November has a way of turning every day into an improvised obstacle course. You start the morning with a plan—simple, linear, achievable. And then suddenly you’re vaulting over school emails, leaping around rescheduled appointments, and dodging the relentless notifications that somehow always arrive at the exact wrong moment.

It’s not just busy. It’s parkour.The untrained, mildly chaotic kind.

And yet—this is also the time of year when nature is quietly doing its own kind of parkour, too. The squirrels in our yard have reached peak acrobat mode, launching themselves across branches like tiny woodland stunt doubles. They’re quick, nimble, determined…and absolutely forgetful.

Researchers estimate that squirrels forget a significant portion of the nuts they bury—little pockets of intention scattered everywhere. But here’s the surprising part: the things they lose end up becoming the forests we later walk through. Their forgetfulness turns into renewal. Their misplaced acorns become maples and oaks. Their “oops” moments become canopy.

I’ve been thinking a lot about that.

Because every November, I find myself misplacing things—keys, earbuds, my sense of time, sometimes my entire train of thought. Just trying not to do a face plant into the holidays.

Every day our phones send us tiny digital bells. There are pings and reminders intended to grab our attention at any given moment. They pile up sometimes, and just as quickly, get swiped away. The notification bells of our lives are often a nuisance.

Seen…gone. Noticed? Not really.

Episode 7 of The Flutter By Effect dives into a strange little truth I’ve been wrestling with: notifications were originally designed to help us know things. It’s the very origin of the word. But somewhere along the way, we traded knowing for reacting. We traded awareness for urgency. We see it. But do we notice it?

We’re living in a world where our devices constantly ask us to pay attention, yet we’re becoming less able to actually notice anything at all. We want to stay informed, but we’re drowning in so many “important” things that everything starts to blur together. The reflex to swipe away what we “don’t have time for” might be slowly training our brains to notice…less.

Perhaps the rapid swiping and dismissal of the notifications is re-calibrating our brain to stop noticing at all.

And noticing — really noticing — is where you find presence and maybe something you’ve been overlooking. In my garden, the counterweight to this is always the same:one bird, one moment, one pause long enough to take it all in.

Episode 7 is a little love letter to that pause, guided by a red-breasted nuthatch that stole my heart.To the tiny gap between seeing and noticing.To reclaiming attention in a season where everything feels urgent.

And if you want the full expanded essay version — the deeper dive into definitions, attention, and the little moments that grounded me this week — it’ll be up on the blog tomorrow.

Lastly, many thanks to my neighbor Kim for the notification you sent me that night. For without it, this episode would not have be scripted!

With gratitude,Samantha

Audio Credits:Red-breasted nuthatch call courtesy of: Ross Gallardy, XC344953. Accessible at www.xeno-canto.org/344953.

License: Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0

In this episode, Samantha explores how nature mirrors our own life transitions — especially the quiet ones that sneak up on us. From empty bird nests in the fall garden to shifting seasons in our homes, this story is about finding grace in what looks like loss, and understanding that letting go is its own form of growth.

What looks empty often isn’t. Empty nests, bare trees, quiet homes, job transitions, even full career changes — they’re all spaces between one life stage and another. Nature reminds us that beneath every still moment, there’s quiet renewal happening: roots deepening, strength gathering, and life preparing for what’s next.

In this episode, she explores how nature teaches us about change, resilience, and the tender art of letting go.

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Fallen leaves, stray seeds, and an unexpected flower in November — this episode is about the quiet magic that happens when we loosen our grip and let nature take the lead. Sometimes, the things we thought were lost have a way of finding their way back when we simply stop and notice.

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As the season shifts, the landscape remembers. In this episode, Samantha reflects on what it means to rewild with purpose — to stop taking away, to leave space, and to notice what returns. Because every leaf left behind, every stem that stands, becomes a quiet reflection of what comes back in the next growing season. If nature doesn’t remove all the leaves from the forest floor, what are we doing removing them from our spaces?

Join her as she explores how the choices we make today ripple into the life we see tomorrow, and how slowing down can help us notice the magic all around.

Every leaf left behind, every stem saved, reflects the life we nurture.

Fall is in full swing, but sometimes the most meaningful lessons come when we pause and simply notice. In this episode, Samantha reflects on the fleeting beauty of early leaves, the migration of warblers, and the tiny movements of kinglets in the garden. Through these moments, she explores how shifting our focus — from what’s fading to what’s becoming — can transform the way we see the world around us.

A meditation on perspective, presence, and the quiet stories nature whispers when we slow down.

Gardening for wildlife is more than a trend. It’s an invitation to slow down, to notice and to reconnect.

In this episode, we’ll explore how awareness, connection and the quiet rhythms of the seasons can turn any garden into a living breathing ecosystem and maybe change the way we see our place in it.

Everything in nature is connected — sometimes in ways we can see, and sometimes in ways we can’t. In this debut episode of The Flutter By Effect, Samantha explores the quiet ripple of gardening for wildlife: how small choices in our yards can have big impacts on the creatures that visit, and the stories they tell when we slow down and notice.