Prologue

John

It’s a different story taking another person to an early morning sit spot.  On my own, I get there when I get there.  But with a guest there is a schedule, in this case a 6:15 a.m. meet up so I needed to get up at 5:15.  Worried about being on time I woke up during a night of restless sleep to check the time. 

I noticed other concerns winding in and out of my dream. How much instruction should I give Pat on how to conduct a sit spot?  I wanted to find the right balance between providing her with enough information and structure and yet leaving room for her to find her own way, for her to express her own individuality. 

And there were deeper worries.  Would she find the sit spot enjoyable and valuable?   Would she experience the same beauty and peace that I found? Would she have similar moments of mindfulness and insight? Or was my whole sit spot deal just a creation of my imagination and not the true, general, and user-friendly gateway to a deep nature connection that I thought it was?

I woke up on time.  After a few quick stretches, I brewed coffee, and as the first light of day inched above the horizon jumped in the car and was on my way, fingers crossed, hoping for the best.  I reassured myself that Pat was an excellent sit spot candidate.  After all, she was the secretary of the local Audubon chapter, a gardener, a hiker, a reader, and a person who chose to sleep outside on her screen porch where she could enjoy the fresh air and wake up listening to the morning bird songs.

Pat

John, a neighbor, friend and fellow Audubon member, had asked me to be a needed female “sit” candidate for an early morning hour at Browning Beaver Meadow’s observation deck overlooking its pond and 78 acres of habitat.  I had read many of John’s Forest Stillness blogs and looked forward to the experience, so I readily agreed.  We arrived at the deck and got set up on two separated 3-legged stools, agreeing that John would call out (make that “whisper out”) the 10 minute segments.  It was a cool (upper 40’s), beautiful morning and, bundled up in layers of fleece and a winter hat, I was ready to begin.

A Welcoming                         Segment 1                  6:50 am

John

What an easy spot to access. We drove right up to the observation deck, parked, set up the camp stools, pulled out our notebooks and began making notes for our first 10 minute interval.

Immediately there was much to see and hear.  Ahead on the pond, a double-crested cormorant, long yellow bill, body submerged, long snake like neck showing, swam across the still water. It noticed us, and took off, wings flapping steadily, skittering across the water and finally taking flight.

The May morning chorus filled the air.  In the distance a flock of crows cawed in unison, loudly, insistently, probably mobbing an owl.  Around the shoreline bullfrogs issued low, resonant r-u-u-u-umm calls while green frogs voiced  twangy, loose banjo string gunk, gunk. gunk calls. From the woods across the pond a woodpecker tapped, quick bursts of five taps, then a series of gradually slowing taps, the distinctive drumming of a yellow-bellied sapsucker.  From the nearby reeds came the musical, bell like chinga, chinga, chinga trill of a swamp sparrow, one of my favorite spring bird songs.

I took in the view across the pond— still water, marsh grasses, rolling forested hills, green hay fields, all of it under a pale blue sky.  Above the far shoreline tree swallows flitted gracefully, twisting, turning, and twittering back and forth, on the hunt for early morning insects.

Out on the pond something traced a V through the water. Binoculars up. It was a beaver, swimming leisurely, rolling, diving under water with a soft splashing, surfacing, and diving again.  No alarm slap of the tail, just a relaxed morning paddle across the pond.

How fitting I thought for a beaver to welcome us to the Audubon Browning Beaver Meadow Sanctuary, 78 acres of diverse habitat surrounding a pond nestled in the high hills of Northern Wayne County.  The site, a generous gift of Mel Browning, holds two miles of hiking trails.  I felt a sense of gratitude to Mr. Browning for his gift and to the Audubon volunteers who maintain the trails and who built the observation deck where we sat. 

Pat

OK, ready – deep relaxing breath, take in the overall environment.  There’s a general feeling of calm and quiet at the pond – the view of the trees and fields across the pond, a very light breeze causing the leaves in front of me to sway lightly. I’ve drawn my first circle in my notebook and am a dot in the middle.  As I notice the pond before me I am immediately aware of the amazing three-dimensional sounds.  There are birds calling and chirping from all 360 degrees around me.  There are bullfrogs calling from the pond edges at the left (south), woodpeckers tapping in the woods behind me, red-winged blackbirds all around are making their conk-a-ree calls; crows are making a fuss over towards the left. 

