By Louie Ferrera

Research has shown that the most effective way to conjure up an old memory is through the sense of smell. Well, the researchers never got around to my house because for me it’s always been music.

Growing up in a house where music was always playing in the background; on the radio, on the stereo or my mom singing, my brain is hard wired to respond to music. Mom once told me that when she listens to music she feels it throughout her entire body. Like mother like son. For her it was Frank Sinatra and Ella Fitzgerald, for me it’s Neil Young and The Beatles. My connection to music is as visceral for me as it was for mom.

There’s a direct line in my brain from music to memory that’s always open and just waiting for a song to bring it to life. Hearing that song at the right time will literally bring me to a specific moment from my past. I’m not only there, but I feel the memory and everything associated with it. Sometimes it’s a very specific moment in time that I shared with a friend, family member or lover, other times the memory will be of a more general period in my life when I was happy, sad, content, searching… Either way the effect is immediate, like a switch has been flipped in my brain. I’m amazed at how a sappy love song, by of all people Alice Cooper, can conjure up such a sun burnished memory for me.  My song memories run the gamut of human emotions; sad and melancholy, blissful and elated, unrequited longing. I try and go with whatever comes up and ride it out, feeling the emotion as deeply as I can. I rarely put on a song intentionally to re-experience the moment it reminds me of. Like seeing a shooting star or an unexpected spotting of wildlife while out in nature, I think song memories are most effective when they’re least expected. They can come from anywhere and at anytime; on a Spotify mix, at a concert, while grocery shopping or even just a snippet of song heard through the window of a passing car. It doesn’t take much to flip my song memory switch.

I won’t bore you with my song memories, after all they’re my memories and won’t have anything to do with any experience you may have had with a song, unless of course it’s a shared song memory. I’ve got several of those so if you’re reading this perhaps we were along for a musical ride together sometime in our past.

Song memories do occasionally change. Has this happened to you? Typically for me the song and the memory are inextricably linked but it has happened when I’ll have a new experience with a song that will supplant my old song memory. Like all memories, song memories fade too. A one-time vivid memory I have with a song can get washed out like the colors on an old Polaroid photograph, the memory is still there but its intensity diluted, the song just doesn’t have the same power that it used to. However I’m also finding that some of my deepest song memories grow stronger with time. I said I wasn’t going to bore you with any of my specific song memories, but indulge just me once here, ok? 

From the first notes of Al Green’s Let’s Stay Together, I’m immediately transported under the canopy of a mixed redwood, oak and bay laurel forest. The light is dappled and green, the air warm and pleasant on this July afternoon. There’s an impossibly beautiful woman in my arms wearing a wedding dress, we’re surrounded by all of our closest friends and family. Carol and I twirl gracefully as the strains of Let’s Stay Together echo through the forest. Everyone is smiling, we’re as happy as we’ve ever been because we’re beginning  our life together. Like I said, my song memories are powerful!

By Louie Ferrera

I get the feeling that someone or something is watching me. Am I being paranoid or are those just imaginary glances from behind the green facade of the forest? The canopy in here is thick and nearly impenetrable, what light that does make it through is green and dappled. Walking down this trail feels like I’m swimming underwater, all that’s missing are the fish and the frogs. The tree cover is very dense, redwood and bay laurel trunks stand shoulder to shoulder like silent sentries, stretching as far as I can see. In here it’s womb-like and soothing but also tentative and a bit spooky too. Try as I may I can’t seem to shake the feeling of being watched. I tell myself that those glances are only imaginary. By definition a facade is a kind of cover, a device by which what’s underneath, the “true thing”, is hidden or obscured. Is the green facade of the forest hiding something from me?

