Mid-May I woke up and heard bird songs. Of course I had always heard birds rattling away in the morning, a blur of noise that told me the world was alive. Suddenly, though, as if a part of my hearing had suddenly clicked into place, there emerged distinct calls in rhythm and volume, in pitch and repetition. That’s all I heard. When in the past I could walk without really seeing or hearing anything, now I can’t walk without hearing every peep, chirp, chip, slur. And wondering who it is.
I’m not the first to suddenly be taken with birds and their songs. But I feel lucky to join a large and often nerdy bunch of people wandering the globe with a range of binoculars, scopes and cameras and a will to see. If only for a moment. There’s one thing I’ve learned: birding is about moments, flashes. You don’t hold onto these birds. You are lucky to get a glimpse.
Across the Hudson River Mark DeDea at the Forsythe Nature Center organizes nature walks that often focus on birds with the John Burroughs Society. For the past two weekends I’ve joined them on walks/hikes led by Christine Guarino, an energetic young woman who is part parrot and who hears everything.
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