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“As I come over the hill， I hear the wood thrush singing his evening lay. This is the only bird whose note affects me like music， affects the flow and tenor of my thoughts， my fancy and imagination. It lifts and exhilarates me…It is a medicative draught to my soul. It is an elixir to my eyes and a fountain of youth to all my senses…”— Henry David Thoreau， Journal， 22 June 1853
The time is 4：24 a.m. I sit upright in bed， awakened by an inspirational choir that has just burst into sound. Vacationing in the woods of northern Vermont， I’ve taken a summer sojourn back to the temperate forests of my childhood. I was entitled to sleep until noon as the obvious privilege of vacation. But late sleepers in the short New England summer miss one of the best musical events of the year. The red-breasted robin is the first songster on nature’s program. Greeting the pre-dawn with a melodious， cheerful message， it reminds all of the forest denizens that sunrise is imminent. The robin’s instinctive timeclock is accurate within seconds： Slivers of pink and red soon slice across the dark sky， interspersed with fingers of mist rising from last evening’s thundershower. Soon， that dawn harbinger is joined by a couple of other robins， a trio in full song. As if not to be outdone， the white-throated sparrows join in. Their lyrical solos echo， “Oh sweet Canada， Canada”. One of my favorite voices of nature， this poignant song instead says to me， “Oh， back homeagain， home-again.” It is comforting that， almost two centuries after Thoreau described New England songbirds， their melodies have remained remarkably true over time.
Within ten minutes of the robin’s wake-up lyrics， the entire hillside chorus is in full sound—red-eyed vireo， house wren， bluebird， goldfinch， ovenbird， song sparrow. By now， I’m awestruck and wide awake—no going back to bed now. Close at hand， a gang of crows engage in a raucous exchange， perhaps vying for a tidbit of breakfast along a nearby road. They disrupt the lyrical sensation of the dawn chorus， but add a bit of humor， like sandwiching a clown act into the program of my otherwise elegant symphony.
By 5 a.m.， all the musicians are in full song. Suddenly the forest quiets for a brief lull. One new voice takes center stage. Its flutelike song and resplendent trills fill every hollow of the forest， sending chills down my spine. The other birds pause，as if paying tribute to this exquisite soloist. Its speckled breast and reddish brown back provide fairly ordinary coloration for the star of the show， but perhaps serve as excellent camouflage for a nesting parent. Despite its nondescript costume， the wood thrush proclaims in song that this is the most special moment of its life. Anyone who is fortunate enough to listen to a wood thrush or to its cousins， the hermit or Swainson’s thrushes， cannot help but preserve that moment in their memories forever. Both were singing together in my Vermont dawn chorus. In my home state of California， our dawn chorus is very different. Living near the San Francisco Bay， but also adjacent to a pond， I am awakened in summer by red-winged blackbirds interspersed with gulls and sometimes the odd western scrub-jay.
After hearing the wood thrush in the spruce boughs of Vermont， my annual pilgrimage back to childhood was complete. Like an opera buff， I am willing to travel great distances to hear my favorite singers. By mid-morning， the forest is relatively quiet. Having faithfully announced the new day， my feathered musical troupe moved from song to other activities—nest-building， tending to their young， foraging for food， and perhaps defending their babies from marauders. There is something inspirational， almost regal， about the dawn chorus. Birds celebrate each new day with great optimism. But after a stunning performance， they return to the business of survival.
Why do birds sing？ Is it an expression of happiness invoked by these feathered balls of fluff flitting about the forest？ Or is it survival of the fittest manifested as a competition for the best voice？ Is it a physical mechanism to define territorial imperative？ Ornithologists remind us that bird songs are part of complex behavioral patterns， and they have dedicated extensive research to their variation and function. Technical science aside， I feel very privileged to have had a front-row seat for what is truly one of Mother Nature’s best concerts of the season.
