For The Birds
It happened in December, 1998. As I gazed out my back window I saw a huge bird sitting on a branch in my yard. It seemed like the biggest bird I ever saw. What was it? I knew it wasn’t an Eagle, but that’s about it. I talked about the Big Bird incessantly; my wife’s friend Debbie bought me a birder’s field guide that Christmas. It turned out to be one of the best gifts I ever received.
That was the beginning.
I read the book from front to back; there were over 100 birds listed, small by field guide standards. I vigilantly watched my backyard for the return of the Big Bird. I didn’t see it for many more months, but what I did see amazed me.
There were birds EVERYWHERE. I couldn’t keep up with them, there were so many. First there were the ubiquitous Chickadees, then the Juncos, the Cardinals, the Goldfinches, the Nuthatches…it never ended. And they were dynamos of activity, always feeding, flying, scratching the ground, moving from branch to branch. They never stopped.
And I remember sitting and thinking: How had I not seen all these birds before? Before I read the field guide, I would have been hard-pressed to identify 10 birds. Now I knew dozens of them, a number that would grow to well over a hundred within a year. And these weren’t birds that were exotic. They were right there in front of me my whole life. How had I not noticed them?
I kept a list, as most birders do. I’m up to about 110 different species spotted, which is pretty small by birder standards. Once you reach a certain point, the birds are harder to find, and birding becomes an end in itself. I’m not there yet. I’m content to just walk the woods or marshes, seeing whatever might catch my eye. Or ear, more accurately. Serious birders do about 80% of their birding by call. I’m not there yet, not by a longshot.
My friends had a hard time understanding why I was so taken with the birds. It was hard to explain. There is something about standing (or sitting), and just watching. So much is happening.
Birding isn’t for everybody. It requires patience. It can be frustrating. The triumphs aren’t exactly Earth-shattering. Birding is a collection of simple moments, of being in the right place in the right time, of seeing a world that has always been around you, but you’ve somehow never noticed before.
There is a country road I walk in central Minnesota, near my wife’s family’s cabin. It’s mostly lakes, marshes and farmland. The varied habitats make it a birding paradise, without much more effort than a nice mile-long walk. There is a crest in the road, and from that point, I can see for miles. I see cows, farms, silos, green or yellow fields, depending on the season. I have watched many a sunset from there.
One night in late summer, everything was a burnt orange color from the diffused light of the sunset. There was a field of wheat, and as I took in the beauty of the scene, a flock of Bobolinks shot up out of the wheat and flew right over my head. And it occurred to me that this spot in the road was one of my favorite places on Earth. I never would have found it if I hadn’t been in search of the birds. I never would have had the patience to sit and take in the beauty in what seemed to be such a simple scene.
Birding slowed me down. Birding gave me a connection to the natural world I never felt before.
This summer, Linus will be old enough to walk with me. I wonder what we’ll see?
