Isn’t it weird when a seemingly insignificant activity such as bird watching can stir up an underlying streak of existential angst, sending it floating up from the Mariana Trench of the unconscious ocean of the self and into the tumultuous tides on the surface of the seas of conscious awareness?
First, I wouldn’t call myself a bona fide ‘birder.’ I just really like birds. My lack of in-depth factual knowledge of ornithology doesn’t merit the title. I can’t even call myself a ‘bird watcher,’ since I am rarely ever doing just that. I am always multi-tasking – running, driving, hiking, or picking up dog poo while keeping an eye and an ear out for a bird, any bird.
But once a year in February I sit outside for a half-hour or so with the sole intent to just watch birds. I join thousands of people across the entire planet in doing so between February 17-20, as part of the annual Great Backyard Bird Count organized by The Cornell Lab of Ornithology and The Audubon Society.
The deal is you spend at least 15 minutes watching for birds and keeping a count of the different species of birds you see in one given area, usually one’s own backyard or neck of the woods, so to speak. You then report the results on eBird.org. The data helps keep track of bird populations and gather information for scientific research.
My job as news editor at The Wanderer is to provide information and stories relevant to the Tri-Town area, so I headed to the Nasketucket Bay State Reservation – my default go-to spot in Tri-Town for a quick and easy dose of relative seclusion in nature – to participate in the GBBC.
There I spotted six blue jays, two cardinals, a Peregrine falcon, a robin, and I heard one tufted titmouse. Not bad for 30 minutes sitting on the edge of a mid-winter meadow still frosted with a layer of rapidly melting snow.
Having said that, my actual backyard isn’t in the Tri-Town. My backyard is in Fairhaven. So when I put the ‘backyard’ in ‘Great Backyard Bird Count,’ it is outside the borders of my coverage area. Nonetheless, it had me thinking – about Fairhaven, about Tri-Town, about everywhere else that is not where my backyard is – and ultimately wondering, why do I live here?
In my backyard for 20 minutes, I watched and counted seven common (boring) house sparrows (menaces of the bird community) take turns at my bird feeder – the same gang of house sparrows that have resided in my backyard all winter – the only birds to inhabit my quasi-urban thickly-settled neighborhood backyard year round.
There is an irony here, one that is akin to, say, a vegetarian marrying a butcher; it’s the woman who loves climbing mountains, loves the country, and loves birds, living where there are no mountains, on a busy state highway in a sub-urban setting, where the only birds that inhabit her bird feeder are mundane menaces not even indigenous to the region.
In my own defense, when I did buy this house I had been leasing a tiny weekend cabin in the woods just outside Amherst. It was my escape. It had hills, brooks and wildlife and, yes, lots of birds. (I’ve even seen Northern flickers, woodcocks, scarlet tanagers, and blue buntings).
Having this weekend escape made living in my 1920s bungalow alongside Route 6 tolerable. After all, I love the house, it’s a convenient location, and I’m grateful to the Universe for all the fortunate circumstances of my life. I was having my cliché piece of cake and eating it, too.
But now, having let go of the lease on the cabin, I suppose this year’s not-so-great Great Backyard Bird Count brought to my attention that I am left feeling somewhat unfulfilled and rather unsatisfied with my house sparrows.
Maybe this year’s Great Backyard Bird Count has become a metaphor for not only taking notice of the humdrum birds in my own backyard, but also for taking note of my own mundane birdless backyard.
I’ve thus far believed that staying put, letting the roots grow a bit deeper, allowing my son to remain in the same school system from start to finish was the best thing for us. But, perhaps an absence of birds and the very fact that even the birds don’t find my backyard an attractive place to inhabit is a metaphor for our own existence here.
Despite the presence of some trees and a steady refill of birdseed, there’s just not enough to attract and keep any birds other than those scrounging sparrows.
This isn’t one of those stories when the author, through divine enlightenment or unearthed inherent wisdom, finds the answers to anything or any concrete meaning of life. Far from it, actually.
I’m not yet sure what to make of my backyard barren of birds and the presence of any symbolism if there is any. Until I do, I suppose I’ll keep on doing what I usually do, and that is to fly on over to Tri-Town every February for the Great Backyard Bird Count, and any other day for that matter when my not-so-great backyard isn’t appealing enough for any birds to settle in, especially this little bird who just isn’t content with the rest of the Route 6 house sparrows.
By Jean Perry