Ear Memory

I was extremely young when I realised that my voice was acceptable when I spoke, less so when I shouted and truly awful when I attempted to raise it in song.  I was the pupil who made the music teacher go home and reach for the bottle before the sun set.  I was the fellow student who made other students feel good about their own musical abilities.

At one point in my childhood I attempted to convince my parents that I might have some hidden musical talents.  They listened to my pleading. Murmured words that sounded like "maybe ... discuss ... no evidence ... fog horn ..." before their laughter rent the air as they rushed out the room. My siblings were both members of choirs.  Their glorious voices joined with others in a manner that did not make anyone search the room for an injured animal.   In church my sister would cast desperate glances in my direction ready at any moment to place a firm hand over my mouth in case there was an indication that I was about to offer the world my version of the hymn being sung.

Thus the years passed.  I learned to mime with an expression that was connected to the words I would have sung if I could keep to a single note.  Once I left school there was no real reason to sing other than when I was in the car on my own and wishing to warn off possible hijackers.  I bore children who can sing so the walrus wailing gene appeared to have at least skipped a generation.


I have come to realise that along with having little to no ability to stay in tune when singing I have little to no ability to learn bird songs.  At my tender age I am trying to learn the songs of the most common birds in the area with little success.  My grandchildren can mimic the Mourning Dove, owls, and seem to be able to communicate with each other through what to my tired ears sound rather like bird calls.  My grandson likes to sit and watch birds at the feeders and quiz me about them.  Of course having a bird watching book at hand makes me appear much more talented as a bird identifier than I really am.  Thus far I have been able to convince him that I am the fount of all knowledge.  The status I have acquired by being interested and literate is about to be challenged.  Sitting outside we listened to the songs of the recently returned migratory birds, and the stay at home ones. As we listened he asked me what was the song that we could hear from a nearby stand of trees.
"Cardinal," I replied wondering if I should admit that it well be the irritated call of a chipmunk since I have confused the two on more than one occasion.
"And that one?" he queried.
"A black capped chickadee," I was more certain about my reply as the bird actually has a call that says chicka-dee-dee-dee.
"Is that an owl?" he asked.
"Maybe ... or it could be something else ..."
His bright hazel eyes met mine.
"A woodpecker?" he challenged me without even knowing he was so doing.
"It's certainly a bird," I replied whilst rapidly planning a distraction activity.
He laughed and I retained my status for another day.


Over the past five plus years I have attempted to learn songs but I usually find myself having to see the bird before I can even begin to decipher the songs.  A wonderful CD and a tape have been my companions as I drive around but without a visual context I have discovered that I have learned about five calls in total. The calls have to unsubtle in order for me to recognise them.  I know the chickadee, the mourning dove, the blue jay, robin and the red winged black bird but the wren, the sparrow, cardinal, towhee, titmouse .... lark ... all remain unidentifiable to me.

An article in a bird watching magazine suggested blindfolding oneself in order to block out the visual and thereby pay closer attention to the audible.  Sitting on the deck with my eyes covered I discovered that someone in the neighbourhood had an extremely irritating ring on their phone, some one else was mowing, a dog was yapping and, oh yes, birds were singing and twittering and tweeting (vocal calls not the cell phone thing-a-ma-bob).  I could tell that the sounds were made by birds!  I could even tell from which direction the calls came and approximate distance away from me that they might be but as to identifying a song ... absolutely zero success. 

Living near woods I can hear the little critters but unless I have them in eyesight they remain nameless.  Which might just be the way I am going to do my birdwatching.  As with singing, or lack thereof, bird songs are going to remain as a mystery to me.  I can appreciate the beauty of the songs and calls but beyond that I am unlikely to become the wise woman of bird songs.

Oh well ... wisdom remains elusive but perhaps I can place my hopes in some obscure field of interest.  Anyone want to join me in a study of experimental archaeology of the shoe?