[AUDIO DESCRIPTION: This soundscape creates the backdrop for our present day wren and how they see the human world around them. A storm is coming. The Kulintang creates tension while signifying the beauty of nature, adventure, wonder and the animalistic feeling of adrenaline.]
The Present
A storm was coming. That much, the marsh wren was sure of.
This was her fifth spring. Enough experience to know when the air had a certain heaviness to it. Enough to know the particular way the skies blanketed the sun.
A foot on two stalks of cattails, she shimmies herself closer to the marshy waters. Her beak plucks a spider out from the bottom of the woody reed. If she was going to try to find cover from the water, she would need to make sure she gets her food in now.
There was less marsh now, much less compared to her first season here. People had taken the area and layered over it. Arrived with boards, steel, and rivets. The sound accompanying the building was also…Grating. High pitched squeals of metal, dull bangs of hammers, and giant vehicles groaning and sputtering as they worked.
She had to admit though, it was impressive what they managed to do. Further inland, there were structures that humans had created which now towered over the land. Higher up than even she could possibly think about flying.
It wasn’t a place she had traveled to often. It certainly wasn’t built for her kind, that was certain. Lights that filled the night sky. Sounds of their transport and music and buildings filling the air constantly. Only some lampposts or signs to take respite here or there, but even then many places had spikes which made it impossible for her to land. The pigeons found homes in these places, but she supposes they were made of sturdier stuff than she.
One could see their silhouettes though, inside of their large structures. One could see them straight through the glass. Figures walking to-and-fro to get to who-knows-where. She has never seen a human fly before, she wondered how they managed to reach such heights without wings.
Their gain was her loss, ultimately. She has had to move closer and closer towards the coast. The ample water that used to hold all sorts of food, provided the nests her partners made, and gave her babies a safe haven, had slowly begun to evaporate.
Her last brood didn’t get the chance to leave the nest. A wave of heat was too much for the five of them to take. The brood before that was destroyed by another wren while she went to gather food. A method wrens often did when there was a concern over potential resources. She had done it before, and couldn’t bring herself to hold any resentment.
Later that year, another brood was lost and she could only stand by. Younger humans had found her nest and took her eggs with them. Apparently, finding themselves to be better parents than she could hope to be.
She had lost a whole season where she couldn’t even lay eggs, springs prior. The marshland that she had been born in, had been nesting in her whole life, had disappeared. The encroaching fire blew through the nearby wood, the rushes, and even the large structures the people had made collapsed in on themselves. She had many stops before she made it to where she was now. All of them had their own issues. Many other wrens landed wherever they could, she had flown just a touch farther to ensure there would be as little fighting over resources as possible.
Many times wondering if she was going to make it at all.
Her last group made it, at least. She thought about the moment where one fell out of her nest. One of the larger humans kindly picked them up and placed the baby bird back into the nest of bulrush and strips of grass. The memory of relief rushing through her at the gesture came on strong, as that was not what she expected the humans to do. She wondered though, if she would survive to see another brood of hers leave the nest.
A rumble of thunder surrounded her. Electricity seemed to crackle in the air. She had run out of time.
She pushed herself off from the reed that she had been perched from. Her small wingspan beat against the rolling winds. She could hear the sounds of another wren’s trill and gurgle. Others also looked to the ground frantically for last grubs before the storm swept through. Two males were being particularly squawky over who were going to feast upon a treasure of beetles.
The wren called out, drowned out by another round of thunder. Not thunder. Another kind of bird. The metal bird that soared over their home every half hour or so. Unless you were just a cattail away, any call one makes would get drowned out until the metal bird had passed over them. Unless you were a gull. Gulls’ voices were apparently made of sturdier stuff than her voice was.
Enough of the marsh had dried to the point it wasn’t completely out there that this marsh could be struck by lightning and feel the same spark of fire her last home had. Where would she go then if that were to happen?
It wasn’t something that she could do anything about right now. All she could do was find shelter for the storm. She fled from spot to spot, point to point. An area was flooded, predators had crept in a space making it unsafe, although thankfully for her, it seemed like there were less predators around now than there had been before. However, many spaces were occupied already by other birds
The wren perked up as a bright color in the reeds caught her eye. Perhaps this was the place she would be able to bunker down in during the storm? She dove downward, her wings fluttering. The crinkle of her feet rustled the plastic bag as she hopped from one side of the bag to the other. The material certainly kept the rain out, which was ideal.
A strong gust of wind blew through the marsh. The usual sounds of the leaves brushing against one another was entirely drowned out by the sound of this bag moving this way and that. Panic rushed through her as she could feel the bag lifting off the ground with her in it. Quickly, she scuttled out of the bag before taking flight once again.
Odd, as she has used those bags as shelter before, in a pinch. There was no shortage of them around the area. It seemed that they were disagreeable when nature picked up. She could see a different, similarly colorful bag become swept up, flying in its own right out towards the water.
She tried again to find safety on one of the large vehicles the humans had been using to move dirt this way and that. She bounced from the wheels, to the large shovel-like appendage, to underneath the vehicle itself. Every spot was too uneven, too precarious, too uncertain for her to find a comfortable footing. She would not know when this storm would end, but wherever she settled had to be something she could see herself bunkering down for the rest of the night, at least.
Frustration was mounting. She was running out of options. It seemed that since her first spring, her options have been disappearing from her. Food scarcity, nesting options, where she could reliably settle down to. Her first home ablaze and her family and friends displaced, flung into parts of the world she would probably never see again.
But as she reflected on her life and the touchstones that made her? She saw less of her own kind, and more of humans. Her major events seemed intrinsically tied to them in one way or another. Some good, but many of them bad.
Her few tumultuous trips to the city. The vehicles that had fled with her, traveling underneath her as she fled the fires. The sounds of the metal beasts that lay in wait, that had taken more cattails, grass, and beetles. Effort to replace them with boards and beams and rivets. The destruction of her nest.
Were the metal birds from humans? The interruptions to the marsh’s song? Was the fire sparked by the speed that they walk through those large structures? Did they have that much power?
What if this storm, too, was an effect of human hands?
The first drop fell, and there was nowhere else to go.
If you would like to take action to help with land restoration in the Bay Area, please refer to the following organizations that are working to help:
Audio Credits:
Produced in Reaper.
Plugins: Kontakt, Komplete Kontrol, iZotope
SFX Libraries: Soundly
Kulintang played by Jinji
Saxophone "busking" recording pulled from Soundly Libaries.
All other music is original compositions.
We would like to thank Guadalupe River Park Conservancy for hosting this installation at The Rotary Park. The Guadalupe River Park Conservancy often leads, partners, advocates, organizes, and informs the public on a number of projects, initiatives, and plans that impact the River Park and surrounding community. To find out more how you can get involved in what they do, visit their website.
SJ Sounds is a collaboration between More Más Marami Arts and Soundplay.Media. This installation is possible thanks to funding from the City of San José through the Abierto program, the support of our fiscal sponsor, The School of Arts and Culture.
