Red-Winged Blackbirds: A New Perspective

On a late afternoon in April 2020, I went in search of red-winged blackbirds, and I found something else instead–a simple, yet monumental shift in my perspective. A shift that could change everything. 

A Wilderness Podcast Inspires

I didn’t intend to search for the red-winged blackbirds, but I’d longed to photograph them on my daily walks since the previous November. Still, I kept ignoring the pull to follow my joy and kept forgetting my camera at home.

On this particular afternoon, I left the house with nothing but my iPhone in tow. I’d been devouring season one of the Track Your Life Podcast by Boyd Varty. (Season 1: 40 Days 40 Nights was a daily podcast that chronicled Boyd’s experience living in a treehouse, alone, on a private game reserve adjacent to the Kruger National Park in the South African bush–a game reserve I’ve visited and have been having a love affair with ever since.)

 

 

Finding Spiritual Practices in Nature

Boyd took self-quarantine quite literally to ‘explore the mystic in nature’ for the symbolic period of forty days and nights. There were beautiful parallels between his personal experience and that of the collective during the early days of the pandemic. If you love eloquent nature writing and big philosophical questions, give it a listen.

His idea that tracking your life purpose and path isn’t any different from tracking an animal in the wilderness deeply resonated with me. At this time, I was only a year post-Crohn’s diagnosis, and I felt lost, alone, and purposeless as I swam through oceans of fear.

Quickly, I began developing a spiritual practice through nature to support my sanity. By ‘nature’, I refer to both the wild and my innate inner knowing–the natural state free of societal conditioning and programming that lives within all of us.

 

Noticing Synchronicity

Synchronicity (often through natural symbols) is one of the ways the Universe communicates with me. That I’d chosen to listen to that podcast was not an accident. My subconscious was primed for a spiritual experience in nature as I made my way toward the pond where the red-winged blackbirds flocked.

As I followed the soft slope of the winding sidewalk, I noticed the resident turkey vultures were flying unusually low. I questioned if there was a carcass of some unfortunate critter on the bank of the brook I was about to cross.

 

A turkey vulture soaring overhead.

 

Symbolic Turkey Vultures: Another Black Bird

Turkey vultures became a meaningful personal symbol after my diagnosis. They’re steeped in resonant symbolism that gave me hope and encouragement during those first years of healing. They appeared in my meditations regularly, and I frequently saw them during my walks.

As I approached the bridge, a vulture landed on the culvert next to the brook. I immediately tuned into my inner voice: slow down, go spend time with this bird. Listen to your inner guidance. Do what feels natural. Allow yourself to be curious.

I paused my podcast and slowly edged my way down closer to where the vulture was perched. This time another voice spoke: you should have brought your real camera.

While I knew it was unlikely the bird would still be there upon my return, I backed away slowly, turned, and marched up the bank toward home to get my “real camera,” a simple enough Nikon D3300.

As I suspected, the turkey vulture flew the scene, but I was not deterred. For some time, I’d felt called to stand near the cattail pond at the end of our street and photograph the red-winged blackbirds. I hadn’t touched my camera in two years except to charge the battery once. What better time than a warm Saturday afternoon during quarantine to refamiliarize myself with the settings?

 

Calming the Inner Voice

What started as a clumsy approach from the sidewalk, slowly became an exploration as I felt my inner operating mode shift from my nervous inner child to my confident authentic self. In my mind, their conversation unfolded. 

Inner Child: ‘I don’t want anyone to see me.’

Authentic Self: ‘Is that so? Your hair is purple and you’re wearing neon. You’re hardly invisible.’

Inner Child: ‘What will the neighbors think if they see me exploring?’

Authentic Self: ‘What they think is irrelevant. What you feel is all that matters.’

 

One of the old red-winged blackbirds nests in the cattails.

 

Seeking the Red-Winged Blackbirds

Highly polygamous, the male red-winged blackbirds kept flying from one side of the pond to the other in territorial displays. My 200mm lens wasn’t long enough to photograph them from a distance, and I needed to get closer. While I couldn’t get close enough to get any great shots, it gave me a chance to play with the settings on my camera and practice shooting into the sun.

