View From The Bench: Late Spring in the Shenandoah Valley

Heartspoken’s View from the Bench series

I began this series of posts in late June, 2014, with a goal of teaching myself how to be more observant by exploring a small piece of the world right outside my door at different times of the year. This post was first published in early June 2019, but I have updated it for 2022.

You can do this yourself, whether you live in a country home or a city high rise. I’m stepping outside to sit on the Trex bench right underneath my kitchen window for no more than 10 to 20 minutes—equipped only with my cell phone’s camera, a pair of binoculars, pen, and pad of paper—and report my observations: sights, sounds, smells, sensations. Call it a micro-exploration, but I have loved watching the changes throughout the year. I may not discover anything earth-shattering, but I’m sure by this time next year, I’ll have trained myself to pay just a little closer attention to the tiny wonders all around me. To find all the posts in this series, click HERE.

It’s the end of May as I write this, and I’ve come outside at 8am with a cup of coffee to sit on the kitchen bench and see what’s going on. Come sit down beside me.

It’s been clear and cool most of the week, but the temperatures have risen over this Memorial Day weekend, and I don’t even need a jacket.

As I settle down, I first notice the cacophony of bird calls. Cardinals, crows, Carolina wrens, titmice, robins, red-winged blackbirds, and finches are ones I recognize, and they are clearly calling back and forth from different treetops. My Merlin Bird ID app (from The Cornell Lab of Ornithology) with sound recognition tells me I’m also hearing an Eastern Wood-Peewee, a Red-eyed Vireo, and a Palm Warbler. I’ll have to work on recognizing those elusive creatures. They tend to hide in the woods and tree canopies.

A tiny frog, no more than half an inch long, jumps from brick to brick near my feet—perhaps searching for a warm spot to soak up the sun on this cool morning. He’d make a tasty morsel for a hungry bird or reptile.

30 feet away, under the silver maple, a squirrel stands sentry—sniffing and erect—checking for dangers nearby. That’s a good practice, because we think there’s a Cooper’s Hawk nest in the yard, because we see the parents foraging for food for their chicks.

There seems to be no breeze, but the lazy revolution of the wind sculpture tells me there is air stirring. Sure enough, as I pay attention, I feel its caress on my cheek. A whiff of honeysuckle fills the air with its lovely perfume.

An eensy-weensy spider skitters along the bricks and a large fly buzzes past. Keep going, please…

I am always impressed with the tenacious, hearty seeds that have managed to sprout right through the asphalt in our driveway. Nature always finds a way…

Birds, birds, birds

The male goldfinches—vibrant yellow and exquisite—enjoy the tube feeder filled with Nyjer seed, perching three or four at a time. The females are warier—they swoop in but don’t stay. One male sings out a call I’m not familiar with and I hope I remember it. It’s more of a scree, scree, scree instead of its usual chirpy sounds.

I’ve taken a chance on leaving the finch feeders up. I’m told the bears aren’t attracted to this kind of food and are unlikely to knock them down. A plop of scat on the patio could be bear, though—definitely not deer or dog, my most common visitors. My hummingbird feeders are more at risk, but so far, so good.

A sudden flutter of wings causes me to look up from my notebook and I see two male goldfinches in a swirling ball of apparent confrontation—facing each other and spiraling higher and higher until they finally separate and fly off.

A loud buzz and a shadow in the periphery of my vision make me turn and see a Ruby-throated hummingbird come to sip from the nearest feeder. I have two on this side of the house and another near the front porch so we can enjoy them when we’re sitting out there.

The view has changed

My view is distinctly different than it was three years ago when I first wrote this post, because we had to finally cut down the all-but-dead apple tree near the water hydrant and straight ahead of me as I sit on the bench. I had put the tree removal off for so long, loathe to remove the birds’ popular staging area. But it was getting dangerous and I’m actually delighted how much it opens up the view to the pine woods and front field. The birds adapted quickly, of course, and use the two maple trees instead.

There’s a lesson in this, I’m sure: change is hard but it often has a silver lining.

My beloved Catalpa tree is in full bloom—breathtaking in its glorious adornment. In just a day or two, the blossoms will be a carpet under the tree, but today they rival any royal attire. If you’re interested in learning more about this tree, I’ve written about it before HERE.

The drone of an airplane tells me there’s a local pilot out enjoying the morning sights of the Shenandoah Valley. I always think of Dad when I see a small plane and visualize the photo, taken before I was born, of Dad in his WWII uniform, a fighter pilot hero. I think of him especially today, on Memorial Day. He survived the war and lived to be 95, but I pause to give thanks for all those who have lost their lives in service to our country.

When I first wrote this post in 2019, my neighbor Teresa’s rooster had decided to let his presence be known, the cock-a-doodle-doo reverberating across the valley. I haven’t heard him in awhile, but we often hear her flock of guineas squawking.

The chestnut tree is full and spreading, its tasseled blooms will soon be making the musty scent I don’t like, but today they are feathery and lovely in the morning sunlight. But I see a huge dying branch dropping at an unnatural angle, undoubtedly a victim of a recent wind storm.

I end my time on the bench in quiet gratitude for the beauty of the natural world around me and the spiritual nourishment that fills my heart and soul. God’s fingerprints are everywhere.

Is there a life-giving place outdoors for you? I’d love to hear about it.

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