Raymond Van Winkle

We’re all familiar with Washington Irving’s classic tale of Rip van Winkle, the man who slept for twenty years and awoke to a different world from the one he knew.  When I first read the story as a boy, I thought that some of Irving’s observations were far-fetched.  Now, more than forty years after that reading, I am discovering that he didn’t cover the half of it.  For like his befuddled protagonist, I have also seemingly emerged from an even longer sleep—more than thirty years—to re-engage with a land and family that have undergone significant changes.

When I lived in Colorado, I had contact with my family, but it wasn’t as frequent and regular as it could and should have been.  Oh, there were no quarrels or disagreements that created a hateful silence or unbridgeable schism.  I kept up with my parents and siblings and had a broad understanding of what was going on in their lives.  At the same time, I filled them in on some details of my Colorado life.  Furthermore, I would travel back to Alabama from time to time to see everyone and reconnect.  Then my father died suddenly in 1991 and his death had a profound impact on my extended family.  He was the glue who held things together.  He constantly checked up on kinfolk and not just the ones who lived in Birmingham.  He was a father, uncle, great-uncle and mentor to so many and his death opened a void that nobody filled.

So family members began to drift apart.  My own visits were spaced over wider gaps in time.  My siblings, who had been children when I left, graduated from high school, went to college, got married and became parents themselves.  My mother also returned to work and helped support her grandchildren.  I became the mysterious uncle who lived far away in the West and lived a life beyond the comprehension of most of my extended family.  The years lengthened and changes came; some of them were quite sudden while others were of the slow and gradual kind that overtake one before he is even aware they have transpired.

My arrival last spring has been much like Rip Van Winkle’s awakening and return to his home village.  Before his sleep, he was a colonist and subject of King George III.  He was shocked to learn that now he was a citizen of a new nation and that his loyalty to his former king and country were badly misplaced.  For me, it was the discovery that Alabama had changed somewhat and that my family had new members, young people born during the decades of my absence.  These cousins, nephews and nieces knew little of our family’s history and had their focus on other matters now.  Meeting them and getting to know them has been almost surreal.  I see them and remember when their parents were children.  Or I see them and realize the cousin I knew as a child is now this young boy’s grandfather.

My niece heard me talking about one of her great-grandfathers not too long ago and she wanted to know his name.  This man was my paternal grandfather, but my niece knew nothing about him.  That isn’t too strange because her father, my brother John, had never known either of his grandfathers.  Besides that, our father died years before my niece was even born, so she has little idea of who he was either.

For me, there is still the strangeness of being “Uncle Raymond”.  My brother John was only eleven years old when I moved away.  Now I see his children.  Years ago, the only Uncle Raymond in our family was my father.  Now I have assumed that title and role without the advantage of gradually getting to know these young people.  They have appeared cut out of whole cloth as if by magic.  I know very little about their infancy but am presented with this fully realized child.  I look from the child to the brother or sister who is the parent and I wonder where the years have gone.

Siblings relate their college days and experiences to me.  They talk about getting married and where they spent their honeymoons.  I missed all of that.  I met a young boy not too long ago and upon introducing myself marveled at saying to him, “I’m Raymond and I’m your first cousin twice-removed.  That’s because your great-grandmother and my father were sister and brother, making your grandfather my first cousin.”  Or there is the young girl who came to our house a few weeks ago who is my second cousin twice-removed.  There are also some third cousins of mine lurking around town whom I haven’t run into yet but knew from my previous life here.

Then there are the changes that have occurred in Alabama.  In some ways, the state is as backward and retrograde as it was when I moved here forty years ago.  Southerners are notoriously resistant to change and many are very unhappy with what they see transpiring in the region.  Latinos and Asians are moving into the state, upsetting the demographic balances that have been the norm for decades.  I hear Spanish spoken and see Spanish-language signage in certain establishments making me wonder if I’m in Alabama or back in Colorado sometimes.

My old neighborhood was entirely black when I lived here in the seventies.  Latinos have moved in now, even establishing a Spanish-speaking church just a few blocks from my house.  Old timers grumble about that, saying they want to keep Smithfield and East Thomas black.  The newcomers are regarded with deep suspicion and resentment by some.  I marvel at that, telling my neighbors that whites resisted the integration of their communities in much the same way thirty and forty years ago, and how we should be the last people in the world to adopt that attitude.

