Reflections on Thrush Songs, Newt Tracks and Old-Growth Stands of Trees

Abstract

The songs of varied thrush pull me from bed and out into a still-young morning. It took a full week, but I can resist their beckoning voices no longer. When the decision is made, I jerk off sheet and quilt, jump out of bed, and pile on several layers of shirts plus fleece jacket to ensure I'll stay warm in the cool, damp October air of an Oregon old-growth forest. To say it's early is a bit misleading; the clock reads a few minutes past seven when I step out the door, cross the lawn, and enter the old-growth stand only a stone's throw from where I've been sleeping, eating, and writing these last several days. The forest rings with the wake-up calls of varied thrushes, the predominant sound during this calm, quiet hour in the H. J. Andrews Experimental Forest. The songs aren't the gorgeously fluid, whistled melodies of the varied's Turdidae relatives, for instance the Swainson's and hermit's thrushes and American robin. But the distinctive voice is pleasing nonetheless, at least to these ears.