“我走到山上，听到一只画眉正在为黄昏咏诗。只有这种鸟儿的歌声触动了我，如同音乐一般，影响了我的思绪、幻想、想象，使我感到快乐、愉悦……如同一股温暖的气流涌进我的灵魂深处。这是治愈我双眼的良药，是唤醒我所有感官的青春之泉……”——亨利·大卫·梭罗，《日记》，1853年6月22日
现在是凌晨4点24分，我被一阵刚爆发的振奋大合唱唤醒，直直地坐在床上。我正在北佛蒙特州度假，回到我的儿时旧地——气候温和的森林度过今夏。一觉睡到大中午是我这个在享受假期的人的特权。但睡懒觉的人会错过在新英格兰短暂的夏季中最棒的年度音乐盛会之一。红胸知更鸟是这场大自然盛会的第一位歌者。它以一段优美愉悦的旋律向黎明问好，告诉所有的森林居民太阳即将升起。知更鸟的天然生物钟无比准确，不一会儿，黑暗的天空中便出现了一道道粉红、深红的朝霞。前一晚的雷阵雨生成点点薄雾飘到上空，点缀着朝霞。很快，其他一些知更鸟也加入到这位黎明先知的演唱中，凑成响亮的三重唱。白喉麻雀似乎也不甘落后，加入其中。它们那热情洋溢的独奏在林间回荡，“噢，可爱的加拿大，加拿大”。这是我最喜爱的大自然声音之一，这把嘹亮的歌喉随之对我说，“噢，重返故土，故土。”在梭罗描述新英格兰的鸟鸣几近两个世纪后，它们的歌声并没有随着时间的流逝而有所失色，这令人感到欣慰。
在知更鸟唱起唤醒之歌的十分钟内，整个山坡便响起了大合唱——红眼绿鹃、鹪鹩、青鸟、金翅雀、灶巢鸟、北美歌雀纷纷加入其中。此刻，我心底生出一股敬畏之情，头脑十分清醒，不打算再睡回笼觉。一群乌鸦出现在我眼前，向彼此发出嘶哑的叫吼声，也许是在争夺附近道路上的精美早餐。它们扰乱了富有诗意的黎明大合唱，却为之增添了一丝幽默，就像把一个小丑放在了一场原本很高雅的交响乐中。
到了凌晨5点，所有的音乐家都在高声歌唱。突然，整个森林陷入了短暂的寂静。一种新的声音占领了舞台中心。那类似长笛的歌声以及华丽的颤音充满了森林的每个角落，使我兴奋得脊柱发颤。其他的鸟儿都停止了歌唱，仿佛在向这位技艺高超的独唱者致敬。他是对的。作为一位表演明星，它那点缀着斑点的胸脯和红棕色的背部似乎太过平凡无奇，但作为需要筑巢的父母，这身外衣也许是上佳的保护色。尽管画眉鸟的外衣平凡无奇，但它放声歌唱的那刻却是其一生中最特别的时刻。任何有幸聽到画眉或它的堂亲（隐蜂鸟，又称斯温氏夜鸫）歌声的人都会不由自主地把这一刻永久保存在记忆中。而这两种鸟都在我的佛蒙特州黎明大合唱里一同歌唱。
在我的家乡加利福尼亚州，破晓的鸟鸣声截然不同。住在旧金山湾，邻近一个池塘，在夏天，我是被红翅黑鹂以及海鸥的歌声叫醒的，有时还混杂着一只西丛鸦的叫声。
听过驻足在佛蒙特州云杉枝干上的画眉鸟的歌声后，我一年一度的童年朝圣之行也就完成了。像一个歌剧“发烧友”一样，我愿意跨越千里，只为听到最喜欢的歌手的演唱。到了早上十点左右，森林变得相对安静。在诚心诚意地宣告了新一天的来临后，我的鸟儿歌唱团从唱歌转移到了其他活动上——筑巢、照顾幼鸟、觅食、或是与掠夺者斗争以保护幼鸟。鸟儿的黎明大合唱有振奋人心，甚至是庄严的一面。鸟儿以积极的态度迎接新的每一天。但在一场精彩绝伦的表演后，它们又会回归到日常生活中去。
鸟儿为什么歌唱？这是这些在森林里翱翔的毛绒绒圆球表达幸福的一种方式？还是一场“适者生存”的竞争，为“最好声音”的美称而一争高下？抑或是一场争夺领土的搏斗？鸟类学家告诉我们，鸟的叫声是一种复杂的行为模式，他们已为鸟鸣的多样性及其功能进行了大量研究。撇开科学不谈，我为自己能坐在前排近距离聆听大自然最棒的其中一场夏季音乐会而感到无比荣幸。
我希望您的面包病好了
I was making rolls and， needing a warm place for the dough to rise， put the bowl in a heating pad. Then I left the house on an errand（使命，差事） . When I came back， I found this note from my son： “Dear Mom， I hope your bread gets better.”
