Lesser Getadamnfieldguide

It's 2021...a time unlike any other in recent history. Especially when we look at where we are in regards to technology being such a huge part of our everyday life. Cellphones with more tech in them than it took to put a man on the moon are everywhere. Technology has also brought social media into a vast number of homes, giving people tools to discover and learn a myriad of different things. 

Even birds.

That being said, is there really any learning going on? We can see the equation 2+2=4, but, have we truly learned anything unless we know WHY this is so? I don't mean to get philosophical here, but in my mind I'm hearing the analogy "Give a man a fish, you feed him for a day. Teach him to fish, you feed him for a lifetime." The number of birding websites and social media pages is mind boggling as every region, every state and even backyards have their own presence on the internet.  Most all purport themselves to be places to 'learn and share'. However, my experience is that there is not a lot of learning going on. 

The naturalist world, in particular birds has more than its fair share of conundrums and enigmas to ponder. Experience is often critical to coming up with an answer to these questions. The opposite end of that spectrum is simply 'spoon feeding' identifications through these sources. Especially some of the most common birds. Is that truly a learning experience?

In asking for identification on a bird in question, the next step in that parade (imho) should be 'What makes it a ______?' What unique characteristics separate American Goldfinch, Yellow Warbler and Evening Grosbeak? Or, perhaps the person identifying the bird should answer the question more completely. Not just typing in an obvious answer that does not go any further than a veiled "I know more than you". Trust me, it's just how it sounds. And, usually it sounds that way over and over and over again. One correct identification is enough...threads of hundreds of response all chiming in, somewhat feeling the need to be amongst those who know. The answer given is also soon forgotten. 

I feel very strongly that birding and other naturalist pursuits do not translate well to a world where even "Instant Gratification" is deemed too slow. Especially frustrating are the inquiries from supposedly intelligent people on social media to identify birds one would have thought most folks would know just by osmosis. 

I've not counted, but, I'd be willing to bet that most primary school reading books at some point introduce the 'Robin Red-Breast' or just 'Robin' to their young readers. The American Robin is pretty much the "See Dick Run" of birds.....pretty ubiquitous by any measure.

I guess it boils down to wanting to learn something new. Perhaps 2020 and the global pandemic would afford people the time to, I don't know, READ A BOOK? Run an online search for bird ID classes? Download a very easy and very free bird identification app from the Cornell Lab of Ornithology? Merlin allows you to upload a picture from your device, answer a few when and where questions and provides you with at least a few choices of what the bird is, if not the exact bird in question.

One of the leading binocular manufacturers now even have a device that you point at the bird and it will identify it for you! Swarovski Optik now makes something called the dG. It can interface with your smartphone and the Merlin app and identify your bird and even store an image of it for you.  Granted, they cost about the same as a mortgage payment, but, talk about instant gratification?  The fathers of modern ornithology are rolling over in their graves.

There was a time that you had to actually go out and LOOK for birds. Take a walk in the woods, along the shore; seek them out early in the morning. Mine them from the treetops like the feathered jewels they are. You had to want to go out and see birds beyond your backyard. You brought a pair of binoculars and something called a FIELD GUIDE. You'd see a bird and then quickly try and pin a name to it from the guide. It took a couple tries, but, you quickly learned to spend more time studying the bird before you started looking in the field guide. You know where the guides is, chances are when you look back up for the bird, it's gone with the next breeze.

Now, that does not mean field guides and binoculars are obsolete. Today's optics for bird watching are remarkable bright, colorful and sharp. The current crop of field guides are a skillful blend of artistic mastery and scientific acumen. This is HOW and WHERE you find out why a certain bird is that bird and a bit of it's natural history and territory. Authors like Kenn Kaufman, David Sibley and Richard Crossley have given us the keys to the world of birds around us.

Last, but by no means least, there is something called the joy of discovery. Something no website, technological marvel or social media page can provide. The thrill of figuring out for yourself, understanding what led you to that conclusion and having forever the process that got you there. Let's face it, if you can can tell the difference between a crow and a duck you're well on your way to being able to identify the birds you encounter.

