Renkl continues to construct the stock-tank pond for her yard, hoping that it will attract frogs. She buries the tank and plants native flowers in the nearby soil. Despite her efforts to attract frogs, however, the frogs seem to prefer the “poisoned yards of [her] neighbors” (137). She laments the use of pesticides and poisons, so she continues to work on constructing a natural pond. Haywood helps, and when he takes a trip to the pond-supply store, the sales assistant offers him tadpoles. Renkl returns to the store with him, and they bring the tadpoles home. The tadpoles become the “perfect thirty-fourth anniversary present” (139). They release the tadpoles into the pond, and Renkl is eager to see them grow. She catches only occasional glimpses, however, until the sight of a wriggling tail fills her with hope. She likens the sight to a “small black miracle” (142).

In “Praise Song for the Red Fox, Screaming in the Driveway,” Renkl describes seeing an air conditioner repairman watching a fox from inside his van. In turn, the fox is watching (and screaming at) a cat. The sight of the fox (and other creatures such as the red-tailed hawk) thrills Renkl. She’s excited to know that such “predators are among us” (143), even as humans continue to colonize and shrink their world.

Renkl writes a series of odes to unloved animals. She praises the opossum and its babies. She praises the vultures who, by eating the dead, recycle their bodies into new life. She praises the mosquito, the spider, and the wasp. She praises bats and snakes, asking these creatures to “forgive our ignorance and foolish fears” (147)

Renkl has lived in her home with Haywood and her children for nearly 30 years. They’ve seen neighbors come and go; some left of their own accord, others died. Once they leave, she has noticed, their homes are often modernized or knocked down to be rebuilt. Traditional working-class homes are “destroyed to make room for fine, fancy houses” (149). She laments the people from out of town who come to the estate sales and pilfer priceless memories. She compares them to vultures, suggesting that they’re “ungainly carrion-eaters” (151), but she doesn’t believe that humans can be as natural or as benevolent as crows or vultures.

Renkl describes how local birds consume the berries she plants in her garden, just as she wants. She recalls picking blackberries as a child and her grandmother issuing a breezy warning to “watch out for rattlesnakes” (154). This warning is how Renkl now knows that rattlesnakes were more common then than they are in the modern day; she needn’t worry about snakes any longer. She watches the birds eat her berries and thinks about the poisonous berries and the steps taken to avoid their consumption.

As summer rolls on, the world “swells with fecundity” (157). Renkl likes to listen to the calls of the baby fledglings in their nests. The sight of the “ungainly young crows” (158) and their first attempts to fly amuses her. She makes sure that her yard always has enough food for all the visiting wildlife.

In “Praise Song for the Carpenter Bees Eating Our Fence to Ruin,” Renkl describes the carpenter bees pollinating the maypops. One day, the fence will collapse and make a new home for wildlife.

Renkl discusses her writing process. Rather than planning, she can “just start writing and trust the words to keep coming” (161). Walking through a forest can inspire her; she discusses scientific research into such phenomena. For Renkl, the forests are best when it rains. She uses apps and guides to identify local mushrooms, though she only admires and photographs them. She rarely eats what she finds. One day, while walking, the sight of mushrooms growing in a dead tree trunk inspires her to finish a particularly testing article.

Now that her children are grown, Renkl’s family home has “emptied not gradually but all at once” (165). Two years of the COVID pandemic delayed her two youngest sons’ departure, but they’re now searching for a place to live together, away from the family home. Reflecting on raising her boys, Renkl thinks about birds raising a nest of chicks. She notes that this year’s “record-breaking run of brutally hot days” (167) has affected the cycle of hatching. After her sons leave, the missing furniture leaves physical gaps in the household. Renkl recalls how she decorated the home for her children, comparing it to building a nest. The process is now reversed: They repurpose the boys’ bedrooms as studies and writing rooms. Renkl keeps the decorations, however, and the signs of raising the boys.

