D2_Agraria_Journal_21_OPT

48 AGRARIA JOURNAL 2021 Today on my walk along the bike path past Goes Station, I met a heron rookery. Ten pairs in a sycamore tree, dancing their sticks into the nest together. Their garbling coos like rock doves on the cathedrals of New York City. And then I went into the wood to say good morning to the river. And there I heard him as I crouched at the bank and paddled a few scoops of water onto my face and into my hair. Indigo Bunting had returned overnight. Singing his descending duos of notes, “Fire fire, where where, here here, don’tchaknow?!” I responded with bright eyes, out- stretched hands, and choked up words that spilled out with a joyful sputter like when you see a long lost loved one: “Hi Mom, hi Granny!” I shouted to the trees in which Indigo sat, too far for me to see, but definite- ly present. In many Springs past, my mother would regale me with stories about my grandmother’s relationship with a certain indigo bunting at her home in Granville, Ohio. Every spring Granny would welcome “Mood,” the summer resident indigo bunting, back to the yard with a gentle spoken acknowledg- ment and note in her journal. My mom, in telling me, was remembering down through the generations, connecting me to Granny through this bird. Even though Granny died when I was two, I still loved picturing her in her rose beds in April, gazing up to greet Mood with a smile, while pausing to take a sip of water from her cup decorated with prints of strawberries. Back on the river this morning, I spoke aloud again to Indigo, “I’m sooo happy to hear from you today. Thanks for coming and sitting with me this morning.” I sat. I cried. And I listened to Indigo sing. The more I heard him, the more I felt my matriarchal lineage fill inside of me. Indigo was a conduit for this moment. Indigo was mom. Indigo was Granny. I told Granny and Mom all about my current life, what I’ve been up to, what I’ve been loving about my days, and the hard parts of life. When indigo sang, I felt their listening ears, beyond this life, assuring me of their presence through his vocal chords, through his beak. I welcome the indigo buntings back to town with a soft song of my own, of thanks, for their song that foretells of summer; with tears in my eyes for knowing that granny and mama can fly to me in the body of a plump, small electric blue bird; and with a note in my journal of their arrival date: April 5th, 2021. Emily Foubert is an educator and naturalist at Agraria. Electric Blue Songs to Nurture the Spirit BY EMILY FOUBERT