Bird Nerd

I think of binocular toting people who say things like, “Did you hear that Yellow-bellied Sapsucker?” as a breed apart themselves. They’re some subspecies of science-types who have way too much time on their hands, learning the difference between Gnatcatchers and Flycatchers.

My parents had a bird book when I was growing up, and I learned to use binoculars, but it was mostly to spy on people on the other side of the bleachers at football games. There were so many kinds of birds in that book! They were beautiful, alright, but overwhelming to tell apart.

So, when my librarian friend learns about an ornithology program and asks if I’ll use it if she gets it for our school, I go along for the ride. I love the idea of authentic science in my classroom, but I don’t know nothing about birds. Where in the world will we start? I’ve got really smart kids in my classes. They’ll see right through me if I don’t get ahead of them in Birding 101.

Shayne the librarian goes into action and signs us up for a teachers’ birding workshop at the Rancocas Nature Center. It’s less than thirty minutes from my house, located on over 200 acres of the Rancocas State Park, but I didn’t even know it existed before.

I leave the craziness of my school day shortly after my students are gone, to go get myself educated about birds. My mind is going a million miles a minute in as many directions. How many papers can I get graded tonight? Are my lesson plans due tomorrow? I wonder what homework my own kids have? Will Dan remember to turn off the crockpot when he gets home? All this as we drive to the park to learn about birds.

Shayne pulls into the narrow gravel drive and parks near a two-story white farmhouse with a steep dormer and quaint shutters. We find our way to the deck by the front door, and I look around at the perennial beds, natural landscapes, and wooded trails that disappear into the forest. Inside, the classroom area is quiet. While we wait for the class to start, I peek into tanks of turtles, others of frogs and then, oh my, a snake.

The naturalist greets us. When no one else joins I realize Shayne and I are the only students today. That’s fine. I won’t have to wait for a bunch of people asking extra questions and we’ll finish on time.

The naturalist takes us through the basics of bird anatomy, recognizing groups of birds by their shapes, and some basics of bird observation; we’ll have to walk quietly and keep our eyes ready. We aren’t long with the classwork before the naturalist asks if we are ready to try out our skills. I don binoculars and set out on a trail following our guide. She walks slowly and points out a few familiar species. We practice keeping our eyes on the bird and lifting our binoculars while still looking at the bird.

Deeper into the forest, the noises of civilization fall away. My stress and anxiety follow. As I hear more sounds of nature, the only human noise is the soft padding of our feet, I feel a deep calm wash over me. I wonder if this is the appeal of birding. Not the knowledgeableness of each species, but the surrender to being unable to make something happen. You can’t cause the birds to reveal themselves. You have to let come what will and appreciate it in the fleeting beating of a soft wing.

Our guide stops and turns around. “If we're lucky, we’ll find the Great Horned Owl in the snag of a tree around the bend,” she whispers. That will be cool. I’ve heard those guys hooting around my house for many years, but they never show themselves.

We round that corner as quietly as we can. The owl’s eyes meet mine for the briefest nanosecond. His wings spread, over a yard across, and he majestically, silently, takes flight to disappear from my wonder-filled sight. I want to clap my hands like a child and say, “Again, again!”

I’m sold. Buy me a field guide and call me a bird nerd. This is awesome.

Your Turn: What are you slightly biased against that you should try anyway?