Birding

July 13, 2026

Greetings from the twitcher,

There are times when I have been humbled by how little I know, and also how reluctant I am to learn what I don’t know.  Those of you who know me are not sitting in shock at this revelation.

Recently some of my kids have become interested in bird watching. They have tempted me with how fun it is, keeping track of the birds you see, learning about them. To defend myself against this temptation, I created a burgeoning list of imaginary allergies and injuries that would prevent me from birding.  But finally, I went into the woods to see what this was about, most recently with my son Carson.

What I learned first is that bird watching is actually bird-listening. We would be plodding through the woods and then stop for no reason, which is usually what I do when I’m lost. “Did you hear that?” I was asked 800 times. I would pause, tilt my head, and display my most thoughtful demeanor, one that I have used to fool other adults into thinking I am also an adult.   “Amazing,” I would say, whenever I was asked “Did you hear that?”

In fact, I did not hear that.  The woods are filled with sounds, including birds, and the sound of my desperate breathing, brought on by struggling up hills, and of course those imaginary allergies. Not to mention the voices in my head. “Did I lock the car? Is that a tick on my leg? Are we lost?”

I can identify the sound of a crow and a seagull.  Also, a cow, and dog barking.  (Those last two are not birds.) Trying to segment out the sound of a Brown Creeper amidst the choir of bird songs in the trees is like asking me to notice the exhaust on a 1980 Chevette while sitting in an LA traffic jam.

My son was gracious and patient.  He would show me on an app what various bird sounds were, along with pictures of each specie. It was very satisfying: “Oh my gosh,” I’d say, immediately forgetting everything I was told.

We would look up into the trees with our binoculars, craning our necks in a way that would cut off the blood and cause mild dizziness and nausea. People going by thought we were working for the Civil Air Defense.  “Something happen?” they would ask. “Pileated woodpecker,” my son would whisper.” Some people took this reply as an insult, which nearly led to fisticuffs. (Fisticuffs are not a bird, as far as I know)

My son would point up, “There, in that White Cedar tree, it’s a Yellow Rumped Warbler.” (Here I would need to disguise that I also cannot identify various trees in the woods) “Do you see it, right on the branch?”  “Ohhh…” I would say.

In fact, I did not see it.  I pretended to see, “Oh, yah, wow, that’s amazing”.  What I learned is that many things look like tiny birds in a tree fifty feet away.  It might be a House Wren but it could be a leaf, or a pine cone or a piece of trash or a smudge on my glasses.

There are a few species that have the word ‘common’ in their description.  I think I would find this a little insulting, if I were a tern for example.  Yes, you are a tern, but you are a Common Tern.  (I would like to take credit for not stooping to making an obvious pun here.)  Common Terns look remarkably like other terns. And also resemble common pine cones.

We saw swans and ducks and geese and an Eastern Wood Peewee Warbler, and woodpeckers and wrens and finches and chickadees and more that I can’t recall.  One of them might have been a fisticuff. 

At some point I thought, “Wait, this is going on in the woods, all the time?”  I am no stranger to exploring in the forests, but somehow, I have been somewhat blind to this facet of nature. 

The other thing that struck me was slowing down. Not taking your time, slower than that; stopped, waiting, looking, concentrating.  Carson would hear a bird’s call and motion for me to wait, looking into the tree.  It would go on for a long time, maybe only minutes but it stretched into some new measure.  I have never stood still very well, and in those moments, I realized I am still a five-year-old boy who wants to watch TV and read the comics and go run in the yard and also has to pee. 

Near where we were staying there was a Merlin, which is kind of like a small hawk. Carson showed it to me moments after he arrived.  It has a distinctive sound, to me anyway, and it sat in the tip of a tree where I could see it every day.  After the first day, I noticed it every time I went out, heard its message.  I felt a little proud knowing him. 

I also felt a kinship of sorts, a strange thing to say about two different species. But maybe what made the difference was that I knew a little about the bird, and I knew his name. It’s harder to take something for granted with even that little change.

In birding there is a phrase called ‘Spark Bird’, which is the first bird that got your attention, that made you want to pay attention to birds.  For me that would have to be the starling, which I’ve admired for years but in truth know very little about.  I know it better when it is together with others in its family, swirling in the sky, dancing in the open places in a murmuration, a cloud of living things.  It is beautiful and graceful and powerful and magic. 

Now I know that magic exists with other birds too, and it has made me curious, which is an excellent beginning.

Hope this finds you looking up,

David

This essay was written by the author and does not include Ai content.

Copyright © 2026 David Smith