There seemed to be something amiss in the aspens of the woods by our cabin in northern Wisconsin. It was mid-August and I had been sitting at my writing table when the ruckus wafted in through the open window. I cocked my head to listen. The calls sounded like those...

Bicycling the Chisago County back roads on fresh June mornings. I hear the ethereal, fluty call of the Veery. It spirals downward, as if it were blowing through a pipe, hollow and musical. More frequently, I hear their warning call. “Veer, veer,” loud and persistent....