheral vision. Turning, I spotted a medium sized bird fly in and land on a stalk of grass just 10 feet in front of me. My fast mind thought “flycatcher” while my slow mind carefully and methodically scanned for field marks; largish head, minimal neck, short pointy bill, olive back and wings with marked clear whitish lines, faint yellow tinge on the breast feathers. It opened its bill and sang a burry fitz-bew.

This was a willow flycatcher, a bird seldom seen, usually only identified by its call and its presence in its favored habitat of moist thickets and brushy fields. This was a sweet treat, my first close up view of this bird. After ten seconds it flew off into the willows. I felt happy and was reminded once again of the value of sitting still, of giving nature the chance to reveal herself in moments of beauty and discovery.

5:49 a.m. Interval 4: From Distractions to Discoveries

The wind picked up, a morning breeze that carried the distracting sounds of traffic from nearby Sheridan Road. An Amtrak passenger train rumble-clacked down the tracks that skirted the west edge of the reserve. I scanned the train with my binoculars, saw the seated passengers, dressed for work, books and phones and newspapers in hand. It was the early morning commuter train heading to the offices, studios and cubicles of downtown Chicago.

This view of people on their work schedule, made me think about my day ahead. Previously made plans had been cancelled, and as a result I had no plan for the day. Quickly, the top down, planning, organizing, worry tinged part of my mind took over. I could take care of this. I could go there. I should do that. And then I could do this.

As these busy thoughts jumped around in my mind I realized I had lost awareness of the world of nature. How quickly and completely I had been distracted. Smiling in amusement and shrugging my shoulders in annoyance, I refocused my attention on nature by carefully examining a few square yards of ground around me.

Looking down to the left I saw clumps of short dark green grass. These were true prairie grasses, deep rooted and slow growing. By August their stems and leaves would reach a stately six to eight feet high. I looked down to my right at more grasses.

Then I spotted small blue bell like flowers blooming amidst the grasses. These were marsh bellflowers, slender stems and leaves holding up striking blue-violet blossoms. How could I have missed seeing them until now?

Ahead stood a single stem of pink flowers in bloom, delicate swept back petals revealing a tiny golden beak. These were shooting stars.

Suddenly the smiling face and warm voice of my Aunt Joan came to mind. She loved and honored this prairie and volunteered many hours, tending and propagating the plants, removing the invasive species, serving on the board, raising funds, coordinating volunteers. She worked smart and hard to help preserve this prairie.

But her motivation wasn’t just wasn’t against unwise development and for the general concept of preservation. Her motivation was energized by her love for the seasonal parade of prairie wildflowers. I could hear her voice and see her smile as she said that the shooting stars, one of her favorites, were in bloom. That meant it was time to walk the prairie and take in the beauty. 

5:59 a.m.  Interval Five: Timeless

A male red-winged blackbird perched high in a small tree fanned his wings, exposed his bright orange wing patches, and sang a loud konk-la-ree. These were territorial behaviors. Another male flew in and perched on the other side of the tree. Curious, I watched to see what might unfold.

The first male gave another display. The second seemed to ignore him. For a minute they both occupied their own part of the tree. I wondered if the home boy was going to simply tolerate the intruder. Suddenly he flapped into the air and flew at the stranger who quickly took off. The home bird then perched even higher in the tree and seemed to give an even prouder and more energetic song and display.

Gazing ahead I saw that the sun now shone brightly on green grasses, reeds, weeds and wildflowers, all of it a rich pulsating panorama of life. I felt that same sunlight warm my neck and shoulders.

Watching the grasses sway in the breeze I realized that all of the prairie plants were adapted to the wind, were comfortable leaning and bending back and forth in the breeze.

In the distance I saw open grassy areas, patches of bushes and scattered clumps of oaks, each form of life striving to gain space. The grass lands depending upon occasional fires to beat back the invading bushes and trees.

I thought of the richness of prairie life, a community of plants and animals and birds and insects in dynamic balance. It all seemed like a timeless story; the birds battling for territory, the rich matrix of grassy growth, the eternal movement of wind and grass, the ongoing struggle between trees, bushes and grasses.

6:09 a.m. Interval 6: Diminuendo

The final interval of my hour. I drew my sixth circle and resumed making notes of all that I saw and heard. The bird songs were more distinct now, I could hear brief intervals of silence between the songs and the tones were softer, the volume decreased. Perhaps the birds had progressed through their celebration of daybreak and were now settling into routine of the day.

I listened as each song rose and fell; the sing-song of the robin, the aria of a song sparrow, the twitters of the swallows, the rich phrasing of a yellow warbler, the melodious riff of a goldfinch and the clear musical purty, purty, purty whistle of a cardinal.

A butterfly flapped by. Swallows swooped. Red-wings called. A gust of wind whooshed the slender leaves of the willows.

The hour had zipped by, but I wasn’t ready to leave. I wanted to linger and savor the morning songs of the birds, listen to sounds of the wind through the grasses and leaves, and gaze at the wildflowers.

6:25 a.m. Departure

Reluctantly, I stood up, returned my notebook and guide books to my backpack, folded up my camp stool and shouldered my load. I decided to take a walk through the prairie down a slender, barely discernable path.

Soon I came upon a big patch of shooting stars varying in color from pink to rose to violet. I found a swath of wild lupines, luminous purple-blue in the morning sunlight. Smiling, I realized these were views my Aunt Joan would have enjoyed. I was glad to have done a sit spot in a place with a tangible history that I could remember and sense and feel, in this case a family history, a history that had helped form me.

When I returned to my car I saw a van parked with a sign on the side reading Chiwaukee Prairie Volunteers. I looked down the same road I had walked on my arrival and saw four young people heading into the preserve carrying hoes, saws, pruners and large bags, a new generation of volunteers tending the prairie, a scene that would have brought a satisfied smile to my Aunt Joan’s face.

This sit spot session took place on June 11, 2019 at Chiwaukee Prairie and is dedicated to the memory of my Aunt Joan Rohan.

 You can read more about sit spots and nature mindfulness in my book, The Stillness of the Living Forest:  A Year of Listening and Learning available online at Amazon.