A spider spins a web between the leaves of an orchid that sits on Renkl’s writing desk. She describes the spider going about “her bloody business” (171) of catching flies. Watching the spider reminds her of how people look to the cycles and patterns of the natural world for comfort in chaotic times. Renkl thinks about compost and worms, as well as the way that fruit flies become hummingbird bones by being eaten and turned into energy. Everything, she says, “goes to some crucial use; nothing goes to waste” (173). In times of despair, Renkl herself looks to the natural world for comfort, and she’s gladdened that more people do the same.

In “Praise Song for What Hides in Plain Sight,” Renkl talks about the different ways to interpret the “scruffy base of [a] sugar maple” (175). Tidy people, environmentalists, children, dogs, and female rabbits all have different perspectives and different uses for the tree. The rabbit hides its young at the base of the tree, Renkl says, and she’s desperate for a glimpse of them but doesn’t want to lead a rat snake to the rabbit’s den.

Renkl lists her past experiences with rabbits. In 1974, her family took in a white rabbit that belonged to her friend, Anna. The family returned home one night to find the rabbit missing, and a pattern of white fur on the driveway suggested that it had been eaten. In 1981, Renkl worked as a wildlife rescue volunteer and fostered baby cottontails. The three babies died under her care. In the modern day, Renkl has a family of rabbits in her yard. She tries carefully to keep them safe from her dog, but after one baby rabbit is found dead, she checks the other baby rabbits and assures herself that there’s “nothing more to worry about” (180).

In “Praise Song for the First Red Leaf of the Black Gum Tree,” Renkl describes the “impossibly, ridiculously green” (181) woods in which the cicadas sing all day. In August, summer feels like it may never end, but like “a prophecy,” a red leaf reminds her fall is coming.

By September, the temperature is still high, but Renkl watches the chipmunks build their food stores for winter. They, like many creatures, are preparing for the changing seasons. Renkl remembers a collection of pottery that she and Haywood received as a wedding present. The pottery was too precious to withstand raising three boys, so she put it away. Now that the boys have moved out, Renkl takes the plates from the attic but admits that she and her husband “have not yet learned to cook for two” (185). She observes the pollination in the garden and the changing of the light. Change can be a source of dislocation, she notes, but she knows that “nothing prevents the passage of time” (186).

In “Praise Song for the Ragged Season,” Renkl admits that the departure of her children has left her feeling “a little bit lost and a little bit ragged” (187). She watches birds through the window, noting that the fledglings in the nest will soon fly away. She sympathizes with the parent birds.

One night, while walking the dog with Haywood, Renkl spots a grasshopper leap in front of them. Haywood praises her vision, even though she has had many issues with her eyes. In addition to limited depth perception, Renkl has cataracts and feels that the “world is becoming dimmer” (191). She fears losing her sight; however, she notes that even a human’s full sight can’t compare to the sensory talents of many creatures. However, she fears that she wouldn’t be able to appreciate the “extravagantly beautiful” (192) natural world.

In “Praise Song for the Holes in Pawpaw Leaves,” Renkl describes the young pawpaw trees in her yard. They’re a long way from being able to feed many animals, but their leaves already feed the caterpillars of leopard moths. For Renkl, this is “cause [for] rejoicing” (193).

After a hurricane, Renkl reviews the damage. The birds in her garden stayed with the feeders and baths, regardless of the weather. Despite herself, she can’t help but see these birds as metaphors. She believes that she should be more “resolute and undefeated” (196), but reminds herself that nature isn’t a sermon. Between stories of hurricanes, tornadoes, and wildfires, she worries about humanity’s response to climate change.

In “Praise Song for Fingers That Do Not Form a Fist,” Renkl describes an outdoor bug landing in her kitchen sink. She takes the insect outside, closing her hands around it but refusing to make a fist, which might squash it. Instead, she carries it outside, choosing the harder option rather than the simple, convenient solution.