我在做面包，需要把面团放在一个暖和点的地方使它发起来。我把面盆放在电热褥里，后来就出去干别的活去了。等我回家时，发现儿子留下一张纸条，上面写着：“亲爱的妈妈，我希望您的面包已经病好了。”
The time is 4：24 a.m. I sit upright in bed， awakened by an inspirational choir that has just burst into sound. Vacationing in the woods of northern Vermont， I’ve taken a summer sojourn back to the temperate forests of my childhood. I was entitled to sleep until noon as the obvious privilege of vacation. But late sleepers in the short New England summer miss one of the best musical events of the year. The red-breasted robin is the first songster on nature’s program. Greeting the pre-dawn with a melodious， cheerful message， it reminds all of the forest denizens that sunrise is imminent. The robin’s instinctive timeclock is accurate within seconds： Slivers of pink and red soon slice across the dark sky， interspersed with fingers of mist rising from last evening’s thundershower. Soon， that dawn harbinger is joined by a couple of other robins， a trio in full song. As if not to be outdone， the white-throated sparrows join in. Their lyrical solos echo， “Oh sweet Canada， Canada”. One of my favorite voices of nature， this poignant song instead says to me， “Oh， back homeagain， home-again.” It is comforting that， almost two centuries after Thoreau described New England songbirds， their melodies have remained remarkably true over time.
Within ten minutes of the robin’s wake-up lyrics， the entire hillside chorus is in full sound—red-eyed vireo， house wren， bluebird， goldfinch， ovenbird， song sparrow. By now， I’m awestruck and wide awake—no going back to bed now. Close at hand， a gang of crows engage in a raucous exchange， perhaps vying for a tidbit of breakfast along a nearby road. They disrupt the lyrical sensation of the dawn chorus， but add a bit of humor， like sandwiching a clown act into the program of my otherwise elegant symphony.
By 5 a.m.， all the musicians are in full song. Suddenly the forest quiets for a brief lull. One new voice takes center stage. Its flutelike song and resplendent trills fill every hollow of the forest， sending chills down my spine. The other birds pause，as if paying tribute to this exquisite soloist. Its speckled breast and reddish brown back provide fairly ordinary coloration for the star of the show， but perhaps serve as excellent camouflage for a nesting parent. Despite its nondescript costume， the wood thrush proclaims in song that this is the most special moment of its life. Anyone who is fortunate enough to listen to a wood thrush or to its cousins， the hermit or Swainson’s thrushes， cannot help but preserve that moment in their memories forever. Both were singing together in my Vermont dawn chorus. In my home state of California， our dawn chorus is very different. Living near the San Francisco Bay， but also adjacent to a pond， I am awakened in summer by red-winged blackbirds interspersed with gulls and sometimes the odd western scrub-jay.
After hearing the wood thrush in the spruce boughs of Vermont， my annual pilgrimage back to childhood was complete. Like an opera buff， I am willing to travel great distances to hear my favorite singers. By mid-morning， the forest is relatively quiet. Having faithfully announced the new day， my feathered musical troupe moved from song to other activities—nest-building， tending to their young， foraging for food， and perhaps defending their babies from marauders. There is something inspirational， almost regal， about the dawn chorus. Birds celebrate each new day with great optimism. But after a stunning performance， they return to the business of survival.
Why do birds sing？ Is it an expression of happiness invoked by these feathered balls of fluff flitting about the forest？ Or is it survival of the fittest manifested as a competition for the best voice？ Is it a physical mechanism to define territorial imperative？ Ornithologists remind us that bird songs are part of complex behavioral patterns， and they have dedicated extensive research to their variation and function. Technical science aside， I feel very privileged to have had a front-row seat for what is truly one of Mother Nature’s best concerts of the season.