It’s not just Latinos who are changing community demographics, either.  Other traditionally black areas are seeing an influx of white folks.  Streets that have not had white residents for seventy years or more are becoming integrated.  Many come because housing is so cheap with a home costing a small fraction of what it would in Denver or Boulder.  In a stunning reversal of roles, some areas are seeing “black flight” as whites return to the city proper and blacks head out to the suburbs and exurbs.

On another front, technological progress is evident everywhere.  From the Marshall Space Flight Center in Huntsville, which was one of the training bases for space shuttle astronauts, to the continually sprawling campus of the University of Alabama in Birmingham, the state has embraced the twenty-first century.  Birmingham’s skyline has new skyscrapers; and upscale lofts and condominiums have appeared in once rundown areas on the south side of town.

Alabama itself seems to be more open, more willing to move forward even if that progress is slow.  I think the newcomers and economic necessity have been the engines of that progress.  Otherwise, I would expect matters to be much the same as they were when I moved away.  I will certainly see and learn more when I finally secure some transportation for myself; and I will travel and see as much of the state as possible.  I don’t doubt there are more surprises waiting for me.

Then there are the things that have remained the same, college football being among these.  The game is the top priority in Alabama.  That was true in the past, and if anything the fervor and intensity its fans display have only increased during my absence.  I’ll go into more detail about that in a future entry but for the moment I will say that fanaticism is not too hard a word to describe what the sport means to Alabamians.

Race relations are about the same as they were in the past, which is something I will examine in greater depth later.  For now I will say that there is an equilibrium between the two major demographic groups—black and white folks—in Alabama.  That’s not to say that the old attitudes don’t exist anymore because they most certainly do.  But they have been driven underground more or less these days.  Many factors have contributed to that, not the least of which is Barack Obama’s election as president.

So I have “awakened” to a different world just as old Rip Van Winkle did.  He had to make adjustments to accommodate the new reality and I must do the same.  Thankfully, I’m being ably assisted by my family and friends.  Without their help, I would be unhappy and dissatisfied.  My biggest problem has been homesickness for Colorado.  Some days are better than others fighting it and my family has patiently listened to my lamentations.  I know I’ll always love Colorado and the West.  The challenge now is making room in my heart for Alabama and the South.

How Dry I Am

People always talk about the weather but can do nothing about it.  That has always been true and always will, I suppose.  But weather is a fascinating topic for me.  I’ve already talked about some of the differences between Alabama’s weather and climate and Colorado’s.  But after being away for more than thirty years, I had clearly forgotten just how great those differences are.  Now, after being back for four months, I can take a fresh look.

The talk this year has been about the drought that has gripped much of the United States.  The Midwest has been hard hit with many farmers saying they will harvest no corn (maize) this year.  Colorado has been plagued by more than the usual summer forest fires that have destroyed hundreds of homes along the Front Range.  In addition, a severe dry spell has gripped its eastern plains drying up pasturage and forcing ranchers to cut down on the sizes of their herds.  Even in Alabama drought has made its mark, but that mark has been hard for someone like me to see.

In a typical year, my old home of Boulder would receive 18 inches/460 mm of precipitation along with more than 300 sunny days.  The climate is semi-arid and the high elevation of 5430 feet/1655 m accentuates this.  So a drought there was quite pronounced.  The one that came in 2002 was particularly severe and its signature event was a forest fire that burned more than 200,000 acres/80,000 hectares.  We got little snow that winter and the summer monsoon rains did not fall so everyone was urged to conserve as much water as possible until the weather improved.

By contrast, Birmingham receives 54 inches/1380 mm during the year—triple what Boulder would expect.  The drought that has hit the country hasn’t spared Alabama, particularly its easternmost counties, but as I look around town, I see little evidence of it.  The trees are still green and many are blossoming as they should.  Right now, the crepe myrtles are displaying their white and magenta flowers.  The lawns around here are as verdant as ever.

However, summer in the Deep South is nothing like its counterpart in the High Plains and Rocky Mountains of the West.  Both regions can see hot days with temperatures over 100°F/38°C.  Alabama has already had more than half a dozen of those this summer and we’ll have more before the season ends.  We have had a dry spell here as well, but what Alabamians call a dry spell wouldn’t even merit mention by Coloradans.

In Alabama, a week without rain is cause for worry.  People start to complain about how dry it is and they feel the ground and soil becoming hard.  When I returned at the end of March, it took me some time to get used to walking on soft spongy ground with its springy turf.  I didn’t have that luxury in Colorado where the ground was often hard packed and the soil was thin and stony.

