It happened again last week. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve felt this type of magical synergy. It comes, sometimes, when exploring a place with someone who is deeply familiar with the land and whoever lives there whether plant or animal.
The first time I was dazzled by this synergy was with Tom Tyning a Massachusetts herpetologist who I had the pleasure of meeting while I was working for Massachusetts Audubon. He was the type of naturalist who had this seemingly magic ability to scan a forest floor or a streambed and point to a log or a rock and gently say, “There. Look there. That looks like a great place for a salamander.” And it seemed like each time he did so, we’d find a salamander - sometimes right down to the species he predicted.
Being a young naturalist at that time, Tom seemed truly like magic. It was inspiring and I longed to be this knowledgeable, this connected. I look back on this now and I think about the amount of dirt time he had put in to develop this way of knowing both the landscape and the needs of each snake or salamander or frog. And I’m sure he did a lot of fieldwork as well, but to me dirt time is different. I think of dirt time as an open-ended exploration full of curiosity. In other words, lots of time sauntering, gazing, and lingering (see last month’s blog post).
It happened again last week with another Tom, this time birder Tom Berriman. I was with a small group of folks who had hired me to take them birding in the Northeast Kingdom where there are birds only found in that part of Vermont like the Black-backed Woodpecker, Boreal Chickadee, and Canada Jay. We ran into him in the parking lot at Moose Bog as we were on our way back from the bog. We were deciding where to go next when Tom shared that he had seen Canada Jays and Black-backed Woodpeckers a short walk down the gated South America Pond road. He offered to take us there and off we went.
Now, this Tom is someone I sought out while starting off as a birder because of his knowledge about boreal birds and birding in the Northeast Kingdom. He’s been birding this rural part of Vermont for about 20 years and has led the local Audubon Chapter for as long as I can remember. Not only is he knowledgeable, but he’s super kind and friendly and ever so willing to share his knowledge with anyone who asks. He’s also got that magic synergy with place.
As we walked down the dirt road to where a large swamp stretched out on either side, we quietly chatted together when suddenly, and very subtly, Tom just quietly says “Look.” and points to the side of the road. Now we had been hearing the drumming of a Black-backed Woodpecker in the distance, probably out over the swamp, but here was a female Black-backed Woodpecker at eye level within 10 feet of the group! She was calmly hitching up and down a small spruce stump, flecking bark away and probing underneath for food. My jaw dropped. Just because you come to the Kingdom to see these birds doesn’t always mean you get to see or hear them. I seriously think I would have walked right by this bird if it hadn’t been for Tom. His ears are so tuned to even the muted sounds of bark flecking that this foraging female stood out to him. Magic, I tell you.
We could put another word to this magic, it is a deep connection and love for place - topophilia. Topophilia is defined as the affective bond between people and a place or setting. Both Toms had a deep sense of place or attachment to place based on their interest and passion for birds, reptiles, and amphibians. Topophilia recognizes one’s mental, emotional, and cognitive ties to place. They had spent loads of time on the land and truly leaned into our innate ability as animals to form a relationship with place. Their awareness of the land and the inhabitants was on another level, it’s a whole other way of knowing place that becomes kindly intimate and comfortably familiar.
Birds are a wonderful portal to place, especially if we slow down and open up to beholding their relationship with each other. When we become aware of these threads of connection between the woodpecker and the stump or the drumming woodpecker and the snags standing sentry in the swamp, is when we too become open to reconnecting with place ourselves.
Here are some thoughts on cultivating your attachment to place. Please feel free to share what you’ve experienced in the comments below.
Walk the same route or visit the same place every day. The closer to home the better. Do this in all weather at all times of the day. Rekindle your sit spot practice.
Try embracing “choiceless awareness” which John Kabat-Zinn describes as a meandering meditation. Allow yourself to let the birds pull you into awareness, and if the birds aren’t present, let a breeze or a dandelion, or a blade of grass capture your attention.
Practice a relational view. Where does Song Sparrow like to sing in your yard? Is it a shrub or a tree, a post, or a brush pile? How do the starlings sort themselves while feeding in the grass? Who’s in relation to who and how?
Photo credit: Timothy Hoch birder & artist
“I know how to cultivate that kind of belonging. Learn the ecology, history, language, culture, and mythology of your place. Go out into it for long periods of time, every day. Sit in the same place every day for an entire year, in all seasons and weathers; talk to the land and listen to it, and maybe then you’ll have some claim to belonging to it.”