A cooper’s hawk appears outside the author’s windown. Courtesy photo/Rachel Lovejoy
A few years ago, I cut the cord with cable TV and started using a streaming device instead. Not being much of a television viewer, I have never missed cable. The whole point of cutting the cord was to save money, and it meant having to do without the few programs I did enjoy. One of those was a PBS (Public Broadcasting System) program entitled “Windows to the Wild.” The show was hosted by veteran hiker and naturalist Willem Lang, who often took viewers along with him on one of his many hikes through the wilderness. While Willem’s focus was mainly on the topography, the history of a particular region, and his experiences with other hikers, his basic message has never ceased to resonate with me: there is much beauty and joy to be found “out there” in the wild, no matter where you happen to be.
Since then, I’ve learned that “the wild” doesn’t have to be a remote untouched forest, a long challenging trail, or a forgotten field. It can be as close as looking outside one’s back door. And here in the apartment I live in, I seem to have found my very own “window to the wild,” which presents me daily with sightings of things you’d never expect to find here.
One of my living room windows measures roughly four by two feet, its frame enclosing all that I’ve seen through its glass. On any given day, that small egress never fails to present me with a picture that is worth saving. So I always keep my camera handy for those special moments.
Through that window, I’ve seen (and heard) so much … northern ravens, Cooper’s hawks, American crows, and red-tailed hawks. I’ve seen a deer standing regally in the low growth and opossums taking advantage of evening shadows to forage for food. I’ve seen skunks, raccoons, and foxes, and of course, the ubiquitous gray squirrels and chipmunks and yes, even field mice. And of course, no day ever passes during which the large resident flock of wild turkeys doesn’t make a stop at my window in hopes that I’ll toss out a bit of seed.
Some days, I might sit there for an hour or more, for experience has proven that I am sure to see something if I wait long enough. My patience is always rewarded, as I’ve learned just which quick movements are created by the wind or by a bird or other creature moving about. Red-bellied woodpeckers inspecting tree trunks or brown creepers moving in their characteristically circular motion around others; blue jays stopping briefly on low branches and pileated woodpeckers flying low among the trees; dark-eyed juncos, tufted titmice, chickadees, nuthatches, house finches, goldfinches and Northern cardinals … they’re all out there if I just make the time to look.
I’ve listened to the loud squawking of the young ravens in the spring and the cawing of crows when they sense danger. And while I’ve never seen one here, I’ve lain awake at night to the sound of owls hooting and coyotes howling from the deeper woods.
Now, you might think that I live in a remote and rural area to be privy to so much wildness. If so, none of this would be unusual or out of the ordinary. The truth, however, is much more interesting and points to how we humans have come to live in a joyful partnership with wild creatures, many of which never get this close to a busy urban area. The apartment I live in is less than a mile from downtown Saco, and I can see the lights flashing from the cell tower in Biddeford from my kitchen window.
Aside from the fact that nothing surprises me anymore, there is this. Anyone can have their own “window to the wild,” no matter where they live. Despite how meager the offerings may seem at times, with a bit of tenacity and a finely-tuned sense of awareness, there is no telling what you’ll see through your particular window. As we humans move around and slowly occupy more space, the wild creatures aren’t leaving. They never did. And they’re just waiting for us to notice them.
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