So when meteorologists, farmers, gardeners and ordinary folks started talking about the drought in Alabama, I could only shake my head.  So far, Birmingham has seen 28.49 inches/718.57 mm of precipitation this year.  That is 4.66 inches/118.36 mm short of its normal totals for this date.  I tell people here they have no idea of what a real drought is; no idea of what it means to go weeks, even months, with little or no precipitation; no idea of what it means to live under a loud sun in a cloudless sky that turns your soil to stone as it sears and withers crops and gardens.

A few weeks ago when thunderstorms ended a heat wave of four consecutive 100°+F/38°+C days, I was shopping in a market as the lightening flashed and thunder pealed out of the sky.  One of the staff told me how happy he was to see the rain because the “drought” was becoming serious.

“What drought?” I asked.

“Why, the one that has been hitting us over the head this last week!” he exclaimed.  “I mean the weather has been so hot and dry that I couldn’t stand it anymore.  Didn’t you think so?”

I gave him a bitter smile and then said, “I come from a place where 20 inches (510 mm) of precipitation in a year would be cause for celebration and rejoicing.  Y’all get three times the amount of rainfall in a typical year than the folks back home get.  This last heat wave and dry patch would be considered normal there.”

“Where’s ‘back home’?” he asked.

“Boulder, Colorado,” I answered.

His eyes got wide.  “You’ve lived in Cadarada?  (Practically everyone in Alabama says “Colorado” that way.)  Man!  That’s a real beautiful place from everything I’ve seen and heard.  But I didn’t know that about the climate.  Do y’all get a lot of snow there?”

“About 80 inches (2032 mm) in a typical winter,” I said.  “And snow falls from October to April so winter is a fact of life there.  But I loved it and will always remember it fondly.”

That conversation sums up many of the differences between my old home and the new.  When I saw the forest fires ravaging Waldo and Poudre Canyons on TV, I cried.  My family had lots of questions about the fires and the role they play in forest ecology which I was able to answer.  The fires were another vivid example and demonstration that I am now living in a completely different part of the country.  The South is blessed with abundant moisture and in amounts that would astonish Westerners. 

Eastern Alabama has indeed had a dry spell with lost crops and water levels in creeks, rivers and lakes well below normal.  Water problems are easing elsewhere in this state as rainfall has increased significantly lately.  However, much of the South is facing a water crisis.  That is particularly true along the Mississippi River where the Army Corps of Engineers has found it necessary to dredge the river’s bottom in many places to assure that barge traffic will continue to move.  Big sandbars have appeared, halting recreational boating and silting in marinas and docks.

I have learned that drought means different things to people depending on their geography.  In the semi-arid to arid West, Mark Twain’s observation that “whiskey is for drinking and water is for fighting” is still true.  The difference of a few inches can make or break an agricultural year.  Water’s scarcity was the root cause for many of the range wars that were fought in the past; and even today, Western cities quarrel with one another over water rights. 

In the South, while water is much more plentiful, that abundance is offset by the huge population.  A prolonged dry spell can have a drastic impact on the recreational and tourist industries and the many jobs tied in with them, not to mention the effect on agribusiness.  Alabama’s agricultural products are sold all over the world.  Why, I have cousins who farm in north Alabama’s Tennessee River Valley growing soybeans for export to markets in the Far East.  I’m sure the summer rainfall deficit is a matter of serious concern for them.

This year has been a hard one with respect to water over much of the country.  Yes, I’ve laughed at Southerners’ definition of a drought, but that doesn’t mean the anxiety and fear they felt weren’t legitimate.  I’m relearning what water means to different people even in my own country.  A Colorado forest fire ignited by dry lightning is just as disastrous as an Alabama crop being lost to drought.  In both cases, the lack of water has brought pain to many people.

20 July 2012

For me, 20 July was a day that seemed to have been lived in the Twilight Zone for that old TV series would have been able to portray what happened in its deft and surrealistic way.

Awaking to the appalling news from Aurora was a terrific shock.  I watched some of the news items on TV for a short time before I had seen and heard enough.  My problem with the TV coverage was that it lacked focus and cogency.  The broadcast producers, anchors and news reporters would seize on any detail and magnify it out of proportion in an effort to fill what otherwise would be dead air time.  That may have kept viewers in front of their screens but didn’t treat the tragedy with the gravity and importance it really deserved.  But in these days of 24/7 news cycles, this is what I’ve come to expect so I turned the TV off and got on the Internet. 