A slight mist is blowing across the pond in a southerly direction. Taking in my surroundings, I notice some tall ferns unfurling in front of the deck and I am mesmerized by the hemlock tree on my right – limey green tips of new growth on the delicate branches of darker green – a cascade of graceful foliage.  

Below the tree there are spring wildflowers – white blooms of Canada mayflower and starflower. 

Then – movement in the water!  It’s a beaver slowly diving, surfacing and gliding over and over across the pond.  He is angling towards shore at the small pond inlet to our left.  Such grace and (unselfconscious) ease – I want to be in that water swimming like that myself!  

I notice the light blue of the sky and the wispy clouds floating across it.

Unexpectedly – 10 minute are up…

Blending In Segment 2 7:00 am

John

A puff of breeze touched my cheek.  The same breeze blew slender strands of mist across the water and swayed the ferns and the tender new leaves on the wild blueberry bushes that grew in front of the deck.  The gentle rising and falling wind seemed like the breath of life across the pond.

The crows quieted down and I heard more birds, the rich warbled song of a rose-breasted grosbeak, the insistent teetcha-teetcha-teetcha of an ovenbird, the sweet, sweet, sweet, a little more sweet of a yellow warbler, and the enchanting witchety, witchety, witchety  of a common yellow throat.  There is nothing quite as beautiful as the morning bird chorus in May when the newly arrived neo-tropical migrants are on territory and singing their little hearts out.

A male red-winged black bird glided across the water, perched on a branch right in front of us, puffed out his bright orange shoulder bars and sang a crystal clear, conk-a-ree, conk-a-ree.  Another male flew in and landed nearby.  Three females popped out of the bushes.  A chase ensued, so close I could hear their wings flapping.

The red-wings, wrapped up in some territorial or breeding drama, acted as if we weren’t there.  Usually it takes 30-40 minutes before the birds and animals carry on.  But we were blending in after 15 minutes.  Perhaps here at the sanctuary the baseline was no people around.  The birds and probably the animals were accustomed to having the place to themselves.  Our presence quickly vanished beneath the veil of the wild.

Pat

My circle now has a pond edge drawn on it and, I’m becoming more oriented to my space.  I am facing west and am in the shade. I notice some very distant traffic sounds from the north. Using my binoculars I see a myriad of birds flying by on the far side of the pond. 

The breeze and mist are now coming from the right and starting to create ripples on the pond.  I hear the cascading vrdi vrreed vreed veer chant of a veery and the distant, flute-like ee-o-lay notes of a wood thrush (my favorite bird song).  The redwings keep up their calls from all directions and then a few fly into the bushes just to the right of our platform, calling loudly.  I check my Merlin bird sound app and learn that there are also yellow warblers, a warbling vireo, blue jay and common yellowthroat in my vicinity.  This makes me aware of the more subtle sounds in the background that are adding to the surrounding soundscape. 

A Stage                       Segment 3                  7:10 am

John

The mournful coo, coo, coo call of a mourning dove carried through the morning air.  Two tree swallows sky danced in front of us.  A flicker flew in and landed on the trunk of a nearby dead tree.  In the soft angled light I could see the delicate colors of its plumage, the bright red crescent on the nape of its neck, the light brown head and breast, the stark black breast band, and the spotted belly.  Thank you for the close up show I thought. When I moved the flicker spotted me, seemed surprised by the intrusion, and flew lazily off, rising and dipping, flying in flicker fashion.

A catbird landed on branch right in front of us.  From a distance a seemingly plain gray bird, but up close quite beautiful with slate gray plumage set off by a dressy black cap and rufous undertail feathers.  Catbirds are in the mimic family, cousins of the talented mockingbird and song-rich brown thrasher. This catbird launched into a lovely extended riff of blended and changing twitters, melodic pieces and jumbled squeaks.

Pat

My page is now more of a drawing-like map – my circle gone and the picture of the dot that is me on the rectangular deck much further down on the page – the space behind me smaller.  This must reflect my mostly forward-looking position, although I am aware of the trees and woods behind me.  The chilly breeze is picking up and the thought of the car seat heater suddenly seems quite appealing. 

