How you should listen to nature's spring music
It's the music of March.
"Listen!" I said to the group gathered around the maple tree during our Maple Sugaring Days at Creek Bend Nature Center. I cupped my ears, signaling for others to do the same.
The "plunk-plink!" sound of sap hitting the bottom of the metal pail was music to my ears. Then, as if on cue, came a noise from overhead. "Up there, too!" I exclaimed as a flock of sandhill cranes bugled in the upper reaches of the blue sky. The first movement in the symphony known as "March" had begun.
March is a musical month in nature, and the first strains of the music are pure joy at the end of winter. I know this to be true after many years experiencing March in Illinois.
The group around the tree during the maple sugaring program had some doubters - as evidenced by the blank looks when I called attention to the cranes. The problem wasn't hearing aid batteries, nor was it the shuffling of feet, or kids laughing, or the occasional sniffling on that cold March day.
Some people didn't hear the music of March because they couldn't. They couldn't, because they didn't know how to listen.
The music of any season is easily lost in the cluttered soundscape of everyday life. Early March is particularly challenging, as the opening notes are subtle. Drops in a bucket are drowned in the din of nearby traffic. The calls of migrating birds are lost among the droning of airplanes. The chatter of squirrels is nothing compared to the babble of ubiquitous televisions. The sound of melting snow goes unnoticed when the hum of computers and appliances fill our ears indoors.
Adding to the challenge of all the background noise is the influx of text alerts and ring tones demanding our immediate, if divided, attention. Is it any wonder people miss the calls of the newly arriving song sparrows?
Hearing music in March takes a little extra effort than we're used to. It requires the skill of listening, which, in turn, requires paying attention. Not just the fleeting nanosecond it takes to check a text alert. Rather, deep attention. Slow and deliberate attention.
"Listening is a skill that we're in danger of losing in a world of digital distraction and information overload," wrote Seth Horowitz in The New York Times.
This is never more obvious than when I'm leading a nature walk and watching people react to the interruptions of their phones, mid-hike. I do it myself.
"Better check the weather," I think as I'm hiking - as if the weather has changed since I checked 15 minutes ago. "Phone call from work, gotta get that," I mutter as I click "accept" on my phone. "Oh, yeah, I was going to look up that plant name," I remember - and then something else interesting pops up from my Google search.
Before I know it, I'm engrossed in my phone, eyes glued to the screen and ears tuned in to the device. Definitely not listening, and certainly not paying attention.
Appreciation of March music may need to be cultivated, just like other forms of music. When you learn the intricacies of the woodcock courtship, you'll surely be in awe of their performance.
Figuring the odds of songbird migration will make your enjoyment of their songs skyrocket. Knowing that delicate mourning cloak butterflies spent the entire winter under the bark of the tree will inspire joy when you see their emergence this month.
We've heard the symphony begin with the hopeful sound of melting snow and the subtle dripping of sap, the tentative calls of the first red-winged blackbirds and the whistling wing beats of migrating waterfowl.
As the month progresses, some howling winds create drama, and then new players make themselves heard. Yet to come is the finale, with its crescendo of exuberant chorus frogs singing with total abandon.
Wait for it. Listen. Give it your full attention. And if no one is watching, go ahead, sing along.
• Blaine is the nature programs manager for the Kane County Forest Preserve District. Reach her at blainevalerie@kaneforest.com.