I’ll call her Becky (because that is her real name). We met at a birding festival. And all I really know about her is that she is an intelligent, attractive, athletic, articulate, and poised woman in the summer of her life.
And that she is a darn fine birder.
And that she aspires to be an even better birder.
Now, I know what some of you are thinking. You’re thinking “isn’t that a flaming non sequitur?
Intelligent, attractive, athletic, poised and a birder?
If this was, indeed, your thought then you are short at least two of Becky’s finer attributes–and only one of these is her choice of avocations.
Clearly, you are not a birder. Only a non-birder would conclude that someone with Becky’s qualities would not find birding the least bit:
EXCITING, ENGAGING, ENERGIZING, AFFIRMING, and just plain FUN!
Why (you want to know) would someone so People Magazine zesty rather look at birds than discuss a John Grisham novel at her book club, or have lunch with an old college roommate; or landscape the cottage or go cycling (or sailing or wind surfing or snorkeling…) or take in a blockbuster movie with her husband like normal people do?
There are several possible answers here. Starting with, what makes you think she doesn’t? Why would you assume that anybody who discovers that bird watching is fun must necessarily swear off other human endeavors?
Birders aren’t monks. They aren’t penitents. They don’t take oaths of poverty, chastity, and abstinence when they don binoculars.
Me? I go shooting on a range. Take my dogs for long walks. Work culinary magic on the Weber. Collect duck decoys. Read American poetry and anything that has to do with WWII. (My wife Linda refers to the History Section at Border’s as: “Our Favorite Charity.”)
Becky? She and her husband sail up and down the Atlantic coast. She collects surf turned stones. She bikes. She visits universities with her soon to be college-bound daughter….
Yep. When birders aren’t birding you’re hardly able to distinguish them from normal peo….
Then again, maybe you can. Fact is, when I’m shooting on the range, I’m conscious of the birds I hear around me (particularly when I remove my ear protection).
There’s a pair of summer tanager whose territory mantles the 25 yard pistol range. The male’s favorite singing perch is right over the roofed shed. While I’m plinking he’s “pic-a-tucking.”
As for Becky, I’m willing to bet that when sailing she’s fixated on the seabirds tacking around her. The difference between Becky and most other sailors is that her avian encounters enjoy a high level of intimacy. Becky can pin names to those wind powered petrels and shearwaters.
I know she can. I watched her. And when it comes to pelagic birds she’s aspiring to America Cup class. Which brings up perhaps the most compelling reason that people as talented and accomplished as Becky seem drawn to become birders just about the time their lives reach mid-span.
This is ambition. Ambition unquenched by past accomplishment or time. Life needs challenge and challenge needs gratification (otherwise it becomes known as frustration). Finding birds and pinning names to them is a challenge. Studying them, becoming intimate with them, is fun and more than this it is also real.
So too are most of the people you’ll meet who are birders. Real, meaning genuine, and fun. People like Becky. An intelligent, attractive, athletic, and poised birder in the summer of her life and the spring of her avocation.
Maybe you’ll meet her at your next book club meeting or standing in line at the cinema. She’ll be the one with her head turned slightly askew as if she were listening to something.
Something you’re missing.