To watch birds—a time, a place—it matters neither where nor when, for all the wild land is shrouded in a mysterious enchantment awaiting our personal discovery. We have but to go afield and open our minds and our senses to all that is around us. Yes, to go afield, to be outdoors, that is the most important thing.
The birds, the list—it matters not how many or what kind we see, for we have learned that watching birds is only an interim step to greater innovations. We find our rewards in new clouds racing across the sky, in the design of a wave that crashes upon the shore—a design of momentary beauty never to be seen again—in the ephemeral life of a lone primrose, and in the ethereal song of a thrush that transmutes its joy into our own sense of well-being. We find a new alertness and a new keenness of mind, and in moments of solitude, our contemplations reach deeper and become more meaningful than ever before. Surely, these are rewards enough to lure us afield in the pursuit of birds.
Bird watching is perhaps the most cosmopolitan of all outdoor activities; it is not limited by political or geographical boundaries; and it attracts a host of followers the world over. Undoubtedly, this universal appeal is bound to the fact that it provides an avenue of personal interest for everyone who would dare to accept its challenge. Whether by choice or by chance, for most of us who follow the lives of birds, there is one niche in the outdoor world that appeals to us especially. It may be the edge of the sea, where your senses are the keenest, where you can smell its pungent odors, hear the thunder of the surf, see the wheeling flocks of shore birds, and feel the freshness of wind-blown spray on your cheeks. Or you may find your contentment in the solitude of a distant evergreen forest, where the silence is broken only by the warblers singing from sunlit spires of spruce, or by the melancholy cry of a loon from some hidden lake. Or you may be one of many who seek new discoveries within their own gardens. But despite such personal affinities, there are those who must follow the birds wherever they go. The choice of habitat matters little, for each has birds to be seen, and each abounds in wonders that will carry us far beyond the mere act of watching. It is here, when birds lure us afield, that we both remember and forget—where we awaken but still dream.
I cannot recall how many times I was late for school because of birds, nor can I possibly count the hours, since those initial days of interest, that I have spent wandering across some abandoned field, or roaming the sandy beaches, or sitting on a log in the shaded depths of some forest. But this I remember: it was during those times, during those hours, that the sturdy stuff of profound decisions came to the fore. And I remember lessons learned more than two decades ago. I remember a cute little eighth-grade girl proving to me that the bird I heard singing was not a catbird, but a red-eyed vireo. Today, I could take you to the very hornbeam tree from which the vireo sang, but the hornbeam is an understory tree, and it has undoubtedly returned to the soil beneath the canopy of dominant oaks. I remember, too, my first waterthrush along Rock Run, and the chimney swifts funneling into the old hollow tree stub in Lytle’s meadow. I remember the great V’s of wild geese etched against the evening sky; their clamoring foretold the imminence of spring, and on their return trip they warned me that the cold of winter was soon to follow. And I remember, many years later, flying a glider wing tip to wing tip with the eagle, and for one brief moment sharing the exhilaration and freedom of effortless flight.
As you follow the ways of birds, you will remember, and at the same time build memories to be recalled in the future. You will feel the sudden surge of emotion and not be ashamed; you will find a shield from the grasping tentacles of concrete and steel; and you will know a world that cannot be measured by the yardsticks of technology and finance. You will rejoice in the elation of the moment and then ponder the significance of your discovery.
The realization that birds endured on this planet for uncountable centuries before the advent of man, and that they continue to succeed without the need of his technological bravado, comes as a rebuff to our domineering ego. Their ease and grace of flight humble our mechanical attempts at duplication; their innate response to the changing seasons stirs the pangs of envy. But in the humility of discovery, we sense a new perspective on life. For life’s tenuous hold upon the land is manifest in a fragile chain of the living.
Come walk with me. Come; let us go down to the edge of the sea and walk the sandy beaches at the ebb of the tide. Come; let us wander across lush green meadows and along flower-strewn pathways of gardens.
Come. Walk with me. Let us watch birds.