So, the next time an exciting new bird shows up in your yard or while you're walking the dog, try figuring it out on your own before you post it it to some group on Facebook, where 218 people will give you a "like", give you the answer over and over again and third of them will disagree. Pick up a book, hell, search the image yourself, and when you identify it, know why you got that answer. It's called learning, something that seems to gone out of vogue all in the name of convenience, instant gratification or dare I say......laziness?

 

 

In Search of Ralph

It’s an early spring day, mid April, tax time is what most people think of. Me, I think of the waves of birds heading my way right now from points south of here. “Neo-Tropical Migrants” the scientists call them. Birds who spend their winters in Central and South America and do their breeding here in North America. One of my favorites of this group and also, usually, one of the earliest to arrive is the Gray Catbird.  Now for those of you unfamiliar with Catbirds, they are not brightly plumed that grants birds like Orioles and Tanagers such affection. They are not even terribly original songsters, being a member of the Mimic Thrush family, relegated to repeating sounds they hear over and over again, with nary an original note. No, Catbirds hold a special place in my heart for a very special reason.

Many years ago, when I first opened the Wild Bird Center, I knew that inevitably, one warm day, when I had the door open, a bird was going to fly in. Now being in a shopping center, where the standard avian population is 99.9% Pigeon and House Sparrow, this is who I was expecting. It goes without saying that I was wrong. And, yes, the first bird through the door was a Catbird. He dutifully made the rounds landing on most every horizontal perch, bounced off the occasional wall and even left a berry stained brand on one wall to mark his visit. Then quick as he came, he was gone. No help from me, just headed straight back to the open door and was gone. Since that day, Catbirds have kind of been my Guardian Angels in the day to day life of my birding. On birdwalks during the spring the first bird sighted as we get out of the cars is a Catbird. He seems to follow us as we traverse the trails in search of other birds. Teasing with his flash of feathers and then disappearing into the brush, as we gather around the spot hoping to find some Warbler or Vireo. After his sense of humor is satisfied, he would pop up and all but stick his tongue out at us. The Catbirds have become such regulars, he even has a name. “Ralph, the Obligatory Birdwalk Catbird” or just plain Ralph. He has become the parrot on the shoulder of this binocular toting birding pirate. The Dr. Watson to my Sherlock Holmes. He fits with me like a good pair of hiking boots. Ralph is a part of my birding history.

And that’s why today I have thought of him. It’s mid April. It’s spring. The Goldfinch are turning bright yellow. The Robins are chasing each other around like a dog chasing his tail. Yellow-rumped warblers are turning up and the Carolina Wrens have built nests in most every nook and cranny you can imagine. Yes, it’s spring. But, no Ralph. One or two reports on the local bird sighting reports, but, not omnipresent as I have come to expect. I have had Catbirds raise their families in my yard, eat every bit of grape jelly I put out in hopes of coaxing an Oriole to come visit. Yet, so far this spring that call that I have grown so fond of has yet to grace my ears. I find myself listening harder, looking more intently, scrutinizing every shape and sound in hopes of finding Ralph. The days that have gone by eerily remind of Rachel Carson’s “Silent Spring”, so quiet have the migrants, the real migrants, been so far this year. The good news is the House Wrens are back, bad news is the Chickadees didn’t get a brood in before these housing-hogging creatures arrived. The Flickers are in fine voice, their repetitious call of mating echoes through the woods around my house. Yet, still no Ralph. Still no Catbirds.  Their arrival in my yard is late, so say my notes from last year. Pushing 10 days late now. I’m worried. For no matter how many singing Yellow Throated Warblers I see, regardless of the number of nestlings I wind up either replacing in their nests or rushing to the local rehabilitator, it’s not spring without the Catbirds in my yard. Although, a very handsome Chipping Sparrow has just landed inches from my feet, I take him as a herald…letting me know that migration is moving, and that Ralph’s arrival in my yard this spring is only days away. I know this in my mind, I am a student of the avian world. But without Catbirds, spring is still in the offing.

Postscript: The Catbirds have arrived, their raucous calling and incessant mewing have served to let me know, unequivocally that they have here. Grape jelly is being consumed in alarming quantities and oranges are being hollowed out consistently. And, in my eyes, spring has finally sprung, and things are the way they ought to be. Welcome, Ralph, it’s good to see you again.