One lovely afternoon last May, I set out with a friend to paddle an upper section of the Namekagon River. Flights of “mackerel sky” clouds patterned the sky, but plenty of blue shone through. The white blossoms of highbush cranberries and wild cherry trees accented the bright greens of brand-new leaves. As we rounded a corner, we spotted a flock of half-a-dozen or more little birds with lemon yellow bodies and smart black caps.
These beautiful Wilson’s Warblers are neotropical migrants who spends their winters along the south coast of Texas, or in Mexico, or Central America, and their summers in Canada and the Pacific Northwest. The bug-filled bushes of the Namekagon River are just a rest stop for them.
This May, I found myself in a very different habitat. As you might have read last week, I made my own migration to southern California for a museum conference. And then I rented a car and bopped over to Joshua Tree National Park to see what my friends had been raving about.
The temperature was pushing 100 degrees when I finally arrived just after noon. Stressed from L.A. traffic and drained from a week spent in the city, I pulled off at the very first trailhead and was surprised to find it empty. A faint trail led off through a desert of sparse and prickly plants. Chugging some water and grabbing my camera, I followed it.
At first all I saw were unfamiliar leaves. Then I recognized a clump of funny green twigs. To survive the desert, Mormon tea gave up on leaves and just photosynthesizes through their bitter green stems. Years ago, when I lived in Southeast Utah for a season, this plant was a familiar friend. A few steps later, a hit of fresh scent, vaporized like a potpourri pot by the blazing sun, led me to the shiny, tiny, leaves of a creosote bush.
Then the surface of the sand shifted, and a perfectly camouflaged lizard scurried away. As I began to feel the presence of wild life around me, my shoulders relaxed. The Sun blazed on my skin, but also warmed my heart.
Scientist E.O. Wilson’s book Biophilia hypothesized that humans possess an innate tendency to seek connections with nature and other forms of life. He wrote, “To an extent still undervalued in philosophy and religion, our existence depends on this propensity, our spirit is woven from it, hope rises on its currents."
I don’t know how people can survive for long in a city. “There are some who can live without wild things, and some who cannot,” wrote Aldo Leopold. I am one who cannot.
Soon, a lilting, three-note birdsong lured me toward a dry creek bed and an outcrop of rounded rocks. My Merlin bird ID app identified them as a Verdin, a pretty gray bird with a yellow face who only lives in northern Mexico and a bordering band of the U.S. I squinted through the intense Sun in the hopes of spotting the singer.
Flight! Out of the corner of my eye I caught the dart of a bird and followed their glint of yellow into a bush. Training my camera on the thicket, I snapped away, then zoomed in to check my results: yellow body, smart black cap. Instead of a new-to-me Verdin, I’d found an old friend!
I watched as the Wilson’s Warbler bounced like popcorn through the narrow, willow-ish leaves of an unknown desert shrub. While this bird was named for a different Wilson, he certainly satisfied E.O. Wilson’s Biophilia. I wonder if the caterpillars and aphids he was eating here taste different than the ones along the Namekagon River? I wonder if he, too, was a bit fatigued and dehydrated by the intense heat?
I wound my way through the park, stopping at several short nature trails to explore. Several more times, movement among the leaves revealed the black-and-yellow garb of Wilson’s warblers.
I flew home early the next morning, wishing that I could listen to the soft rustle of wind through feathers instead of the roar of jet engines. One of my first days back at work was spent leading a birding field trip in the Bibon Swamp just north of Cable. Golden-winged warblers buzzed, catbirds warbled, and rose-breasted grosbeaks sang sweetly. I absorbed their vibrant life into my soul and the midwestern humidity into my skin.
Two years ago on this same field trip, we’d spotted a flock of little black-headed, lemon-yellow Wilson’s warblers bouncing through the willows. This year, we didn’t spot a single one. A part of me is worried that the population who migrates through here met some untimely end in their wintering habitat or during migration. With headlines like “75 percent of North America’s bird species are in decline” in the news, it’s not unlikely. Wilson’s warblers have declined by 60 percent between 1966 and 2019, mostly due to habitat loss throughout their range.
But a part of me is optimistic that they are taking a more leisurely trip north from Joshua Tree (as I would have preferred to do, too!), and will arrive in the Northwoods next week. In E.O. Wilson’s words, “hope rises on [this] current.”
Emily’s award-winning second book, Natural Connections: Dreaming of an Elfin Skimmer, is available to purchase at www.cablemuseum.org/books and at your local independent bookstore, too.
For more than 50 years, the Cable Natural History Museum has served to connect you to the Northwoods. Our Summer Calendar is open for registration! Visit our new exhibit, “Becoming the Northwoods: Akiing (A Special Place). Follow us on Facebook, Instagram, YouTube, and cablemuseum.org to see what we are up to.
Last Update: May 21, 2025 1:24 pm CDT
