Kick back in the hammock and close your eyes. Let the afternoon breeze cool your brow. Pick up the distant hum of a boat, the laughter of children playing at the dock.

The picture of relaxation is nearly complete, lacking only the song of an inconspicuous sparrow. Here comes that songóa high, clear, long note followed by another, pitched exactly a minor third above the first. Then three or four sets of triplets on the second, higher pitch, trailing away ever so slightly. (You may hear ë Sweet, sweet, Canada, Canada, Canadaí, or ëOld, Sam Peabody, Peabody, Peabodyíóthe words do a good job of imitating the rhythm of the song.) Then silence, in expectation of an answer.

A second, a third, maybe even a fourth drowsy time you hear this song as you slowly swing in the hammock. After that, I am not counting on you to hear anything.

This is not the definitive song of the north woodsóthe loon auditioned and got that job, long ago. The sparrowís song has none of the lament or mystery of the loonís calls. There is nothing sad or sorry in the sparrowóit is not timid. A birder may know it for an aggressive challenge, an in-your-face rant. To me it is the voice of a clear summer day, a song of blue sky, a celebration of time uncluttered by credit cards or databases.

Granted, the song is not always presented on multiple pitches, and when there are multiple pitches, the interval may not be the minor third. Even with multiple pitches, this is hardly a dramatic performance in the elaborate universe of birdsong. However, in thousands of times I have heard this song, it is the minor-third that overwhelms all other variations, and the rhythm is immaculate. By association, the pairing of these musical notes with idyllic summer afternoons has made them joyful to me, whatever they may mean to the bird.

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Forest Lake Times
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880 SW 15 St.
Forest Lake, MN 55025
651-464-4601
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