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By John Trott
The Virginia Naturalist
They had gathered in a remote mountain cove where we all spent so much time exploring the natural world 30 years ago. They slept in tents and the breakfast conversation centered around birds they had heard during the kind of silence only experienced in that setting, far from traffic noises. I had slept in my bed in Flint Hill; Lee and I joined them for breakfast. My delight in their narration of night sounds was tinged with envy.
“I woke up and a Yellowbilled Cuckoo was singing,” said one man from North Carolina.
“Yes,” said another. “I heard that too and later an Indigo Bunting.”
“You all heard the Barred Owl, right?” said an entomologist, now living in Massachusetts. “Yes,” they
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