Chasing Birds
If you’ve talked to me lately...well, actually, you most likely haven’t talked to me lately. I’ve been a bit preoccupied. No, I haven’t been extra busy with work or a family crisis (thankfully) or some other generally acceptable reason. I’ve been spending time in the woods, along streams and anywhere else I can think of looking for birds. Millions of spectacular winged creatures of all sizes and colors make their long and arduous journey northward during this time of year, landing birders in a sea of anticipation. Because for those of us with a strong affinity for feathered friends, May means migration.
It all started two years ago this month.
It began with a simple walk and resulted in a near obsession.
Fast forward to present day, and I am a bit of a self-acclaimed bird nerd.
Fairly “new” to the world of birders, I’m eager to learn from the more seasoned and experienced -- clever identification tricks, how to distinguish between similarly sounding calls and songs, even ethics surrounding the hobby. But perhaps the piece of information I want to know most is where. Where can I go to maximize the amount of time I have during these short weeks with short days when my kids are still in school to find the most birds and more specifically, the most “lifers” (birds I’ve never set my own eyes on).
Hungry for knowledge, I began my research early this year, scouting out recommended places during the February doldrums (literally the best time to dream of all things spring), checking online for scheduled bird walks at nearby nature centers and joining an email list of birders in my state who shared weekly (and sometimes daily) reports containing information about where they’ve made interesting discoveries of rare species or other notable behavior.
This, however, has not been a typical migration year. Numbers have been down. Sightings have been less. The season began slowly and is still not where expected for this time of year. While there are multiple theories on why this is, one of the main reasons is that, while I was up here in the Northern Midwest planning my strategy, areas in Texas, Oklahoma and other southern states were receiving uncharacteristically frigid weather and the birds suffered as a result.
I wasn’t going to let this get me down. There must be good amounts which have survived, I kept telling myself. And lo and behold, I’d found some. Warblers flitting through forests with brilliant flashes of yellow and orange, flycatchers emitting their signature “buzzing” chirps while gobbling up insects, adorable kinglets signing their unmistakable tunes from the treetops, tanagers adorning the creekside trees with their feathers as red as a maraschino cherry.
But it still failed in comparison to what I had hoped for. Where are all of the rest of them? Where are the “lifers”? There must be more to come than this.
Bound and determined to experience what I was hoping for, I reached out to some of my new-found (and more experienced) bird pals across email and asked where the surefire place was to see the most warblers (my favorite) in one morning. I didn’t care how far I needed to drive. I just had to satisfy my hunger.
When I arrived the next morning, I was so excited I could barely stand it. This was it. This was going to be my “banner day” of the spring.
But instead of being met with birders who echoed my excitement, I was met with downcast faces, disappointment evident in their slow pace and binoculars untouched around their necks.
“Good morning!” I greeted them. “Anything to see today?”
“Nope. Nothing. I’ve never seen it like this in May. You’ll be lucky to even see an oriole.”
”Such a disappointment.”
”Don’t waste your time.”
Huh. Could it really be that terrible? There was no way I had just driven 45 minutes only to watch commonplace cardinals and chicakdees. And the day held so much promise.
I chatted with the small group of birders I encountered for a few minutes longer, got the lowdown on where the birds typically hung around and we parted ways — I heading further down the creek and them to their cars in search of a better location.
Taking the worn path which ran along the river, I carefully stepped over tangled roots, peering through fresh green growth. Within five minutes, I had my eyes set on a bird across the river, a relatively plain-looking bird, but one I had never seen before. I snapped a quick picture and kept moving on.
Such a disappointment.
As I continued, I took note of the moss-covered logs crossing the water, the way the bright velvet carpet covered each nook and cranny of those fallen trees. A yellow warbler, a bird I had seen on multiple occasions this spring already but still gorgeous nonetheless, repeatedly sang his clear song as he flew from one bank to the other in search of delicious insects.
Don’t waste your time.
The words of those I met upon my arrival kept playing through my head. Here I was, seeing birds that two years ago I didn’t even know existed, exploring a part of my lifelong state of residence which I had never been to, all the while enjoying peace and quite by myself on a beautiful spring day. Was this a day I could really classify as a disappointment? Sure, it was seeming less and less likely that I’d be checking anything off my “life list” on that Thursday. But my heavenly Father’s glory, His attention to detail, His complex intricacies, His love for His creation and ME — the crown of His creation! — was evident everywhere I looked. It may not have been what I was hoping for, but there was no denying that it was filled with beauty and blessings regardless.
Had I become just as hard to “impress” in terms of my life as those seasoned birders had become in their hobby? How many times have I been holding out for something better, something more spectacular, something I considered more worthy of my attention than what I currently possessed that I failed to acknowledge the beauty surrounding me? For each and every day I am faced with a choice to note the good, be grateful for the day and allow joy to conquer all other emotions in my heart.
Believe me, I understand and have also felt the dismay of those birders’ when a day spent clutching your binoculars (and boatloads of hope) yields no “great finds” or rare sightings. But as He does time and time again, God taught me a great deal on that trek along the river. Am I going to continue to pursue excellence and rarity (both in birding and life in general)? Most definitely. But I’m also asking God to help me not to rush through the journey.
For the other birders had been right about one thing that day: the chances of seeing something truly rare and noteworthy were slim to nill.
But by no stretch of the imagination did I waste my time.
“His divine power has given us everything we need for life and godliness through our knowledge of Him who called us by His own glory and goodness.”