Now catbirds have flown into our nearby bushes and one can be seen perching on a top branch and singing in high-pitched tones.   I become more aware of the landscape of the other side of the pond – a house in the distance, a big field, and myriad shades of green including an acidy-green patch at the edge of the pond.  There is a cluster of sparsely leaved trees on the left side, with their bare trunks standing out.  And now there are mourning doves cooing and adding to the soundscape of woodpeckers, redwings and bullfrogs.  I notice some tall evergreens to the left of our sit spot. 

Another 10 minutes is up … so soon!

Churring                     Segment 4      7:20 am

John

Suddenly, a strong gust of wind whooshed through the boughs of the hemlocks next to the observation deck.  I enjoyed the soothing sound of the breeze blowing through the evergreen branches but I also felt the windy chill of the 45 degree air penetrating my fleece and thought we would be in for a cold time if the wind continued to blow.

Thankfully, the wind settled back into a pattern of occasional light puffs. I sniffed the breeze inhaling the fragrances of moss and ferns and grasses. This was north country air, clear, dry, cool and invigorating.

I detected a new sound amidst the morning chorus of crows cawing, warblers singing, and frogs croaking.  It was a deep chur, chur, chur.  I listened carefully and tried to locate it.  There it was again, nearby in the little inlet to the left of the observation deck, chur, chur, chur. What was it?

Then I heard splashes, more churring, more splashes.  A flash of recollection arose from my memory bank.  I had heard this sound once before while doing a sit spot near a beaver pond when I saw a family of beavers relaxing on a mud flat churring away.  This, I later learned was the sound beavers make when they are contented. 

The churring and splashing continued and as I listened I thought it sounded almost like purring.  I felt a smile spread across my face as I pictured the beaver peacefully and happily splashing, churring and probably working away.

Pat

Some of the birds seem to be moving closer and the bellowing drone of the bullfrogs grew louder than ever.  The breeze is now coming more from the west. There are nearby “plunks” in the water – fish? Insects?  I become more aware of the bushes and brush in front of the deck and the redwings that must be nesting in some of them.  And that catbird is still in the area singing away.  The woodpeckers continue their persistent tapping in the woods behind me.  And then – a strange grumbling sort of sound from nearby on the left at the pond level – a different type of frog?  I’ve never heard this sound before. (And later learn from John that it was the beaver!).  I check my sense of smell – nothing particular – just a sort of fresh, slightly musty green smell. 

The Herons                Segment 5                  7:30 am

John

I glanced up at the sky, pale blue at the horizon, dark blue above, flecked with wispy white clouds, clouds I had never seen before or more likely had never noticed before or taken the time to look at.  Delicate white striations like slender strands of white cotton scattered across a vast blue panorama.

More performers appeared on the sit spot nature stage.  A green heron, a solitary, secretive, small heron flew across the lake and looped right over us close enough for me to see its mottled brown breast, its streamlined shape and watch and hear its steady wingbeats.

A pair of mallards flew swiftly across the lake, the iridescent green-headed drake, the mottled brown hen, rapid, rhythmic wing beats, the hen calling a husky quack, quack, quack.

Maintaining a kind of loose, open scanning I spotted movement on the far shoreline.  Binoculars up I brought them into focus just in time to watch a great blue heron fold its long wings and extended its long legs for a landing at the edge of the pond.  Before it could assume its hunting stance two red-winged blackbirds began to circle around and dart in at the heron. The redwings seemed to be trying to chase the much bigger the heron away.  Perhaps they had a nest nearby and knew that heron would just as happily gobble a baby bird as a fish.

The heron stepped further down the shoreline until the blackbirds flew off and let it alone.  Then, feet in the shallow water, it assumed its hunting pose standing still, scanning the water, spear like bill poised to strike.

Pat

The sky is becoming a deeper shade of blue with lovely wispy clouds moving across it slowly.  The breeze is now coming from the south. There are distant bird movements across the pond and using my binoculars I realize that the white “sign” I’d seen earlier is a bird box, no doubt harboring tree swallows.  And a small greyish shape turns out to be a great blue heron, patiently waiting in the shallows of the pond for a fish to come by.  I was startled to realize it was there.  There are small circles all over the pond – perhaps fish or insects?  I check Merlin briefly and it reports an alder flycatcher and again reminds me of the many participants in the sound chorus surrounding me. 

