Vermont Birder

House Sparrows sparked Suzanne’s interest in birding:

This year is the first time since I moved to Wilmington, 23 years, that I have had a flock of House Sparrows at my feeders. When I walk out of the house and hear the group singing I feel a little melancholy and memories,  some good,  some bad come back. I was thinking about this very subject a few weeks ago when they showed up. A sign maybe I thought? Has my life come full circle?

On Chatham St. in Lynn where I grew up , there wasn’t any birds singing but House Sparrows. They use to sing in the bushes under my window next to the caterers. I was a wicked tom boy, always dirty, loved being outside, and  played various sports with my brothers and their friends. I would often get distracted by the House Sparrows, and of  course my brother Billy would tease me.

“So the next time one might think to “hate” those House Sparrows, try to remember that they might just give a spark to a poor city kid where no other birds besides pigeons reside.”  photo by Pets4Dawn

We lived in a decrepit house, surrounded by commercial development on a small lot with a mostly dirt backyard. For a not so “normal” poor kid in the city who loved nature,  House Sparrows to me were hard not to notice with their loud explosive song and their obsession with dirt baths. I use to love to check out the depressions and wing marks they left in the dirt. They were so cute the way they fluffed their feathers, hopped around. Sometimes I would feel badly because our run-down (a.k.a. pickle) game would keep them away. I eventually set up a bird bath with a pie plate and a bleach bottle filled with water with a small hole so the water would drip out slowly. I hung it in the one of the only trees in the yard. They loved it! And I loved that they loved it.

My beloved mother fostered my interest in birds. She took me  places like Plum Island, Ipswich River Sanctuary, and worked a community garden at Danvers State Hospital. Santa left me field guides which I would look at and dream about seeing birds like Bald Eagles, and Scarlet Tanagers. I was obsessed with animals and birds.  I had a tricycle I pretended was Black Beauty, strange huh?  Lassie, Tarzan, and the Mutual of Omaha Wild Kingdom were my favorite TV shows (Did I just date myself? ).  When I got older I wrote my reports on Life Sciences, Ornithology, and Jane Goodall, one of my heroes.  I knew I was very different from any of the other kids. I started a life list and started adding on birds I use to dream about seeing, but never told my friends.

Then I became a teenager. I hated bullies.  I felt had to “toughen up” if I were to  survive. I got away from birds and nature. The angry at the world teenager doesn’t bird watch, they work on attitude and smoke cigarettes. When I decide to do something I try to be good at it, I found being tough was easy, but didn’t make me happy.  There is a whole lot of chapters in between but I survived and grew up. I never turned into a Jane Goodall but I did make it to Alaska to study Bald Eagles with the School for Field Studies. I was asked to come back as an intern but decided to have a family instead. My tough thick skinned training came in handy working on controversial environmental issues so I wouldn’t change anything.  The kids are older and I have found my way back again to where I belong.  It took me almost a life time and why I enjoy and appreciate every minute of being out there.  So the next time one might think to “hate” those House Sparrows, try to remember that they might just give a spark to a poor city kid where no other birds besides pigeons reside.  And remember, there aren’t too many House Sparrows, there are too many people.

An upside-down Baltimore Oriole sparked Warren’s love of birding:

I was very fortunate to grow up in a small town (West Newbury) where the woods, fields, and wetlands were pretty much out my back and/or front door.  I also have a father that has interests in astronomy, geology, and ornithology. (He is now 88, and still in the same house)  He would take me on mini birding trips on the dirt roads in town when I was about 7 or 8 years old in the mid 1960’s. The “spark” came one day in the backyard when he had his home made telescope out and set up to look at the moon one day and got on a Baltimore Oriole that was nesting in our long-gone American Elm.  I was floored, and hooked.  It was also when I realized that astronomy telescopes portray the image upside down, so the Oriole flew up into a nest that defied gravity!

A Baltimore Oriole, seen inverted in a telescope, was Warren’s spark. photo by davedehetre

The next spark was when my folks bought me the rather large, double-volume National Geographic bird books. Some of you might remember this set.  I had bendable plastic records in the back of the book that could be folded, like a book, and played on a record player (remember those?) Well, all this did was expand my knowledge of what birds were out there since the books covered the entire US, and not just the east.  I wanted to see them all.

