Song Sparrow vs. Growler Jet
Not twenty feet from where I sat on the park bench a song sparrow perched and sang his wonderful three-part melody. Behind the sparrow the Salish Sea stretched wide, deep blue in color, water and sky blending on this bright, late-spring day. The song sparrow tilted his head back, letting his rapturous voice burst forth. He then paused a few seconds before singing again. Though to my untrained ear the song the second time sounded the same, it likely wasn’t. A 2022 study described male song sparrows to be complex singers, with varied repertoires that may take up to 30 minutes to completely cycle through (https://royalsocietypublishing.org/doi/10.1098/rspb.2021.2473).
Male Song Sparrow
Photo by Patrice Bouchard on Unsplash
While the sparrow was singing, an EA-18G Growler jet flew low over the water and nearby Whidbey Island where the Naval Air Station is located. These planes appear like giant, black bugs followed by the roars they create, bone-rattling waves of sound that those of us living here have long had to accommodate to. The noise faded slightly as the plane disappeared from my view, but the air remained saturated with the harsh, blocky tones of the jet, nearly obliterating the fluid tones of the song sparrow. I continued sitting, listening to both avian- and human-created sounds, on this first morning of a week’s long vacation. Other birds around me were also undeterred by the cacophony caused by people. White-crowned sparrows, dark-eyed juncos, spotted towhees, and pine siskins all sang and called. This is what I had come to the forest to hear, not the jets. But here I was, listening to both. And so I felt myself confronted once again with another example of the challenges I had been pondering all week: craving, aversion, and ignorance, described in the Buddhist teachings as the three poisons that keep people locked into a continuous cycle of suffering.
Craving—I want to hear only natural sounds, including the birds, Douglas’s squirrels, a snake moving off in the grass, the chatter of insects. I want only to see Nature’s comforting colors and designs around me. I want to smell the forest’s sweetness that brings calm and well-being to a soul.
Aversion—I do not want to hear the jets, reminders of the noisy world that humans have created and the violence that we seem to thrive on as a society (the EA-18G is described as a “specialized, electronic attack aircraft”) . I do not want to feel the very harmful effects that studies have shown the growler jets have on people and wildlife, including the federally threatened marbled murrelet that lives in the salt waters of the Salish Sea.
Ignorance—Another word for this is delusion. Ignorance can be applied in many contexts, but for me, in this situation, it’s about being confused as to the true nature of reality, of not understanding, and therefore not accepting, the truth of our experiences as humans. There will be bird song and there will be sounds of aircraft where I live. There will be pleasantness and unpleasantness, that is simply life.
Earlier this week, I stayed one night in a national forest campground where I had a remarkable evening. Despite this being a large campground, there was almost no one there. After setting up my camp and eating dinner, I walked down to the lakeshore. Helpful tools for coping with the three poisons include mindfulness and meditation, and these were uppermost in my mind. My intention during this evening was to be completely present. This is always easier for me if there aren’t so many people or much noise, but my goal was to be open to whatever I found. As it happened, what I found felt very pleasant to me. It was an evening of the birds! A bald eagle pair roosted where I had not seen them before, with one of the adults being harassed by a crow; many turkey vultures flew around, and two, perched on three-foot posts near a picnic table, I got very good looks at; another turkey vulture landed on the beach and pecked around in the sand; swallows swooped all around me; and later, after returning to camp, I observed the turkey vulture night roost to be right by my camp. I sat in my camp chair as the moon’s glow grew brighter and a Swainson’s thrush’s haunting song closed out the day. I did make a few notes, but mostly I just watched and listened. A pair of juncos soon approached me closely. For a few blissful hours, I felt embedded into the natural world.
Of course, my time with the eagles, vultures, swallows, juncos, and Swainson’s thrush was so agreeable that I have found myself craving more of the same.
Needless to say, my walk yesterday at the state park wasn’t at all the same as that evening in the campground, though some elements were similar. After my singing song sparrow friend flew off, I also continued on my walk. Entering again into the forest, I encountered a family of Bewick’s wrens hopping about in the salal. They too called and foraged, the young ones learning from the parents, while the jet roared in the background.
The Salish Sea, June 5, 2025