I was doing nothing in an unmowed field, just feeling the peace of grass and wildflowers and listening to a blackbird. It was a while before I realized I was also hearing a bird that has become rare in Iowa — the Henslow’s Sparrow.
It’s odd even to call it a song. It was quick and slight, like something you might expect from an insect. A faint tssk. That’s the whole song. The least impressive birdsong in the world, right?
There must be more to it than that!
So I recorded it, and then I slowed it down.
There was more indeed. Stretched out, it became a melody of several notes.
The whole song unfolds on a faster time scale than my ears can follow. But I suspect that to another Henslow’s Sparrow, its several notes are distinct.
He sings to announce that he owns a particular patch of grassland. He sings to persuade a female to become his mate.
In his song she hears the pronouncement of the male’s grassy territory, and of his great genetic promise. She listens to all the males singing in the field. And she selects who will father her offspring.
I'm lucky to live within walking distance of an open field in Iowa where Henslow’s Sparrows nest, for they are a rare and diminishing species. But when I visit, sometimes I have to stand still and get quiet for a while among the grasses and wildflowers before my ears can pick up their songs.
When at last I notice one, I realize I’ve been hearing it the whole time, without actually hearing it.
I spot a sparrow perched at the top of a tiny tree or balanced on a goldenrod. My eye falls on another. And another.
Then I realize that Henslow’s Sparrows are riding the top layer of the grassland. Many are singing. Now that I see and hear them, it seems strange that I didn’t notice them right away
I hear more in their songs now. I hear of their utter reliance on dense grassland habitat for breeding. I hear the echo of the native prairie that once clothed the Midwest. I hear the argument for all that is beloved and irreplaceable in the natural world.
That which was so insignificant as to escape my notice is filling my ears now, rich and melodious in the shimmering grass.
Oh god Diane, such beautiful writing. The supreme benefits of slowing down and listening, the poignancy of what is almost, but not, lost. Thank you, thank you. Riding the wave of the prairie…
How lovely! It's amazing how much music birds can pack into what to us sounds like a brief call.