Soon I was leaving my poor dad in the dust, and he was dropping me off at the Plum Island airport at 12 years old to meet the Brookline Bird Club and I’d spend the day with them birding the area.

This is when I met a young teacher from Haverhill, who would pick me up at the end of my street frequently, and bring me home when my dad wasn’t available.  His name was Bill Drummond.  Thanks for the rides Bill!

My birding might have taken a back seat for awhile to sports, cars, and girlfriends, but it never left me.  Now I enjoy it more then ever-it’s my stress relief and anti-drug!  I’m thankful for it.

Warblers galore at Hellcat sparked Marjorie:

Although I grew up in CT, all of my siblings and I were born in Maine and we spent every summer and major holidays at my grandparents farm in Lincolnville, Maine.  My grandparents always fed the birds and I remember the flocks of Evenings Grosbeaks and Blue Jays, seeing the Great Blue Heron spearing minnows at the farm pond, watching the Bobolinks in the field, listening to the haunting call of the Common Loons when we stayed at Winnie’s camp on Levenselar Pond. My Dad often took us for long walks in the woods or trout fishing,  affording us looks at new birds and other wildlife like beaver, muskrats and mink. My first bird field guide was a birthday gift from my older sister in 1969 – Peterson’s 2nd edition “A Field Guide to the Birds”.  I started keeping a small life list in that book. While the spark was always there, birdwatching was something I did once in a while. When I married, we had our own bird feeders and I would go birding with my sister Annie at Plum Island from time to time when she visited Massachusetts.

I would say the flame was really lit in May 1996 when I birded with Annie at Hellcat on Plum Island. There was a warbler fall out that beautiful spring day.  The warblers were at eye level, and seemed to be everywhere,  landing in front of us and even sitting on the Hellcat board walk itself. Warblers up close was new to me and I kept saying – what kind is that? how about that one?, so anxious to see each one and try to figure out its name.  I was definitely hooked and wanted more.

Warblers on Plum Island were Marjorie’s spark birds. photo by Dendroica cerulean

I started participating in some of the Bird Watchers Supply & Gift bird walks, led by Steve Grinley. I joined the Brookline Bird Club and often went on local trips led by Bill Drummond and  many others.  I took the North Shore Ornithology course taught by Steve Haydock.  While I still consider myself a mediocre birder compared to so many more experienced birders I have met, it is the knowledge of those people that has helped me to grow and learn.  I would like to thank everyone who has pointed out a bird to me, shared their scope with me, helped me to learn a new bird song, etc.  I have so much more to learn and see and I look forward to what new adventure awaits me every time I go out birding.  Its like a treasure hunt – you never know what you will find!

While my own children, now age 24 and 27 are not birders yet – they do notice the birds and often describe some bird that they have seen.  Their spark is still hiding within – but I have hope that their flame will someday be lit as well. In the meantime, I am lucky to share the birding passion with my four siblings, Annie, Lee, Margaret & Janet.  We get together as much as possible to go birding.  I am the only one in Massachusetts, 2 live in Maine and my brother is in Indiana. While most of our bird trips are informal get togethers, occasionally we have gone on organized bird trips together.  All five of us went together to Colorado for the Grouse Grand Slam with Bill Drummond, we went to Baxter State Park with Bob Duchesne and we look forward to a trip to Texas soon. My mom, now 86 years old, still lives at her parents farm in Lincolnville and she is still feeding the birds.  I only wish my Dad were still here to go with all of us on a birding trip. He would have been pleased to know how much his walks in the woods meant.

Remember, to share your passion with others, share your scope with a non-birder who asks what are you looking at – you never know when YOU will be the spark that started the passion for someone else.

Hooded Mergansers sparked Bruce’s birding into high gear:

I’ve been enchanted and moved by all things natural since my childhood summers with my family in Rocky Mountain National Park.  I remember especially loving the hummingbirds at my grandparent’s feeders.