Tempus Fugit             Segment 6      7:40 am

John

Yes, time flies.   Maybe this phrase was coined by a Roman philosopher and nature lover sitting by the bank of the Tiberius River at daybreak listening to the morning chorus, watching the river flow to the sea, and reflecting on the passage of time. 

Our hour long sit spot had zipped by.  The idea of an hour sitting sounds like a long time, but the experience when absorbed in sights, sounds, smells and sensations goes quickly.  I took a few deep breaths and settled in to savor the last moments of peace, beauty and awe.

The swallows looped higher now, following the flying insects up as the temperature began to rise.  I watched the great blue heron step slowly along the shoreline.  I gazed at the water, the patterned wavelets when the wind blew and when the wind abated the reflection of the gray tree trunks and full rounded green foliage upon the mirror like surface of the pond.

I took in the full circle of sound around me.  From the woods behind came the chant of an ovenbird and the melodious song of a wood thrush.  All around the pond the droning of the bullfrogs and the twanging of the green frogs continued.   Near the observation deck a catbird mewed, a red-wing called a high tee-err, and a yellow warbler sang sweet, sweet, sweet, a little more sweet.

At exactly 7:50, the end of our sit spot hour, I heard the crunch of gravel as Jim, Pat’s husband, drove up.

Pat

My awareness grows… I notice how layered the opposite landscape is – the distant hills and various heights of the trees in the forest on the opposite side.  The sun is now causing the tree trunks on the opposite side to be reflected in the water.  Tree swallows are now dancing and swooping up high and then down to the water on the far side.  There’s a distant car horn to the right – dang – “civilization”.  Now I hear the beaver ploshing in the water to our left and realize how the pond is curved around on the left side of our deck.  A sense of peacefulness has settled in me.  And just as our last 10 minutes is up, I hear the crunching of gravel signaling the arrival of my husband Jim, who has come to join us for a 2 mile walk around this beautiful preserve. 

Epilogue

John

After an hour of sitting it felt good to stand up, stretch, move around, and warm up.  We set out right away on an eBird walk along the two mile Wood Duck Trail the looped through the sanctuary and around the pond.  Dappled morning sunlight filtered through the trees as we stepped along the boardwalk through the moist stream side woods into a hemlock cathedral, ascended through hillside hardwoods, walked through second growth brush, continued along a lakeside meadow and along the edge of hayfields.

The sun shone. The temperature rose.  As we walked, paused, looked, and listened our eBird count increased steadily from the 20s, to the 30s, into the 40s and topped out at 52 species when we heard the rollicking song of a bobolink and the chatter of a house wren.  It was a good wrap up, a full immersion in the richness of life in the Browning-Beaver Meadow Sanctuary.

Pat

I reflect that this has been a fast hour and while peaceful, I would not characterize it as relaxing. All my senses were on alert and I was aware that I had been intently registering and absorbing all of the sights, movement and sounds around me.  It reminded me of Michael Pollan’s description of the hunter’s alertness in his “Carnivore” chapter of The Omnivore’s Dilemma, a state of being focused and aware and rather oblivious to your own body.  I think the encircling soundscape was the most prominent feature of the sit.

Later that gorgeous afternoon, while outdoors and biking, I felt the true impact of the morning – a deep, striking feeling of gratitude and thankfulness.  A sense of wonder and awe for the beauty in nature that surrounds and sustains me, a “fall down on your knees” gratitude. 

                                                                    ***

This sit spot was conducted on March 29, 2022 at the Browning Beaver Meadow Sanctuary located near Equinunk, PA.  The sanctuary is open to the public, a parcel of vital wild nature where one can sit or hike and take in the rejuvenation that nature generously provides.  A map of the sanctuary is attached below.

You are welcome to read about more sit spots and wander walks on this blog or in my book, The Stillness of the Living Forest: A Year of Listening and Learning available at Amazon.com and through Shanti Arts Publishing.

A big thank you to Pat Sanders for joining me on this sit spot.

The Stillness of the Living Forest: A Year of Listening and Learning: Harvey, John: 9781947067592: Amazon.com: Books

The Stillness of the Living Forest, John Harvey (shantiarts.co)