Ich Bin Ein Birder · Posted Jun 5, 08:26 AM by Todd Babiak
Last month, we went birding. It was a hot day, 32C at its peak, so many of the birds were lying in the shade somewhere, drinking margaritas and reminiscing about all of those sweet sexual conquests in university. But we’re busy people, and bird day was bird day, so we couldn’t reschedule.
I know some birds by sight: robins, magpies, crows, rock doves, mallards. And we have this CD of Alberta bird calls that I’ve heard so many times I sometimes have nightmares about it. So I’m not the worst birder in the world. The worst birder in the world is my daughter, Avia. For some reason, she was less than willing to look straight up into the sun to try and spot an American goldfinch!
Two-year-olds are also less than thrilled about being outside, on very hot days, from 10:30 to 4:30, with only intermittent shade. Kids these days are so spoiled. When I was two, we didn’t have fancy things like houses and clothes and water. No, we made do with what we had.
Anyway, there was quite a bit of complaining on bird day. To alleviate the complaining, there was also a lot of singing and dancing. So when joggers and homeless people passed by, while my wife looked into the sun with binoculars and I sang Cielito Lindo while performing a fan dance, I can only imagine they phoned child and family services later that afternoon. Fortunately, we never stayed in one place too long. We bagged our chickadee and we moved on, as the saying goes.
The thing about binoculars, for me, is I hate them. They make me nauseous, for some reason, and I can never see what I’m trying to see. “Look up there,” my wife would say, “it’s a yellow warbler.” I would take the binoculars and look up and see a Safeway bag stuck in some branches, or maybe just sky, or the sun. My wife would move me and the binoculars around. “There! See it!” And I wouldn’t see anything new, just branches mostly. However, my inner ear would be deranged by all the funny movements, and I would have to lie down in the bush for a while and moan, waiting for the nausea to pass — which makes my daughter cry. She doesn’t like to see me in a state of fragility and submission.
In the end, bird day was a success in that we saw 18 birds and the state did not seize our children. We’re having another one this month. I’ll be loading up on Gravol and learning a few more Mexican folk songs, just in case.
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What the hell is wrong with you??
BIRDING!!!
horses ass!!
— Kirk Jun 6, 10:20 AM #
You sound like my dad. We did stuff like that all the time, marching into just-short-of-wilderness to look at birds and plants. Except he didn’t dance and sing for us. He got grumpy and told us to stop complaining.
— Mari Jun 6, 06:40 PM #
Mari, I think we may be related. I’m still in therapy from being dragged through the woods every Sunday, rain, snow or shine, in search of more species of birds to add to my father’s life list. My mother had to pack & haul the lunch (dad’s hands were full with binoculars and camera), and if us kids complained about being wet or cold … he got annoyed and added another 20 minutes to our “nature hike.” Mexican folksongs would not have helped at that point. And for what it’s worth, Todd, I can barely tell a robin from a starling today.
— Laurie Jun 8, 11:25 AM #
Oh no, I meant to also say that I LIKED it! If the Journal had a Cute Animals column, they should hire me to write it.
— Mari Jun 10, 05:11 PM #