Just when I thought I’d explored enough, I spotted an old nest in the cattail reeds. For four years, I’d been walking by this small pond, listening to the sharp shrieking ‘o-ka-lee’ of the red-winged blackbirds, and still, their nests eluded me even when I knew what to look for. Curious, I carefully edged closer down the steep bank.

Once at a lower vantage point, I saw a second nest on the opposite side of the pond. I could see the birds flitting about in the background, but from where I stood, I couldn’t tell if the nest was active. I zoomed my lens out as far as it would go and used my camera as a periscope, but it was inconclusive. I had to get closer.

While I was not intentionally tracking the white-tailed deer, I quickly identified one of their paths and knew to follow it along the edge of the reeds to the location I supposed would give me the best view of the nest. Deer trails are narrow and often well-worn, a convenience if you find yourself on a steep hillside. The grasses gave way to their pointed, cloven hooves, and I could see clear imprints in the hard, red Carolina clay.

 

Exploring Wildness in Suburbia

After listening to Boyd’s podcast, I found myself channeling my inner tracker. I shifted into wilderness mode despite being smack in the middle of a suburban neighborhood with hundreds of homes, pedestrians, cyclists, cars, and the occasional zippy golf cart whirring past.

Once I was on the other side of the pond, all those distractions slipped away. I became acutely aware of my surroundings as I found myself a part of the landscape. ‘Watch for thistles, you don’t want to get stabbed; watch for snakes, you don’t want to get bitten,’ my inner voice cautioned.

The nest was not active, as far as I could tell from the bank of the pond. I briefly considered tempting the integrity of the mud patches to get a closer look but decided against it.

 

Blackberry blossoms

The Act of Presence

I stopped to notice the blackberry bushes. Heavy with delicate white blossoms, they teamed with honeybees. ‘I’ll have to come back here in a few weeks when the berries are ripe,’ I thought. While the blossoms were nothing spectacular, I enjoyed the way the light was coming through the petals, and knelt to photograph them.

Crouched low, unnoticed behind the dried, rustling cattail reeds, I felt a sense of wildness. I was hidden from the curious and judging eyes of my suburban neighbors; despite the neon Lily Pulitzer popover I was sporting. I couldn’t have been more conspicuous if I’d tried. I felt myself balancing between two worlds: loud, busy, convenient, soul-squashing city life and quiet, wild, free, soul-nourishing country life.

I zoomed in on the blackberry flowers, pressed my index finger halfway down on the shutter-release button, and heard the precursory beep. I pressed harder, click-click. As I photographed the blossoms two feet from my lens, a black cloud moved across the blurred background.

I had given up on the red-winged blackbirds but shifted my focus anyway. There, perfectly framed between the berry blossoms and the cattails, a male red-winged blackbird clung to the dried tuft of last year’s cattails. He bobbed on the long reed, leaning left and then right as he repositioned himself. He looked directly at me. Click-click and a wink from the Universe.

 

As I shifted my focus from the blackberry blossoms, I saw this male red-winged blackbird staring at me.

 

A Valuable Shift in Perspective

In this moment I was reminded that so often, to receive what we desire, all we have to do is change our perspective. Sometimes, just staying still and shifting focus reveals what we are looking for. I truly believe the Universe is ready to provide us with our wishes, but we must know where and when to look. We must slow down and allow the quiet. Only then can we hear the messages that are trying to lead us.

When I was trying to photograph the red-winged blackbirds, they weren’t cooperative. After releasing control and accepting my experience, I was able to enjoy the present moment and the opportunity presented itself in perfect time.

 

Remembering My Innate Wildness

I stood still and felt the sunlight on my face. The mourning doves were cooing their sad love songs in the background. The dried reeds jostled in the gentle breeze. I was thirsty, but I didn’t mind. How long had I been out here? Over an hour.

The crickets chirped softly from their hiding places in the long grass. A male cardinal stared back at me from his perch. The first monarch of the season flitted by–then another. I smiled.

In my stillness, I remembered the wildness that lives within me. This wildness is something I crave, it’s our natural state of being. I always felt I needed to escape elsewhere to feel it, but on this day, I slowed down, listened to my inner guidance, shifted my focus to a different point, and found it right where I stood among the red-winged blackbirds.

 

More Nature Writing 

Reflections on a Late Summer Day in September

3 Winter Poems: Embracing the Quiet Season

 

If you enjoy my writing, I would greatly appreciate a comment below. Thanks!