There I got involved in a nasty online debate about the meaning of the disaster.  I took quite a few lumps and dealt out some myself.  I suppose I was angry and wanted to lash out at anybody so I wrote things that were unfair and intemperate.  But I wanted to do something, anything that would help my adopted home state get past another disaster in a summer that has been anything but a good one.  Only the day before, I had e-mailed my Internet correspondents about how homesick I was for Colorado.  Now I found myself wondering if the Colorado I had left behind was perhaps in an alternate universe.  So much had changed in the space of twenty-four hours and a summer that was already a bad one due to monstrous forest fires and withering drought for the state had suddenly become much, much worse.

The Twilight Zone elements manifested themselves in the evening.  One of my cousins was getting married and I attended the wedding.  This cousin was someone I did not know as she had been born and grown up in the years I have been away.  When I was invited to the wedding in April, I had looked forward to the event with joyful anticipation.  Then came the news of the Aurora massacre and suddenly everything took on a completely different perspective.  I talked to some of my friends in Colorado about the murders, e-mailed others, and argued and debated on the Internet with complete strangers, some of whom were very angry with the stance I took and let me know that in no uncertain terms.  The wounds this tragedy opened and re-opened are very raw and won’t heal for a long time.  But after all was cussed and discussed, I still had a wedding to attend.

For my family, it was as though the events in Colorado had not happened at all.  Nobody discussed it except one of my cousins and my mother.  I wondered if any had even heard about what had happened in Aurora.  But I also understood that I was in neither the place nor the time to bring it up.  Our family had gathered to celebrate and affirm life, not to weep and mourn over death and murder.  On my cousin’s wedding day, the topics for conversation were to be ones of joy and love, of reaffirming family ties, and seeing that the newlyweds got off to the best possible start.  So I put on the best face I could and attended the wedding and the reception that followed.  I enjoyed the events and the people I saw.  I told funny stories and heard others related to me.  I got reacquainted with relatives who were very happy to see me and catch up with my undertakings.

But as I took part in the festivities, there was a dark corner of my mind that dwelt on what had happened in Aurora.  Once the shock and numbness wear off, how will the people of Colorado carry on?  The memory of the Columbine massacre has been dredged from its shallow and unquiet grave to haunt the state once more.  Another horrible mass murder has been committed on Colorado soil to be chronicled beside others, and there have been others besides Columbine.  But those others have been relegated to the history books because there are none now alive who remember them.  While I never ruled out the possibility that something like this could happen again in Colorado, I certainly didn’t expect it to recur as soon as it has.

My absence from the state did not soften the blow of Friday’s events.  However, living in Alabama has meant that the coverage has not been as intense as it has been in Colorado.  Besides, Alabama has had to deal with two shooting sprees that have occurred since the start of June.  One left three people dead and three others wounded in the university town of Auburn.  The other, in the college town of Tuscaloosa, saw seventeen injuries but fortunately no deaths.  Dealing with these rampages has left people here little emotional energy for taking on Colorado’s even more grievous tragedy.  The focus will be single-mindedly on Colorado for the next several days and weeks and Alabama will be left to fend for itself.  That is just as well.

I have told everyone how much I look forward to returning to Colorado.  Today’s news has tempered that desire somewhat.  It’s not that I no longer wish to go back as it is that I have been forced to realize that evil can be found anywhere and it can strike anytime.  My cousin reminded me of this truth when we talked about the Aurora situation on Friday afternoon.  He didn’t say that Alabama is a better place than Colorado or that I shouldn’t want to return there.  He simply observed that absolute security is a fantasy and that nobody should feel he is beyond the reach of disaster or tragedy.

I can only hope now that my Colorado family will carry on.  None of the people I know in the state has been directly touched by these murders.  Nobody is planning to abandon it because of what has happened.  I am sure each is trying to sort out what happened and then move on with life.  All I can do is to affirm my own support for them and let them know that I feel their pain in some measure.  At the same time, I want to draw lessons from this and apply them to my own life.  One of them is surely how precious and fragile life is and that I cannot take any day for granted.  Instead I want to get the most out of life, not in hedonistic pursuits, but in appreciating what I have and treasuring it to the greatest extent I can. 

