South and east of the Midwest, birdsong is orchestral. Birds out here aren’t satisfied with just “tweet,” “chirp,” or “caw.” One bird is a metallic flute that warbles an intricate melody. Another bird sounds like R2D2 malfunctioning: the modern, electronic spin on the classical bird call.
Laying in my tent at night, I expected to hear the jingle of crickets, the skittish hoot of the horned owl, the whistling of spring peepers, and even the creaky whine of coyotes. What I didn’t expect to hear were cows mooing at eleven o’clock at night and geese honking at 3:30 in the morning. I assumed that animals I saw awake during the day would quiet down as the sun set and sleep during the night. I guess if they can spend most of their days relaxing and napping, they can afford to party all night.
Sometimes, I try and imagine what the animals are saying. Scientists who study bird calls have identified a few sounds to indicate food, mating calls, or danger, but for the most part, they are gracious enough to admit that they don’t know. I was going to guess that they are gossiping, laughing, complaining, telling bedtime stories, and commenting on the weather, just like us. But I wouldn’t be surprised to find that they were competing in an enormous poetry slam, spouting philosophical analyses, or formulating a plan for world domination, all disguised as a beautiful, lilting refrain.
