24 Comments

Yet again, another inexpressibly eloquent essay where every word tells the beautification of all we hold sacred in our hearts. Thank you for continuing to gently imprint every day of our lives.

With immeasurable gratitude, Jason.

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So kind of you to say, Kathleen. Thank you.

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The richness of this article alone is worth the price of subscription. There is so much food for the soul here.

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Thank you, Virginia, for your kindness and generosity.

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One of your best pieces.

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Thank you, Margaret. Each week I set off with an idea but not really knowing where it will end, so it's gratifying when they find resonance and resolution for readers like you.

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This is wonderful, the idea that language and land are connected so intimately and that we might work towards restoring that intimacy. I especially love your descriptions of the ways that "we still feel the stirrings of the old languages", and the various projects of this kind that you refer to. So much to think about and feel hopeful for. Years ago I read a book called Dart, by the poet Alice Oswald, the title of which refers to the river Dart in Devon, England, an enchanting part of the world where I spent time with family throughout my childhood. Oswald spent years recording the voices of people who lived and worked on the river, and creates a stunning poem by weaving their dialects and mannerisms and rhythms, as well as those of the wildlife, into something that for me brings the river to life as source - and perhaps nest! - out of which these voices flow. Thanks for bringing me back to that.

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Thank you, Jo. The language nest work is really wonderful, isn't it? And as you indicate, it touches on so much that I didn't get into. The work by Barry Lopez here and Robert McFarlane on your side of the Atlantic in remembering and reclaiming the old language that emanated out of intimate knowledge of the land, for instance. Or, more personally, the folks in previous generations of my family who grew up working/hunting/fishing in the woods and on the waters of Maine, and whose language is fading. Thanks for letting me know about Dart; it sounds fascinating.

And thank you so much for becoming a paid subscriber. It means a lot to me when folks support the work I'm dedicated to.

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Yes I was thinking of McFarlane indeed! I have Barry Lopez's book on the arctic sitting on my shelf unread. Will see to that immediately. Thanks Jason!

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Lopez also has a book called Home Ground, which was a major undertaking of gathering and defining some of the old landscape language that's being lost.

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Another fine and informative essay Jason. Thank you! The concept of language nests conjoined with habitat restoration is very hopeful. May there be many such efforts 🙏

Intimately knowing how short human memories can be, I fear that the compelling motivations of good movements are forgotten in three generations and the grandchildren turn their efforts to other pursuits- some good, some not so good.

I fear too that the on-rushing wall of fire of the Pyrocene will sweep away all our efforts to restore Eden and leave us in a figuratively scorched ecosystem, picking up the blackened bones of lost species, both hummingbirds and their trees alike.

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Thank you, Michael. I hear you on all these fears, and can add some of my own. There are broad forces at work in both directions - and innumerable small ones - and there's much more grief to come, but the good work makes a difference, and so on we go...

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Yes, we all do what we can while we can. Dispair and its passivity are not options. Thanks for reminding me..I sometimes forget.

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As do I, Michael, though I may sound more resolute in these conversations. Worrying feels like an action I'm taking all the time...

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On the subject of places and names, I highly recommend Keith Basso’s “Wisdom Sits In Places: Landscape and Language Among The Western Apache.”

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Thank you, Bruce. Basso's book looks fascinating. Hopefully others reading this will be interested as well.

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Just wonderful, Jason! The vision is spot-on, and you talk about it so beautifully. And it reminded me of the Anna’s hummingbird nest I kept for many years, brought in with two orphaned babies to the urban wildlife rehab center where I was volunteering. It was shingled not with lichen but with tiny paint chips *of the exact same color.* Magnificent.

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Thank you so much, Priscilla. And thanks especially for all that wildlife rehab volunteering. I didn't know the Anna's hummingbirds shingled their nest like the Ruby-throated, but am fascinated/horrified that they found paint chips as a viable substitute. I think I read in my research that the Ruby-throated have been known to do it as well. Regardless, I bet that nest was astonishing to look at even after many years. We hope to find one here someday.

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Jason, you have woven a beautiful nest of words here, and filled it with some hopeful eggs born of heartbreak. It is very easy to lose site of the beauties of humanity amongst the loud ugliness of our time. Thank you so much for this. 🪺✨💚

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Thank you, Michelle. It's helpful for me as well to write my way through the mess we're in. So much good work is being done, and it's good for all of us to acknowledge that as well.

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Thank you for a super, thought- provoking article weaving words so beautifully but explaining things so well. I am so glad Will Newton connected me with you.

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Thank you, Sharon. Happy to have you here.

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I am also a forest wanderer, especially in the winter months. With everything everywhere happening all at once, I am in great need of distractions I can sink my heart into. We are stewards , yes , I call us stewards of a crazy structure in the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont. Crazy is a term I use for the person who built it in the 70’s. Stewards , because it is more bizarrely organic than any structure I have ever seen or read about. That said, steward also applies to the birds and animals that share the outdoor part of our camp, (though sometimes , indoors). The Ruby -Throated Hummingbirds count on us , to grow their favorite flowers, sometimes attempting a Sungold Tomato, and keep their feeders full and clean. In return, the same little ones show up each spring on opening week of camp, with their perfected ability to communicate , use language, in no uncertain terms, impatiently hovering in front of the same kitchen windows , every year, waiting for feeders to be hung. I know just what they are squeaking about, ‘we have come a very long way, we are tired and there are no flowers’. They would knock if they could. As the season progresses, they share our dinner space on the deck, right next to us, drink from the feeders as our dog sits right underneath, casually watching. Sometimes we laugh and say, why don’t you have a seat at the table. One day, my husband ever so slowly reached out as female was drinking at the feeder and with one finger, he was able to stroke the her, head to tail, until she turned and gave him that look…

But, we have never had the pleasure of seeing their nest. We both watched the video, in awe , wearing big smiles.

So , thank you , Jason. And please thank Heather. In a world of too much at one time, this is exactly what I needed. I think I’ll tune in to watch it again on Inauguration Day, then head up to the mountains to go skiing. Yes, a day of wonderful distractions is in order.

“Each nest has a language, if you will, with a local accent and an individual twang.” I will be looking more closely next spring. Perhaps a mound of fluffy dog hair might be enticing.

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Your crazy camp sounds perfect, Lor. Thank you for the portrait of a fascinating place. We have also had the hummingbirds arrive before the feeder was out and buzz outside the big window looking in to remind us of our duty. I love your line here, "They would knock if they could." And I can't believe your husband was able to stroke one. I've picked one up - it weighed nothing - but only because it was exhausted after being trapped in the house.

I haven't seen a nest either, but Heather has, at a distance, when a young boy spotted it on his own. The imagination of a child...

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