11/14/2025
Reflection by Laura Leigh Blackstone
As we paddled around the marsh in our canoes, Tyrone encouraged us to stop and listen. Picture this. We are a group of 10 to 12 in our life jackets, paired up in a small flotilla. There are tendrils of underwater plants floating near the surface. Overhead, we see the occasional osprey or heron sail overhead. The marsh banks brim with waves of spartina grasses. We listen. There is the croak of the heron in flight. The breeze rustles the marsh grasses. It is a gentle swoosh that seems almost like a sound memory from a past life. I contemplate the rareness of stillness and
silence in our modern lives. I wonder what we are losing when we are constantly engulfed by the sounds of our human industriousness. When we paddle into a shrubby area, we encounter the calls of the red-winged blackbird. I associate their insect-like trilling with childhood. I grew up in rural north Louisiana next to a small man-made fishing pond. The red-winged blackbirds loved to hide in the tall grasses and perch in the cypress. They were magical to me with their bright wing
flashes and their group calls. Our pond had a little levee surrounding it and wild irises my grandfather had planted down near the water’s edge. We sometimes used our cane poles to fish for brim from that little levee. Near dusk, we could fish to the sounds of the red-winged blackbirds singing. Until recently, I was unaware that these red-winged blackbirds live all over the U.S. in mostly marshy areas. We began camping around the country in our van six years ago. At first, we ventured along the Gulf Coast. Because I have lived all of my adult life in the city of New Orleans, I
had rarely encountered my red-winged blackbirds. They are not birds that visit backyard bird feeders. Suddenly, they seemed to be the welcoming committee on our travels. From Dauphine Island to Fort Pickens to Appalachicola, we were even encountering communities of these marsh dwellers. Sometimes we even found trails named after them. Later we drove through the U.S. to Maine. Whenever we camped near a marshy area, we were able to enjoy their familiar calls. Now, whenever I hear them sing, I feel my mood lift. The sound has a curious effect. I will start to smile even before my brain says “Oh, that’s the red-wing blackbird!” I am unconsciously associating their calls with beautiful moments from my past.
photo by Cephas on wikipedia commons
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