Common Birds 45 - Warbling Vireo
Thursday, September 14
I loved a bird today; it reminded me of home.
Walking through Newburyport, I stopped under the few oaks which stood next to the walking path which runs along the Merrimack River as it opens to meet the ocean. High in the branches, lost in the leaves, a warbling vireo sang its shifting song. People walked past with their dogs and strollers. I stood, trying to see this tiny, greenish-yellowish-brownish bird who reminded me of home. And I was surprised that home meant Potsdam, New York.
When my heart longs for home, it is usually for Lancaster, Pennsylvania in the month of May, when perfect clouds roam across the sky and the earth is gilded with wheat. It longs for Lancaster’s long June evenings when the corn is just rising out of the turned soil and thousands of fireflies are just rising up out of the corn. But today, hearing that vireo, I wished I was by the Raquette River. I wanted to see mountains again - mountains! I longed to wait in the deep woods until the silence resolved into myriad voices: wind, leaves, chipmunks, snakes, a raven’s beating wings, and warbling vireos.
We’re heading back to the Adirondacks next week, reveling in the freedom that parental leave still provides. I’m excited to bring our son. We’re planning to visit the museum where we celebrated our wedding for the second time, eat the best doughnuts from the strangest shop, and revisit all the hikes and vistas we loved while the Adirondacks were our home. We’ll likely pass the hospital we’re we lost our first pregnancy. For six years, the North Country was my home, for three I shared it with Amelia. I loved it dearly, for better or for worse, for richer or for poor, in sickness and in health, through death and through life.
I hope our son can love the Adirondacks, too. At the same time, I know it won’t be home. Home will likely be here, in Massachusetts, around Newburyport, a different world than Maytown, Pennsylvania or Potsdam, New York. I love the places where my parents grew up. Au Gres, Michigan and Bowling Creek, Kentucky hold love, family, and beautiful memories for me, but nothing like the feeling of home.
If I’ve ever had the chance to talk to you about birds, you know how I long for the people I love to love what I love.
But life is long, and I’m not sure it’s ever been what I’ve guessed it would be. I never expected to feel like the Adirondacks were my home. Even in the early years of my time there, I never imagined that I’d come to cherish it so. Maybe our son will find his way there, and the mountains and lakes and rivers will become another home to him. Maybe I’ll find my way back, too. Life is long. But until I do, or even if I never live in the North Country again, the song of a warbling vireo will always take me back.