The date 20 July is an important one in history.  It was on this date that Neil Armstrong took his “one small step for [a] man, one giant leap for Mankind” back in 1969 when he became the first man to set foot on the Moon.  And my family will now have a reason to note it as well with the wedding of Paul and my cousin Amber.  I will have to think of these things to offset the blackness of the Aurora massacre.  My Colorado family will also have to find a way to recover and move on.  We were able to do so after the Columbine murders although that is an ongoing thing.  I have confidence we can do the same with this tragedy as well.

Southern Fried Accents

It has been said that while there are many American Souths, in the end there is only one South.  It is true that this area is hardly homogeneous.  There is tremendous diversity in its landscapes, for example.  From sun-splashed beaches to mile-high mountain peaks, from lush subtropical forests to the only desert east of the Mississippi River, the South has enough variety to keep anybody curious about it occupied for a lifetime.  Geographically speaking, there is the Upper South, comprising of Delaware, Maryland, the Virginias and Kentucky; the Mid-South which is made up of Arkansas, Tennessee and the Carolinas; and finally the Deep South which takes in the remaining states.  But these three provinces still have an unmistakable Southern stamp on them which serves as the overriding unifying factor for this region’s identity.

When people think of American Southerners, they naturally divide them into two main demographic groups: black and white folks.  That is changing also with the great influx of Latino newcomers in recent years.  Spanish is being heard far more frequently now than it was when I lived here thirty-five years ago with most of the immigrants arriving, not from Cuba and the Caribbean, but from the American West, Mexico and Central America.  Asians are also coming in growing numbers.

Still, black and white folks make up the overwhelming majority of the population.  Their presence is more than just the natural result of the slavery that was sustained here for nearly two hundred fifty years.  Not all black Southerners were slaves and not all white Southerners were slave-owners or even free men.  Many whites came here originally as indentured servants while the first blacks accompanied the early Spanish and French explorers and sometimes led expeditions themselves.

It was the meeting, mixing, and in many cases, mating of these people that created something for which the South is world famous:  the Southern accent.  But even this very American form of speech has both a complex history and usage.  Like the South itself, there is no one and only Southern accent.  There are many and which one you hear depends on a wide range of factors.

First, it is important to understand that black and white Southerners speak in different Southern accents.  For white Southerners, their accent will depend a good deal on which part of the South they inhabit.  There is a difference between the way a Virginian will say something and the way an Alabamian will.  And there are variations even within the same state.  An administrator in Atlanta shouldn’t be expected to talk the same way that a mechanic in Macon would.  Furthermore, city dwellers’ speech is often markedly different from their rural cousins. 

These differences will be heard in the different voice inflections.  Some will drawl their words the way Andy Griffith so famously did.  Others will have the kind of crisp speech you might expect to hear in Washington D.C.  Occupations also play a big role in speech patterns as well.  Some people seem to take a long time to say anything while others shoot straight from the hip, er, lip.  My point is that you are as likely to run into white Southerners who talk like Rhett Butler as you are those who are more like Andy Griffith; or who sound a lot like Scarlett O’Hara as opposed to Reba McIntire.

With black Southerners there is the additional factor of different dialects.  Everyone has heard about Black English, or Ebonics as some like to call it.  I won’t get into all the issues with its usage here, but I will say that when Black English is combined with a black Southern accent, you get speech which makes the heads of those unaccustomed to it spin round and round.  There is also the very different and fascinating Gullah speech heard in South Carolina’s Low Country and Sea Islands.  I’ve known a few Gullah folk, or Geechees as they also call themselves, and found listening to them a remarkable experience.

When I lived in Colorado, very few of my friends and acquaintances ever heard me speak Black English.  One who did was my housemate Andy Gill who often overheard my telephone conversations with different family members back in the South.  Andy told me he couldn’t believe how the inflection, accent, and even volume of my voice would change during those conversations.  I would switch back and forth during the same chat depending on the topic.  Andy would listen while a strange smile played on his face as he saw a facet of my personality that otherwise was very well hidden.

One of the other rare occasions when my Colorado friends would hear my Southern accents come out was whenever I would read aloud from passages of Mark Twain’s The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.  The book is one of my all-time favorites and one of the things that makes its humor come to life is when you allow the characters to speak in Southern accents, and that is how I would read.  I’ve had people tell me they never really had appreciated the humor, sarcasm and irony of the novel until they heard its characters talk in Southern accents.

Now that I am back in Alabama, I hear Southern accents all the time of course.  And while I have always enjoyed hearing it and speak that way far more frequently than I did in the West, there is still part of my mind that will occasionally wonder at what I am hearing.  I also am quite conscious of who my listeners are and that will have a strong impact on what kind of speech I will employ.