The Native Americans both revered and feared the redwood forest. Perhaps it’s those people’s ancient spirits that I’m sensing. When European invaders arrived here they took one look at those majestic trees and could think of only one thing: how to saw them down and use them for their own purposes. I have no conception of that kind of mindset, it’s like shitting on the Mona Lisa. Trees are living things, they have a spirit, an essence. The wisdom stored in an ancient redwood is beyond human capacity to understand or quantify. Perhaps the forest facade is obscuring the imaginary glances, the spirit, of those long ago clearcut trees?

The glances of animals are anything but imaginary. Animals don’t need a facade, they can hide in plain sight. A deer’s ability to camouflage is akin to magic. One minute it’s there, the next minute it has literally melted into the forest. The only thing that reveals a deer’s presence is movement and a deer can stay still for a long time. Who knows how many times I’ve been watched by coyotes, bobcats, foxes or mountain lions? I’ve never seen a mountain lion but I’m certain one has seen me. So it is entirely likely that this green facade surrounding me is hiding the not so imaginary glances of forest animals. The birds, insects and other minute forest dwellers know I’m here too. We humans are so clumsy and oafish the way we trample through the domain of others. The facade is real, the glances not so imaginary. I move about with trepidation, my senses on full alert.

By Louie Ferrera

The fog is quiet as a dream. Sunny mornings sing, foggy mornings whisper. The sky today is a grey blanket, the diffused light deepens the infinite shades of green and colors become more saturated. The air is absolutely still. A couple of tiny songbirds occasionally fly across my field of vision, zipping from feeders to trees and beyond.

The times we’re living in are on hyperdrive and becoming more difficult for me to make sense of every day. It’s nearly impossible to shut out the noise. A morning like this is one time when the static and background noise fades away and my head is actually clear enough to think…or not to think, I can just be. Today I’m not waiting for the other shoe to drop, the playing field is even and my mind is calm. A foggy morning like this is the absolute best kind of morning ever. 

A Townsend’s warbler, a regular autumn arrival, has just shown itself to me for the first time. I’m watching it bathe in one of our fountains right now. This is a sure sign that a new season is waiting at the doorstep. The air feels different today too but perhaps I’m just breathing easier and deeper. The summer heat has been so blistering. The impending arrival of autumn and the dream-like gift of this  cool and soothing morning is the reward for enduring those infernal days. Beautiful birds are everywhere! The only way to really observe them, to actually be among them, is to sit motionless with the silence and peace and let the birds come to me. The white breasted nuthatch, simply stated, is a gift from Gaia. The Wilson’s warblers, titmice, chickadees, towhees and finches are all miracles on the wing. And where would we all be without those feisty and heroic little sprites, the hummingbirds? The reality of their existence is almost too fantastic to believe. Hummingbirds go into a state of torpor (near death) every night only to be reborn in the morning. They are the only bird that can fly up, down and sideways and hover like a helicopter. There are seven different hummingbird feeders around our yard, we always keep them filled.

Other sounds gradually fade in as the morning goes on: the chatter of our resident grey squirrels and the owl- like “hoo, hoo” of a mourning dove, the slight tinkling of a wind chime. The rising sun is securely tucked in under the fog blanket and the sky gradually brightens. Traffic sounds are now audible in the distance as the rest of the world begins to awaken. Our cat Ella is outside now so the birds are a bit more leery. She usually leaves birds alone and seems content to just sit back and observe them, swishing her tail inquisitively The spell of this unique morning has been broken and I awaken from a dream state feeling renewed. I breathe in the last wisps of peacefulness to tide me over until the next time.

By Louie Ferrera

One of the readers of this blog recently commented on how much she enjoys the “deep dives” I do when I write about music. This got me thinking; in pretty much all of my essays, I really do dig in and get to the heart of the matter, I “go deep” as it were. After four and a half years of blogging, I decided that It was time for a bit of a makeover. So… welcome to “Deep Dives”, different name, same thought provoking and heartfelt reflections on love, music and nature. If you’re new to this blog, scroll back and check out some of my past essays. If you’re a regular reader, thanks so much for your support, it means a lot. Now go ahead and dive in!

Cheers!

Louie