Nature’s Ensemble
Sadie Maddock
Age 13
Sadie lives on a farm in Chatham County surrounded by eighty-eight acres of woodland. Currently she and her family are building a passive solar house. Walks through the woods and swimming in the river are among the things that Sadie enjoys.
Walking through the wild woods of the Piedmont at night, I am buffeted with the sounds of nature. Layer upon layer of noises join together to form the cacophony of the wilderness. Each animal plays his separate piece as if performing for the world. The soloist is perhaps the owl, that permeates the darkness with his cries. The strings section may be the crickets who work together to create a backdrop of noise. However, when I walk through the woods, admiring the symphony of sounds, what I really wonder is what are the animals’ ulterior motives, why do they go through so much trouble to serenade a world that may not be listening to or appreciating their efforts.
The frightening shriek of the coyotes certainly draws attention. In the distance, I hear what sounds like a whole pack of coyotes. However, the dilapidated laughter may come from just a couple of animals. Foreign to us, the howls that haunt the night actually from a network of communication, a language used to communicate various things. Yips that taunt, territorial barks, chants that rejoice at the reunion of the pack or of a successful kill. These messages and more are told through vocalizations that sound like no more that an animal’s cry. Though coyotes certainly make their presence known by night, by day they are but a whisper of past hours. The only coyote I have ever seen was one disemboweled by the side of the road.
By night, the Barred Owl sings his ballad, quite the bard. He is always questioning: “Who cooks for you, who cooks for you all?” Glimpses of feathers through the trees, I have caught by day, though his songs are sung mainly by night. Through most seasons, the owl does sing. Whistles made by females could be to call to her young, a sharp note with a nasal quality. Bouts of sound could signify communication between a mother and her mate. Juvenile owls have yet to develop the majestic cry of an adult, and can be caught begging in broken speech. Not often seen as road-kill, the owls have more pressing matters. Slowly, for reasons that the owl knows not, her territory slowly shrinks.
As night gives way to dawn, the birds of light strive to be heard. They have, perhaps, slightly more competition than the owls of night. Someone that surely deserves recognition is the Cardinal, considered important enough to be honored with the title of State Bird. More considerable than its song, the cardinal’s appearance may be what allures his followers. If one does not notice the bright red plumage that can be linked to the cardinal, one can listen for the sound of a call that seems just enough like “birdie.” A long, piercing note is produced at times. The female may be more drab than the male, though she does not lack in song. She is vocal about how the nest should be built and when to bring in food.
By the light of early morning, the Mourning Doves also begin to sing, their song a sad lament, their intention, to attract mates. Mourning doves utilize not only the sound of their voices. When taking off and landing, their wings make a loud noise which can succeed in scaring predators or warning neighboring doves. Mourning Doves and Cardinals are only two of the reams of songbirds that make their homes in the Piedmont. Unfortunately, wildlife and nature are no longer the only competing factors.
Despite the eighty-eight acres of woodland that surround my home, amongst the pleasant sounds of the songbirds, my ear is also filled with the irksome sound of the highway. When I hear trucks whoosh past, I think not of the beautiful red plumage of the Cardinal, but of the imposing, artificial red of Coca-Cola sixteen-wheelers. Soaring high, amongst the clouds are not only birds, feeling the wind through their feathers, but airplanes, man-made metal machines slicing through the air, not stopping to admire the beauty. Silence of the machines is all too rare these days. There may have been a time when nature out-competed machinery, but that age has passed. Now, we just have to appreciate what wildlife is left and do our best to preserve the Orchestra of nature.