When I interact with white folks, I talk the same way I did in Colorado.  There is no trace of accent and I seldom will use the many colorful turns of phrase and colloquialisms which spice Southern speech.  I am friendly, but professional because I want to make a strong impression on the listener that I am serious and should be taken seriously.

With black folks, the setting is what matters.  If I am transacting business, then I am formal, but less reserved than I am with whites.  When the situation doesn’t involve anything really important, then I’m relaxed and as Southern as they come.  So whether I am greeting the postman bringing the mail, or chatting with a neighbor during the morning walk, or simply conversing with family and friends, I speak Black English in a Southern accent freely and warmly.

I am interested in hearing other Southern accents in their home areas.  Before the year is over I hope to travel to Atlanta, Mobile and New Orleans.  All of them are fascinating cities with much history and legend attached to them and their residents have some interesting ways of talking.  These cities are also very close to Birmingham and reaching them requires little effort.  Eventually I will also be traveling further afield and becoming reacquainted with the Appalachians of Tennessee, North Carolina and Virginia where some of the language has remained unchanged since the late seventeenth century.

“Who is it that gives man speech?” Moses was once asked.  The English language is a very rich one and I have been lucky enough to hear different variations of it in my native country, let alone to have encountered speakers from outside its borders.  But of all the variations of English I know, my favorite flavor is the one with a Southern fried accent.

A Different Natural Scene

I have been pleasantly surprised by the abundance of nature in Birmingham’s urbanscape.  As a matter of fact, it would be more accurate to say that I have been overwhelmed by it.  I had completely forgotten how nature is in the South, even in its cities.  Of course, the Colorado landscape I lived in was dominated by mountains and they made residents aware of the land’s tremendous natural splendor.  I am slowly coming to appreciate that the same can be said of Alabama and furthermore that natural splendor can be exhibited in ways that eclipse what I knew in Colorado.

The words “natural splendor” are often equated with incredible scenery.  That is the way the phrase is used in travel brochures, for example.  While Birmingham has its own beauty and charm, nobody would equate its setting with that of Boulder or Colorado Springs.  Nature here does not shout but hums instead.  You have to be willing to uses senses other than sight to appreciate the wonders this area has.  In Boulder, your gaze was always directed upward toward some mountain peak.  In Birmingham, I have learned to take things in with a different kind of perception and awareness.

One feature of Southern nature that made its presence felt as soon as I arrived was the abundance of birds and birdsong.  Birds begin singing well before sunrise and I’ve awakened to their song while the world outside is still dark.  I still don’t know the names of most of the birds I’ve seen but I have discovered that the different species here have made their presence known by the songs they sing.  I’ve heard a bewildering variety of calls, notes and cadences filling the air on a typical day in Birmingham.  That was a pleasant surprise but by no means the only one.

Local bird species are quite colorful and I’ve learned to recognize some.  Robins, mourning doves, cardinals and mocking birds abound.  I’ve seen hummingbirds sipping nectar from the flowers in our front yard and a few weeks ago I had an encounter that startled me very much.  I noticed a yellow-breasted bird hopping along the ground which did not fly away when I approached.  Instead it found refuge under one of the front yard shrubs, settling there and hoping that the shade and foliage would make it inconspicuous.

Seeing this bird gave me an idea as to its possible identity so I went into the house and consulted the Internet.  It turned out that my hunch was correct and the fowl in question was the yellowhammer, Alabama’s state bird.  The one I had seen was a female, identifiable by the dark feathers on her head whereas the males have bright yellow feathers on theirs.

That was remarkable enough, but you can understand my amazement when I learned that the yellowhammer is a ground nester!  I couldn’t believe that.  It would seem that the bird I spotted likely had a nest under the shrub and that explained her refusal to take flight when I approached.  She had a clutch of eggs that she was sitting on or perhaps even a small brood of nestlings she now had to feed and care for.  I told my family about the yellowhammer and her putative nest, but I didn’t tell them where to look and I decided not to disturb her in any way.

It’s not that I have never encountered ground-nesting birds before.  I was familiar with the meadowlark and the lark bunting when I lived in Colorado, ground-nesters both.  But those birds dwell in the open grasslands east of the Rockies where there are very few trees so nesting on the ground is the only option they have.  It is quite otherwise in Alabama, a state that is heavily forested and home to scores of tree species that never grow in Colorado.  With the abundance of trees in the state, I would never have thought any bird would choose to build a nest on the ground.  Add to this the fact that the yellowhammer is actually a woodpecker which preys on grubs found in tree bark and you will understand why I was completely amazed by my discovery.

