Tag Archives: nature

How I Pissed Off Merlin

Posted on by
2

So I moved out to my idyllic country home in May and will stay here until I leave for Scotland at the end of August. The little house in the big woods has a screened in front porch. I’ve taken to having my morning coffee and doing my computer work from there, as it’s cool and comfortable and comes with live stereo.

The woods are full of birdsong. Birds are not creatures I’ve particularly noticed over the years, and perhaps part of the charm here is that I almost never see them–with a couple of exceptions we will get to in a minute. I told someone the birds here were like prayer: you don’t see anything but you feel the power.

Knowing nothing about birds, I did what Americans do: downloaded an App. Merlin is the most-recommended free app for IDing birdsong. You turn it on, point it at the woods, and wait to be told what you’re not seeing.

Which will have a name like blue-headed Vireo, red-eyed Vireo, yellow-shouldered Vireo, oh that’s a Blue Jay, green-footed…. you get the idea. It became a game: I would rush out every morning to see how many birds I could collect. The first week, it was five new per day. Then three or four. I reached 50 birds and felt as though I were winning at life, or at least whatever bird bingo game I was playing with myself.

It tapered off after 50. I started trying to discern the differences rather than bag the birds, and soon I could tell ravens from hawks and sparrows from cardinals.

Crows and hawks are the only birds I actually see, aside from the occasional swooping sparrow or goldfinch. The crows come in murders of two to seven, and yes, I have begun looking up folklore and counting crows according to old rhymes. Especially when a single crow perched on my back deck and glared at me.

But that hawk (red-shouldered, if you want to know) is not supposed to be here, according to Merlin, and that’s where my troubles began. The app will tell you what you’re likely to see or hear in your area, and if you record something else, well, it gets stroppy. A little red circle appears next to the bird it IDs and it says “unlikely.” But if you keep recording and the app records it again, it reluctantly turns the circle green and allows you to put the bird on your life list of those you have seen or heard.

We fought over the hawk for a few days until Merlin admitted it was here. Then came the ravens, distant ripples in the woods that sounded less like birds than animals fighting. Merlin said no way. Then it said maybe. By the time they sounded as though they were across the street, Merlin said ok, fine, have it your way, you have ravens. I learned to discern happy baby ravens from angry parent ravens. I learned to hear how they fought with the crows and jays. It was all going great.

And then one morning, distracted by some chore, I left Merlin open for 35 minutes on my front porch. When I realized it was still on and went to shut it off, it had recorded 133 birdsongs. Including peacocks, Mergansers, four kinds of woodpeckers, a heron, an egret, and a bald eagle.

Merlin was angry. Red circles outweighed the green. It is not possible in your latitude to hear pea hens, Merlin’s unspoken subtext said.

Poor Merlin. My neighbors up the street keep several exotic birds, including the unusual ducks and Asian fowl it picked up. I got nothing on some of the others except that May is a time when birds are moving past and our woods are enticing for a break; we have water with fish in it and air with bugs in it and lots of places to hide.

So now I have 152 birds on my life list, and Merlin doesn’t want to talk to me. I can live with that. The birds are making plenty of conversation.

Flowing

Posted on by
19

So I probably owe you loyal readers an explanation about my four-month hiatus. We will get to that, but for today let me tell you what jolted me back to this part of my writing life.

Bliss.

Since December 2025 I’ve been moving houses, trying to get someone acting like a madman out of one of them, juggling hard writing deadlines, and working to create a successful path for my successor through my slightly unique day job.

All work and no play–except that Japan trip. During the Japan trip, on the last full day before we flew the next night, my dad died. It was not unexpected; he had left us long ago through Alzheimer’s. But the physical death was sudden, so there was nothing for my friend and fellow traveler in Japan Amelia and I to do but come home at the planned time.

When I got home, a few details to clean up meant I last wrote to you March 11. And then my brain kinda shut down. I’m still producing radio stories. I’m still conducting interviews on the Hurricane Helene book for a December manuscript deadline. And I have spoken with an Appalachian-based press about the Eviction book (tentatively titled No Good Deed) detailing what happened when we invited That Guy to live in our second home. Which is now my primary home. That and a book about Food Insecurity in Appalachia will be next.

But what I really want to tell you about today is my friend Amelia’s casual life-lifting comment “My friend Caroline is inviting some women to sit in the river; let’s go.” The New River is very shallow in many places, not least near the hydro dam in Fries (pronounced Freeze for those of you who paused here). We took sunscreen, hats, and chairs, and went down to the river to play.

This was my first meeting with Caroline, an engaging soul whose word count might approximate 500 per minute. She is a good storyteller so that was fun. We were sitting in shallow water something between swimming pool and bathwater in temperature, so that was delightful. Little fish schools swam around us, so that was diverting; we contemplated losing our water shoes for impromptu pedicures.

It was a relaxing couple of hours, and they did not so much speed past as flow gently. When we left I found I had been sitting doing nothing but enjoying the flow of words and the flow of water for more than two hours.

Amelia and I got dinner, I went home, lay down, and slept for 12 hours, rising only once to properly prepare for bed after having been in it awhile.

Bliss, I tell you. I had no idea how tired I was, how sick I was of moving stuff between houses in preparation for moving to Scotland. How stressed I was over moving all the logistics of the healthcare nonprofit to a new mind, fresh and eager but unaware of details unless I imparted them.

We will talk later of the iron clad lease now in place (1500 words and counting) for the people staying in my wilderness property. Of our concern that our house in town is not selling. Of my disappoint at not getting an awesome job that I was a finalist for two years ago. They checked my references, then went with a man from DC, transplanted him to Appalachia, and expected all to be well. He blew out 14 months later. They didn’t offer my interview this time. That’s more about them than me and I know it, so let it flow away. Scotland ho. We have a small apartment overlooking the ocean in Stonehaven awaiting.

More later, but just know I missed sharing the small sweet moments that make up the bigness of life with you. Hope you are doing well, and hang in there if not. The water will eventually wash it away.