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May 18, 2006  Certainly Not Listless The birds of spring have a problem and it is becoming most annoying. Species by species, as February gives way to March and March turns to April, the number of pushy bird species increases. At first I'm game to humour them and at the start it's quite easy. But all too soon the small boxes on the calendar don't provide enough room. The birds want journals made! They want checklists picked up and filled out. Pens run out of ink and must be replaced! Binoculars malfunction! And this is just the beginning. The birds of winter have quite the opposite effect. They quietly bide their time in the short dark days. They rarely insist that I make copious notes of their comings and goings. (But to keep on their good sides, I do, from time to time, create small compendiums noting feeder visits.) And I celebrate in print the odd occasion when a sparkling winter bird such as a Pine Grosbeak, or a hardy Townsend's Solitaire, unexpectedly drops into the yard. During winter months the calendar on the wall is hardly marred by bird related notations. There are no winter bird journals lying within easy reach and practically falling to pieces from overuse. The winter birds are a civil lot, and we get along quite swimmingly. But come springtime what a change! It starts innocently enough. Often in February, and usually with the first appearance of a Junco in the lilac bush. It will look up at the window and announce that it too is a winter bird and worthy of note. That statement is a dead give away. A winter bird would never suggest that it was worthy of note. And so it grows… …and begins to peak just before summer begins. The birds of May remind me of honest movie stars. They admit that they seek the limelight and insist that every move is important and must be documented. They demand that I make massive lists of every species; and that I do it on a day by day basis. As a result I have just completed checklists for three days running. My eyes now see in two different powers due to squinting through a spotting scope. My hands are never free of a pen and my naps are frequently interrupted by random bird songs, always unidentifiable, and just outside the door. I'm starting to imagine that the tri-fold bird checklist is a menu from a strange restaurant where one continually orders but never gets anything to eat. I'm starting to detest my weakness in the face of the fluttering hordes but even now, as I write this, I can hear a Wilson's Warbler singing insistently outside in the poplars south of the house. It asks 'Did I make today's list?' Now, while locked in the swirling feathered vortex of May, I take some solace in knowledge that this May malady of mine might serve to soften the view of those who scorn the list makers of the birding world. Perhaps they will glimpse the madness for what it is, and is not. It is not simply a matter of writing a bird off by checking its name from a list. It is not a competition. It is, kind of, like counting the nuts and berries in a May pudding. And by this, counting the blessing and richness that life once again bestows upon its humble and undeserving human denizens. From the thin gruel of winter, spiced with the odd Chickadee, and the crunch of the occasional Nuthatch - to the unfettered pull-out-all-the-stops feast of May. The world says 'Stop! Yes, come to a full stop and taste my bounty of birds and be again replenished. If you do this by counting, then do so. Whatever delivers the impact of my generous nature, do it.' So you see, even the world forgives my madness. But I must go now. A Mountain Bluebird has just appeared like the burning blue flame from a cutting torch, on the scaffolding outside the window. And if this column seems short just be thankful that I didn't end it with the names of all 71 birds from yesterday's checklist. To e-mail Tom CLICK HERE To look at previous column CLICK HERE |
