For the Birds

When my brother and I were kids, we used to birdwatch with our grandmother. The backyard at our grandparents’ house was at a lower level than the front, so our grandfather put up a really tall, two-story pole with a bird feeder attached right in front of the huge double-windows in the small sitting area near their kitchen. Squirrels used to somehow make it up there despite my grandfather’s best efforts, but not enough to scare the bird away. There was also an absolutely massive tree, I think it was an oak, that birds used to congregate on.

This was when our sister was a baby who didn’t accompany us on our trips to Yiayia and Papou’s until she was older. So it was my brother, my grandmother, and me watching birds during lunch, or just as a break from playing, when Papou was out doing errands.

She had an old Adubon guide that she’d encourage us to look up birds in. We’d laugh at some of the names–the tufted titmouse, the blue-footed booby, har har har–but my brother and I knew them. The goldfinch was a favorite as were, of course, the male cardinals and blue jays.

I lost the birdwatching bug not too long after that, and while I later learned the word “ornithology,” both as a science and a Charlie Parker song, I never actually participated in this grand and noble art as a teenager or young adult. Yet the fond memories of sitting with Yiayia, keeping track of what we saw, and laughing at Papou’s attempts to keep “those GOD DAMNED squirrels” off the feeder remained.

I am going to be forty later this year. Coincidentally, or maybe not, I’ve also developed a fondness for birds and birdwatching this spring. I’ve been spending more time at home, and that means spending more time looking out the window. Thankfully, the birdfeeders we have attract quite a few flying visitors.

There are hummingbirds, of course. I’ve always liked them. There are more cardinals and blue jays here in central Massachusetts than I remember seeing in coastal New Hampshire, though nowhere near as many goldfinches. There are other types of finches, though, including purple finches. And the tufted titmouse is a regular visitor–what a cool-looking bird.

We’ve even bought two parakeets, one of whom actually seems to like it when I take him out of the cage to hold him.

For whatever reason, I find myself drawn to birds. I think I’m jealous of them. Here I am, this supposedly “highly evolved” being, and I can’t just take off and fly whenever I want the way these tiny little creatures can. And sing . . . I’d give almost anything to have an effortlessly beautiful voice like these birds do.

None of this admiration applies to chickens, though. Or ostriches. Or any other type of stupid-looking, flightless fowl. I’m talking awesome birds, birds like the eagle and the hawk all the way to the hummingbird and the mourning dove.

Food? Whatever seeds, fruits, worms, or bugs they can find. And bugs are everywhere. No wonder the birds never go hungry.

The beauty and the freedom, even the cute way so many mate for life, are very endearing. We have the expression “lovebirds” for a reason.

We also have the expression “birdbrain” for a reason, too, but maybe ignorance is bliss, you know?

Behold the fowls of the air: for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they?