“我走到山上，听到一只画眉正在为黄昏咏诗。只有这种鸟儿的歌声触动了我，如同音乐一般，影响了我的思绪、幻想、想象，使我感到快乐、愉悦……如同一股温暖的气流涌进我的灵魂深处。这是治愈我双眼的良药，是唤醒我所有感官的青春之泉……”——亨利·大卫·梭罗，《日记》，1853年6月22日
现在是凌晨4点24分，我被一阵刚爆发的振奋大合唱唤醒，直直地坐在床上。我正在北佛蒙特州度假，回到我的儿时旧地——气候温和的森林度过今夏。一觉睡到大中午是我这个在享受假期的人的特权。但睡懒觉的人会错过在新英格兰短暂的夏季中最棒的年度音乐盛会之一。红胸知更鸟是这场大自然盛会的第一位歌者。它以一段优美愉悦的旋律向黎明问好，告诉所有的森林居民太阳即将升起。知更鸟的天然生物钟无比准确，不一会儿，黑暗的天空中便出现了一道道粉红、深红的朝霞。前一晚的雷阵雨生成点点薄雾飘到上空，点缀着朝霞。很快，其他一些知更鸟也加入到这位黎明先知的演唱中，凑成响亮的三重唱。白喉麻雀似乎也不甘落后，加入其中。它们那热情洋溢的独奏在林间回荡，“噢，可爱的加拿大，加拿大”。这是我最喜爱的大自然声音之一，这把嘹亮的歌喉随之对我说，“噢，重返故土，故土。”在梭罗描述新英格兰的鸟鸣几近两个世纪后，它们的歌声并没有随着时间的流逝而有所失色，这令人感到欣慰。
在知更鸟唱起唤醒之歌的十分钟内，整个山坡便响起了大合唱——红眼绿鹃、鹪鹩、青鸟、金翅雀、灶巢鸟、北美歌雀纷纷加入其中。此刻，我心底生出一股敬畏之情，头脑十分清醒，不打算再睡回笼觉。一群乌鸦出现在我眼前，向彼此发出嘶哑的叫吼声，也许是在争夺附近道路上的精美早餐。它们扰乱了富有诗意的黎明大合唱，却为之增添了一丝幽默，就像把一个小丑放在了一场原本很高雅的交响乐中。
到了凌晨5点，所有的音乐家都在高声歌唱。突然，整个森林陷入了短暂的寂静。一种新的声音占领了舞台中心。那类似长笛的歌声以及华丽的颤音充满了森林的每个角落，使我兴奋得脊柱发颤。其他的鸟儿都停止了歌唱，仿佛在向这位技艺高超的独唱者致敬。他是对的。作为一位表演明星，它那点缀着斑点的胸脯和红棕色的背部似乎太过平凡无奇，但作为需要筑巢的父母，这身外衣也许是上佳的保护色。尽管画眉鸟的外衣平凡无奇，但它放声歌唱的那刻却是其一生中最特别的时刻。任何有幸聽到画眉或它的堂亲（隐蜂鸟，又称斯温氏夜鸫）歌声的人都会不由自主地把这一刻永久保存在记忆中。而这两种鸟都在我的佛蒙特州黎明大合唱里一同歌唱。
在我的家乡加利福尼亚州，破晓的鸟鸣声截然不同。住在旧金山湾，邻近一个池塘，在夏天，我是被红翅黑鹂以及海鸥的歌声叫醒的，有时还混杂着一只西丛鸦的叫声。
听过驻足在佛蒙特州云杉枝干上的画眉鸟的歌声后，我一年一度的童年朝圣之行也就完成了。像一个歌剧“发烧友”一样，我愿意跨越千里，只为听到最喜欢的歌手的演唱。到了早上十点左右，森林变得相对安静。在诚心诚意地宣告了新一天的来临后，我的鸟儿歌唱团从唱歌转移到了其他活动上——筑巢、照顾幼鸟、觅食、或是与掠夺者斗争以保护幼鸟。鸟儿的黎明大合唱有振奋人心，甚至是庄严的一面。鸟儿以积极的态度迎接新的每一天。但在一场精彩绝伦的表演后，它们又会回归到日常生活中去。
鸟儿为什么歌唱？这是这些在森林里翱翔的毛绒绒圆球表达幸福的一种方式？还是一场“适者生存”的竞争，为“最好声音”的美称而一争高下？抑或是一场争夺领土的搏斗？鸟类学家告诉我们，鸟的叫声是一种复杂的行为模式，他们已为鸟鸣的多样性及其功能进行了大量研究。撇开科学不谈，我为自己能坐在前排近距离聆听大自然最棒的其中一场夏季音乐会而感到无比荣幸。
我希望您的面包病好了
I was making rolls and， needing a warm place for the dough to rise， put the bowl in a heating pad. Then I left the house on an errand（使命，差事） . When I came back， I found this note from my son： “Dear Mom， I hope your bread gets better.”
我在做面包，需要把面团放在一个暖和点的地方使它发起来。我把面盆放在电热褥里，后来就出去干别的活去了。等我回家时，发现儿子留下一张纸条，上面写着：“亲爱的妈妈，我希望您的面包已经病好了。”