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Birding With The Boys

By Susan Oloier

Found in: | Outside | Birding | Wildlife |

It seemed like a perfect day for bird watching. The thermometer read a comfortable 66 degrees Fahrenheit, the breeze felt light, and I had spotted a fine feathered friend or two bobbing through the sky. We had all of the necessary items: binoculars, bird book, water, snacks, and . . . a bug vacuum? "Are you going to suck up birds with that?" I asked my son, Justin. He looked at me like I was crazy. "N-o-o-o-o, this can identify them." Justin flipped the switch, creating a barrage of noise in an otherwise calm environment. "That's not going to attract birds. That's going to scare them away," I advised. He chose to ignore me. At least he was using his imagination.

Since my pre-parenting days, I have been fascinated with birding. I find something peaceful out in the woods or along the coast, trolling for birds I have only ever seen in books. Finding and identifying new birds always provides me with a sense of triumph, which can probably be likened to a hunter stalking and shooting an animal in the wild - but, in my case, minus the blood, gore, and carcass. It seems that every new place my husband Jeff and I go, I insist on searching for new birds to tick off my list. Unfortunately, Jeff does not share my enthusiasm for the hobby. Now that Justin and his younger brother Zane are in the picture, I hope to have some company.

As I scanned the pines for signs of wings, beaks, or feathers, Justin pulled a miniature excavator out of his bag. "I brought a toy I can play with so I don't get bored." His attitude was not working in my favor. From when Justin began to talk, he has had a working vocabulary related to birds. It was always a robin, a Stellar's Jay, or a chickadee - never just "bird." So I held out hope that our outing would spark some interest in him.

While Justin held the over-sized binoculars to his eyes, Zane remained quiet and mellow. He seemed more interested in finding a way to escape from the confines of his chair than register interest in wildlife. Meanwhile, Justin (who likes to talk a lot) provided a running commentary on his search for the elusive creatures. "I'm looking for birds, and I can't see any. Weird."

Just then, we heard some tapping against a nearby tree. "Do you hear that?" I attempted to lure him into further interest in the sport. A woodpecker? A flicker? It was hard to tell since the binoculars were securely draped around Justin's neck, and he wasn't about to give them up. "I'm like a woodpecker looking for food." The mention of food prompted Justin's own personal interest in eating. "I want a snack, Mommy." We put our mission aside to dig out some food. As Justin munched on crackers, I settled back into a bird-searching mode. A moment or two later, Zane decided to grow fussy. His bad mood escalated into fits of crying, which carried on the breeze. If any feathered creature had an inkling to venture our way, it surely steered clear of the unhappiness emanating from my boy.

With some soothing, Zane calmed down and return nature to an atmosphere of quiet . . . if only for a moment. Justin finished his snack, and returned to his narrative. "We're looking for clues. This is one clue: chirping." This was never going to work. We were already more than 30 minutes into our adventure, and we hadn't identified a single bird. "I have an idea," I offered. "Let's remain quiet for awhile and pretend we're not even looking for birds." Justin had a better idea: "Let's pretend we are birds!" He began flapping his arms, running around, and making caw, caw, caw sounds. Zane drifted to sleep, most probably out of sheer boredom. Just then, I heard some not-so-distant chirping. I borrowed the binoculars from Justin and combed the trees, searching for anything - I would even settle for a sparrow. "I hear birds!" I proclaimed. But the chirping was quickly drowned out by the bug vacuum. I set the binoculars down, took out my camera, and resorted to taking photographs.

Justin picked up on my cue. "Let's stop bird identifying now." I didn't realize that we had ever started. Aside from a few chirps and peeps, we had little success. So, by the end of the day, in just more than an hour spent looking for birds, we had seen a grand total of zero. Maybe next time . . . but without the boys.