Then there are the other natural instrumentalists whose music is heard quite frequently.  I was finally getting used to all the birdsong when new sounds became part of the scene.  The trees in this area are homes to katydids, insects that possess amazing acoustic abilities.  They sit in the branches and produce a high-pitched vibrating note that carries a great distance.  They can be heard during the heat of the day, but it is as evening draws near and particularly during the gloaming which comes with dusk and twilight that they become especially vocal.

A small group of insects will settle in a tree and begin to sing.  They will sing in unison for a set time and then end their song with a long, drawn out sound that goes from a high note to a low one.  When they have finished, insects in another tree will take up the melody and sing; and when they are done those in another tree will contribute.  You can often hear an entire street burst into song as the katydids sing, each group knows its place in the order and the symphony produced will play for some time until finally darkness falls and the performance ends.

Another remarkable thing about these insects is that they will not sing if some creature walks under the tree they occupy.  When that happens they will cut their song short and remain silent until the ground below is clear again.  But I’ve noticed something else:  if eye contact is made with them, they will take flight and find another tree before they will sing again.

After night falls and the birds and katydids have ended their performances, other animals chime in.  In the evenings I can hear crickets, frogs and I don’t know what else all in chorus.  Of course, there are many other creatures also calling, but their notes are produced at frequencies beyond the range of human hearing.  Even so a night in Alabama is seldom a quiet one because life here is abundant and vocal in ways I never experienced in Colorado.

I know that these sounds are not made to please human listeners.  They are mating calls, territory claims, lures for prey and other things far removed from human intercourse.  They represent an aspect of nature that takes time to appreciate and learn.  I suppose another way of putting it is that Colorado is given to the grand gestures:  snowy peaks, deep canyons, horizon-claiming prairies and awesome vistas.  They make an immediate impression upon the observer.  Alabama, on the other hand, is much more intimate:  the scent of magnolia blossom, the song of the katydid, the flower-spangled hillside and the small-scale landscape.  The lessons learned come from patient observation.

Both states have their share of natural splendor and both can be studied profitably by the nature lover.  Along with her geography, Colorado has secrets that demand as intense an examination as any Alabama biome.  On the other hand, Alabama’s biological diversity is supplemented by spectacular landscapes that leave visitors as breathless as Colorado’s terrain.  What I am discovering in Alabama is that I must adjust my viewpoint in order to fully enjoy this state’s many treasures.  Doing so will enhance my life and put a marvelous patina on my sense of wonder.

Walking

I suppose it’s all in what you’re used to.  What may seem a challenge to some is nothing out of the ordinary to others.  I have seen both sides of this since returning to Alabama.  I’ve talked about driving all over Birmingham in the quest for particular foodstuffs and how my friends and family saw nothing strange about that.  On the other hand, what I’ve done for exercise has made more than a few heads turn.

I like to walk.  I enjoyed it when I lived in Colorado for a number of reasons.  The exercise did me some good; there was plenty of fresh air to take in; and I sometimes met interesting people.  I would often take my camera along as well because there were many things to photograph.  Boulder was a pedestrian friendly city—sometimes I thought it was too much so—with a variety of fascinating places to sample.

Birmingham is a different place.  Boulder is actually an older city but Birmingham has neighborhoods that have the look and feel of places that have seen many years pass over them.  Boulder, on the other hand, has few “old” areas and those are mostly around the University of Colorado campus, and Mapleton Hill with its staid, even stately, homes and maple tree-lined streets.

A walk around my neighborhood is a journey of discovery.  The area is covered with trees, vines, tall grass and buildings that range in appearance from handsome to dilapidated.  It’s amazing to see some which are abandoned or fire-gutted but allowed to stand.  Some of the houses I was familiar with forty years ago are beginning to sag and show signs of neglect and decay.  Then there are those with yards that look more like jungles.  The grass is very tall; kudzu vines cover the fences; and their gardens are overrun with wild plants of every description.

