“There is no sudden breakthrough that remains forever-there are only sudden glimpses. But these glimpses encourage us to see more. And so, gradually, we develop the ability to integrate these experiences of unconditioned being into our lives.
“What is life about if we cannot know and enjoy our own heritage? Do we have to bow completely to the economic dictates in which every inch of prairie soil is valued for row crop production? There is an aesthetic value to the prairie. It is beautiful in its own right.”
The other day I was deeply irresponsible in terms of my carbon footprint and drove all over the county. I did this to celebrate open spaces and miles of unobstructed vistas. But I also did it for the deeply selfish reason that I had seen 299 species of bird in the county this year, and there were good odds of seeing two more in a distant corner.
I set my alarm for 4:30 a.m. and drove an hour and a half before sunrise. At my first stop I saw bird number 300; a few hours later I saw 301. Then in an interval when I had cell coverage I saw an update on the listserv about another bird I didn’t have for the year. I checked the time and went.
My destination was a relatively remote county park where a river reaches the ocean. When I arrived it was afternoon. I checked the opposite shore of the estuary where the bird had last been reported, but didn’t see it. I scanned in my spotting scope, checking each stick, each tuft of vegetation.
No luck.
So I walked around the estuary and gave a closer look. Still nothing.
As I was walking back I saw another birder approaching. It was Nick, who mostly doesn’t eBird, so I can’t follow all his activity and his position in the county year rankings doesn’t accurately reflect what he’s seen. I know, though, that if he was as obsessive about entering everything in eBird as I am I wouldn’t have led the rankings the last three years. He would have, and I would have been dozens of species behind him.
“I’m guessing you didn’t see the plover.” We discussed where it might be. “It’s very likely on the beach with the Snowy Plover flock,” he said, and that’s right where he found it a few minutes later.
We stood side by side, six feet apart, looking through our spotting scopes. I stared at the bird, its warm tawny color, its calm expression. I wanted to fix the moment my mind.
“This is a species you probably won’t be able to see much longer,” Nick said. Decades ago there had been a wintering flock you could see reliably in our county, he explained, but now it was just the occasional individual. I asked what the biggest pressures were, and Nick talked about how Mountain Plovers breed in short-grass prairie, and how in recent years their nesting grounds have mostly been converted to agriculture.
I stared at the bird, its warm tawny color, its calm expression.
Looking up on my way to work this morning… the largest flock of birds I have ever seen. I guess it was about 2km long. Starlings I suppose. Quite a site. Made my day at 7:30am.
Yesterday afternoon, I was walking our dog Charlie with Sam,
my husband, and our daughter Hannah. We were rounding a corner onto our quiet
street when a massive gray pick-up truck barreled past. The driver yelled out
the window: “Trump! Trump! Trump!” while pumping his fist.
What an idiot, I
murmured to Sam and Hannah. Ugh.
Yes, a total jerk,
Sam muttered back.
Fuck Trump, and fuck
you! Hannah shouted, giving him the finger.
We did not teach Hannah to behave that way, and quite
simply, we could not have been more proud.
