Some More Morning Recordings, and Morning Thoughts

The neighbour woke up early and started yelling and playing with his power tools, but I managed to get some snippets recorded - it's all contiguous, though broken up for easier downloading for smaller connections. Podcasts of the San Fernando Birds Choir and San Fernando Hill Birds Choir, in symphony, playing and eating in the key of life.

This is a part of the morning. You can hear the rustle of the peepal in these; I recorded them on the back step where I normally sit because of the shade and shadows, and also because of the peepal itself. It's not meditation in the Western perspective of the Eastern method, but it's meditation in it's own way. I don't expect many readers to understand it - but if I explain it another way, some might. The morning is a time of clarity, of peace, and of preparation. Before the business hours start, business does not exist. Every loose end was tied up the night before.

The mornings are mine. So I'm sharing a piece of that... it costs me nothing.

This morning was quieter because the neighbour, who runs a welding place in the back, apparently got started earlier than usual. That's OK. We all have to live. Unfortunately, the birds don't like that sound too much.

But the birds themselves have a history here. In the 1980s, there weren't as many. Around 2000, my father started feeding them figs that were picked up cheap - they were overripe. So, he devised a contraption which hung over the road and allowed the birds to eat in peace - away from predators. In time, he added stale hops bread. All manner of birds came, nested, settled... and while the mango tree recovered from the butchery he had ordained (we fought on the way that tree was cut), other trees were planted.

The peepal tree was placed in the back. The cherry tree was also placed in the back corner, to obscure the noisy and nosey youths who sit on the back wall and would heckle him from the kitchen. Cinammon trees were transplanted by his direction, but never took - I finally convinced him to leave them where they were, and they are coming along nicely. The guava tree in the back I kept watered until it's root found the the ground water. He planted a Jamaican plum tree in the front yard; I trimmed the avocado tree to keep the cat off. More coconut trees were planted. The objective was much the same; he wanted the birds around because they were something he loved in the morning - something he missed from his childhood, before San Fernando became 'developed', before paved roads were around. When 'Coffee Street' actually had coffee trees on it, my Great Uncle told me. I wanted him to have that (he was much more easy to deal with then), and in time I grew to love it perhaps as much as he did.

When the mango tree recovered, the birds didn't need the figs as much - and there's always one fruit tree bearing for them. The avocado tree sits there as it has for over 20 years, being my personal project whenever I am here - maintaining it's height, it's growth... the plum tree in front is coming under control again... the peepal tree now stands over 20 feet tall, and is growing rapidly. And the birds have a small sanctuary for a while. If only for a while. Pesticides kill them off, and when passing trucks spray malathion for mosquito problems, a part of me hurts - a lot of birds die that way.

Some people talk about Carnival a lot, and will since it's coming up. That aspect of Trinidad and Tobago I don't like - I used to when I was younger. Loud and obnoxious music with alcohol is something that many find satisfying, at least for a while. Every morning, I listen to the bird have their own carnival - eating, drinking, fornicating - and that is enough, because at least they sound good when doing it.

When I think about Carnival, I think about negotiating my way through crowded places, always being alert, broken glass, refuse on the street and unattractive people in costumes which they paid too much for (and they complain all year that they have no money) jiggling on the street. Bars make money hand over fist, property gets damaged, and life goes on. Some people think about Carnival Sunday, Monday and Tuesday. I see Ash Wednesday, where the cities look like they have a hangover.

So I retreat from that, and stick with the things that I like. I wonder where the birds will go for Carnival, when the bass of speakers drowns out even the steelband. I suppose some think loud is better. Quantity of volume versus quality. The last calypsonian I liked was David Rudder, but he's off somewhere... he actually wrote lyrics, and could sing.

And a well tuned steel band is something to listen for, even during practice, but like the birds they get drowned out and chased off by speakers- but mainly by people. Carnival is to Trinidad and Tobago what a Christmas sale is for the birth of Jesus. It's a simple arrangement. Either you're collecting money from drunk people, or you're a drunk person who will be catching ass afterward, or someone who stands aside and watches the two interact. I am the latter.

I suppose that somewhere, I grew up. And while I'm here, I'll do what I can for the birds that are becoming lost. Maybe that's why I like Guyana so much. It isn't spoiled as much... yet. Trinidad and Tobago, the smog, the dust, the traffic... you have to hide to avoid it. You have to know where to go. There are some refuges. I know them all. Places where you can find no humans. But humans start showing up and screwing it up. Beer bottles, plastic containers, even discarded clothing.

Development. Developing nations can do it better, without killing off everything... but they always seem to fall into the rut of those that went before, never trusting themselves to think originally, never trusting original thinkers.

And you know what? The birds don't give a crap about all of that. That's why I spend time with them. They have their own little carnival without leaving a large mess, they have colo(u)rful costumes, they eat and play - and even fight. And the world is better for it, they plant seeds even with their droppings. Why can't humans do things that way?

Miner's have their canaries. I have the birds, as my father before me did- we just hear them sing different things. Am I an environmentalist? No. I'm just a person who likes the planet, no matter how much of a porcupine mankind makes it. And each bird that dies is the passing of an innocence which cannot be found or replaced in loudspeakers, broken bottles, or glittery costumes.

If you can picture 8 hours a day of what sounds you hear below, you might have an idea of what I mean. And even in those sounds, the Kiskedee stands out - the loud, obnoxious bird which lives well with man. An interesting thing to consider is why the loud and the obnoxious thrive around man.