Lawn care has always been a matter of pride for homeowners wherever they live.  In Colorado, the major issue was water.  The semi-arid climate demanded that a verdant lawn drank a lot of water, so much so that some cities had to institute water rationing to have enough to go around.  That is not the case in Alabama where every shade of green imaginable can be seen.  Rainfall is abundant and occurs with astonishing regularity.  Because of this, a lawn that has been mowed today will need cutting two weeks later.  During my walks it has been interesting to see which homeowners are serious about lawn care, which ones don’t care, and who fall in between.  My mother’s yard definitely is in the middle ground category.

In addition to viewing different lawns, there are many hills and prominences in my part of Birmingham which my feet have tramped across.  I’ve already mentioned Dynamite Hill, but it is hardly the only height around here.  Some of the neighboring communities have names that are indicative of their topography.  College Hills, Enon Ridge and Fountain Heights are just a few that I’ve ambled through, and I know others lying around the next bend which are awaiting my discovery and exploration.

It is precisely my wish to discover and explore that has so fascinated my relatives.  I’m often asked why do I go walking and where.  I get curious looks when I say I’d rather walk to a cousin’s or uncle’s home than drive the short distance because I want the exercise.  I don’t think my family is particularly lazy just because they prefer to drive.  There are some practical reasons for this and the Alabama climate is a major one.

Summer has now arrived and with it the pleasantly mild spring days have given way to the sultry, humid ones I remember from my previous residence.  It doesn’t simply get hot here.  The humidity compounds the heat effect and can make it seem hotter than it actually is.  So a walk that encompasses two miles or so—something that I like to do—can be a real labor when the temperature goes over 86° (30° C) and the humidity jumps over 50 percent.  Combine that with a relentless sun and you can understand why some of my kin only shake their heads when they see me coming back home after a walk.

They also don’t like the fact that I like scaling the hills and won’t walk around them, but instead will take the straightest route to the top.  The western slope of Dynamite Hill is more than most of my relatives want to handle, and when my cousins see me begin the trudge to the top they ask, “Isn’t that too steep to go walking up?  I wouldn’t do it.”  To that I smile and then reply, “Hey, I’ve climbed steeper and higher in Colorado!”  That usually ends the discussion.

That, I think, is the key.  I wasn’t in the best physical shape when I lived in Colorado and I’ll be the first to admit it.  I’d lose my breath on trails in Rocky Mountain National Park, see young kids go scampering by me, and even have a grandmother or grandfather pass me frequently.  Now, to be fair to me, much of that was due to my being a very clumsy hiker.  I regularly stubbed my boots against the rocks and stones you found on every Colorado mountain trail so I had to walk carefully to avoid taking a spill or disastrous fall.  I also simply liked taking my time whenever I went hiking in the mountains, literally stopping to smell the wild roses I would see growing alongside the trail.

I also would take a nice long hike in the high country, often tramping for more than four miles/six and a half km at elevations in excess of 9,000 feet/2,700 meters.  I always had a backpack—sometimes heavily laden with food and water, sometimes not—as well as camera gear, which meant taking extra weight along.  Many of the people I mentioned who passed me weren’t so encumbered so they were able to cover ground more quickly than I did. 

Now I’m back in Alabama and my walks are under completely different conditions.  I don’t pack extra weight (my digital camera fits in my pants pocket); the air is thicker and contains more oxygen; the elevation is much, much lower and my hikes are of shorter length.  In other words, walking a Birmingham neighborhood isn’t anywhere near the physical challenge that hiking across Rocky Mountain National Park’s tundra posed.  True, the heat and humidity are greater in Birmingham but they haven’t given me the problems they seem to impose on other residents around here. 

So I keep walking and let my relatives talk and marvel.  None of them has volunteered to join me yet.  Perhaps the walk I took from Smithfield through part of College Hills and down to the mammoth Legion Field football (gridiron) stadium scared them too much and made them think a walk with me would harm them.  That’s too bad because I know I would enjoy their company.  I also have to admit that age plays a big factor in my kinsfolk’s decision to stay on the porch.  Most of them are older than I and don’t have the energy they used to.  Nevertheless, I’ll keep extending the invitation.  If I could get someone to join me on a walk just to the Jewish cemetery, I’d be pleased.

I’m happy that I have successfully transferred this part of my Colorado life to Alabama.  It has certainly done me a lot of good and there’s no reason to change things.  Plus, a walk through a Birmingham neighborhood allows my mind to unwind and take in the surroundings.  Whether I’m looking at an abandoned structure, a seasonally overgrown yard, typical brick and clapboard homes or a proud old church, I get a sense of connection and belonging that is very comforting, making it all worthwhile.