For the birds

Birds, never much cared for them. And no, this isn't me generalizing my feelings about crows, it's just that I don't happen to be one of those people who are into them; whether by innate fascination, some deep desire to fly, whatever it is that draws you people-who-are-not-like-me, I'm not like that, I'm not like you, I don't like birds, much. Until quite recently, when suddenly it got personal.

As what passes for winter around here itself passed, spring came and with it a pair of small birds that chose to nest under our eaves right near the outlet of our non-functional but completely unobstructed kitchen vent. I noticed them because of their frequent comings-and-goings and because of the occasional chirp that came through that vent. And then I noticed them a lot more because they had chicks, which chicks chirped strenuously and repeatedly throughout the daylight hours, directly into my kitchen. They chirped, I discovered (Science, take note), whenever one of their parents either entered or left the nest, or was in it, except at night. This was irritating for their human housemates, but this housemate, at least, is just barely enlightened enough to have thought to think of it from the parent birds' point of view, which I imagine is something like this:

We wake at dawn and, with our kids screaming at us, go get some food. Working in shifts we bring it back home to give to our kids and before we can even start to stuff it down their throats they scream at us some more. Each one screams at us when we are feeding their siblings, and when the food is all gone they scream even louder until we have to get the hell out of here. We get some more food and it all happens again. This goes on all day until finally we all fall asleep, completely exhausted. Then it happens the next day, and the day after, and so on.

I can really identify with this.

The chirping went on for many weeks, and as I grew accustomed to it my annoyance died and my sympathy with the parents grew and then when it ended, and extra small birds started fluttering clumsily around my yard, I found I missed the chirping and realized I'd grown fond of this little family, or the parents anyway. But they left and I did too, headed to the mountains for a few days in a tent cabin.

Now here's a nice coincidence for you: while I was in the mountains, and my family with me, friends came to stay at our house. Special friends. Ornithologist friends. And while they were here, for all of 24 hours, they made a list of all the birds they saw. This is the list:

1. California towhee
2. American crow
3. Lesser goldfinch
4. Downy woodpecker
5. Chestnut-backed chickadee
6. Oak titmouse
7. Pileated woodpecker
8. Warbling vireo
9. Band-tailed pigeon
10. Turkey vulture
11. Spotted towhee
12. Pacific slope flycatcher
13. Mourning dove
14. Oregon junco
15. Bewick's wren
16. Bushtit
17. American goldfinch
18. Western scrub-jay
19. House finch
20. Tree swallow
21. Anna's hummingbird
22. Nuttall's woodpecker
23. Brown creeper
24. White-breasted nuthatch
25. Winter wren
26. Hutton's vireo

If they had stayed up late they would likely have heard a Great horned owl, too, but they wouldn't have heard our personal bird family--House sparrows, as it happens--because, as I said, they were already gone.

That is not the coincidence. It is cool, and a surprise to me because I would not have guessed there were quite so many different birds flying around the place, and good news too because now I like birds, sort of...but it is not the coincidence. The coincidence is that our personal bird family (as best as I, the non-ornithologist can tell) had also decided to move to the mountains, there to raise a second family, only this time they did it inside our house (tent cabin) not outside it. We cohabited again, the two families, for several days, and it was a real pleasure for me at least, if not anyone else. You can view the film here, or you can come visit next spring and, I trust, see this same little family yourself.