Day by Day: The Chronicles of a Hard of Hearing Reporter

Suweet-suwee-suweet!

178  Suweet-suwee-suweet! I first heard this bird’s song in Monroe, Washington , in . Mornings, in particular, were quiet and wet with heavy dew making the grass slippery and shiny. Slug trails shimmered in the early morning light and spider webs were more visible with droplets of water decorating the delicate and lacey patterns. The air was fresh but cold enough to see my breath. The pine trees soared toward the sky. The house we were living in was quite high in the mountains, where we were surrounded by three acres of yard, berry bushes, pine trees and various flora. The neighbors had a pony that seemed to waken when I let our dogs out. More than once, our golden retriever, Jack, took a statuesque stance staring down the brown and tan pony, possibly unsure what the creature was and how to approach it. The lure to run across the lane to meet him eye to eye was strong. I’m sure the pony was glad to be guarded by his fence and wood home. But our dachshund, Snert, has never been shy and at first sight he dashed across the gravel lane and tried to work his way through the fence. Bravado is not always smart. Suweet-suwee-suweet! 179 It was on one of these mornings that I heard a new sound. It seemed distant but repeated every few seconds. I finally realized it was a bird I had never heard in my entire life and I was filled with awe and excitement. I’m not sure how long I listened but when I finally took the dogs inside, I opened the windows so I could hear the bird’s song. Suweet-suwee-suweet—and each trill was about four or five pitches higher than the last. Now I wanted to learn the name of this sweet-sounding bird. The neighbors I asked had not heard the bird and didn’t know what it was by my rendition of its song. I went online searching for a site that shared bird songs but never did I find “my” bird. So I continued to enjoy the song and found myself often imitating it while I was doing housework or walking the dogs. Hopefully, no one but Bob heard me because he is used to my ways. It would be more than two years before I would hear the song again. Our grandson Andrew and Pappy (Bob) ham it up. “Little Cabin, in the Woods . . .” In May , Bob and I met our daughter, Mary, her husband, Bob, and our three grandchildren, Jacob, Elizabeth and Andrew, in the Smoky Mountains outside Gatlinburg, Tennessee. We rented a cozy cabin called El Shaddai that offered, among other niceties, a big front porch with a swing, full-size rocking chairs and a remarkable view of the mountains. The cabin was perched rather high in the mountains and the green quiet did us all good for peaceful sleep and relaxation. While the children lifted every rock looking for bugs, hiked up the hillside behind the cabin and swiftly slid down again, the adults did what we do well—rested on the porch while we knit, read, took pictures , talked and just savored the view. The first morning, as I was on the porch watching the clouds rise around the mountains, I heard a range of birds singing and took the 180 Day by Day Enjoying the Smokies. Suweet-suwee-suweet! 181 sounds in with intense joy. Even though it has been five years since my cochlear implant, the sounds of nature still feel new and fresh each time I hear them again. Then I heard it. “My bird” song—Suweet-suwee-suweet! I kept listening and smiling until someone else joined me and I asked them to listen. Soon everyone had heard it and no one knew the name of the bird. Since we were in the Smokies, there were sure to be rangers who might know. We stopped at the Sugarland’s Visitor Center and I scooted right up to the information desk where four rangers were standing ready to help. I quickly asked about who might be able to tell me the name of the bird I kept hearing. I did my rendition of the bird’s song and smiled. The four women chuckled and said my performance was really good but that the “birdman” wasn’t in today. “You...