When I spent several years traveling around Latin America during time off from college, I always had a compact pair of binoculars with me.  When I met my wife Mary, we discovered we both liked birds. We had both taken an ornithology class in college.  When we took the kids on two extended tours of the western US in rented RVs, we decided we needed two pairs of binoculars so we wouldn’t have to keep fighting over them, and we even bought a field guide. When my daughter was eight years old, she and I spent many dark winter evenings wandering through the woods behind our home trying to get a look at the Great Horned Owl who’s call was enchanting us so, and that was waking my wife and I at 5 AM from its roost outside our bedroom window. Whenever we saw an unusual bird, or the time we watched a raptor in our backyard eating its bloody prey during a snowstorm out our back window, we’d pull out our field guide and leaf through, trying to figure out what is that bird anyway (rarely successfully – we had no notion of field marks).

After the kids left we downsized to a home on Pelham Island Road in Sudbury and started noticing people wandering around our neighborhood looking at birds. On January 15, 2009, I was crossing the Sudbury River on my way to work and spotted some unusual looking ducks.  I happened to have binoculars in the car, so I stopped to take a look. I was shocked, dumbfounded by their beauty. I called my wife at work to tell her about them, and spent the morning at my office on the Internet trying to identify them, before finally deciding they must be Hooded Mergansers. I couldn’t think of much else all day.

Hoodies continue to captivate Bruce. photo by quinet

That evening Mary and I decided: OK, we have got to start learning what these birds are. We went on-line and started signing up for outings and classes at Drumlin Farm. Four years later, after about 70 Mass Audubon group outings, birding trips to Texas, Oklahoma, Maine, NH, and Pennsylvania, taking the Birder’s Certificate Program at Joppa Flats, and countless hours birding by myself or with my wife, with a new and wonderful shared joy in our marriage and dozens of new friends who share our new passion, I have dozens of standout bird memories – a solitary Wood Thrush calling in the darkening evening in Griscom Woods down the road from our house, the Eared Grebe in full breeding glory 10 feet away in the dawn mist in Oklahoma, hundreds of White Pelicans circling high and silently in the bright sun, or watching Torrent Ducks plunging and bobbing as we ate breakfast by a roaring river in Peru.  I’ve learned there is not one, not two, but dozens of kind of ducks.  And of course I’ve seen hundreds and hundreds of Hooded Mergansers.  But they still take my breath away every time.  Last weekend, after a delightful day on the south shore and cape with Strickland Wheelock and friends, 63 species for the day and adding Northern Lapwing and Little Egret to my life list (numbers 474 and 475), the most memorable moment was the single Hooded Merganser filling my scope at Marston Millpond.

Initial Post   Responses:  Part 1    Part 2   Part 3   Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7  Part 8  Part 9

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New birder Lori had no idea the spark was in fact a spark:

It was January 28, 2010, and I was driving down Route 27 toward Wayland on my way to work. As I crossed the Sudbury River, something at the top of a tree lining the road caught my attention, enough so that I safely turned around in the Wayland Golf parking lot and crept up the street as slowly as commuter traffic would allow (which is to say, not slowly at all!). There, at the top of the tree, sat a Bald Eagle, though at first I was not at all convinced it could be possible. An eagle? In Sudbury? I called my husband (a closet birder for many years) and described what I was seeing and he said, “Oh yes, that is absolutely an eagle!” I had only ever seen an eagle once before, at Foxboro Stadium, when an eagle flew down and landed on the shoulders of its trainer as part of a pre-Patriots playoff game extravaganza. To me, that didn’t count as seeing a bird – but THIS surely did!

Still not truly bitten by the birding bug, two months later we traveled to Charleston, South Carolina, for a few days in early April. It was there, in the middle of the Magnolia Cemetery, that I saw my first Eastern Bluebird.  He was sitting stoically atop a bronze Confederate soldier statue. It was this bluebird, coupled with the eagle, that hooked me – to know that these wonderful birds, which I’d always considered elusive, could be found in every day places when you least expected to find them was a thrill I cannot adequately put into words.

Lori’s spark bird #2 was an Eastern Bluebird. photo by USFWSNE

Since then I have been blessed to see many cool birds, such as the Pink-Footed Goose that visited Sudbury in November 2010, and I’ve learned that the best place to bird is actually my backyard – a very unique spot that to date has brought me 105 different species of birds – 100 of which I have seen this year alone, including #100 a few weeks ago, a life bird – the Evening Grosbeak. For my birthday this past October, my husband bought me a 14′ tall “hunters chair” which sits on a metal tripod in my backyard. The chair rotates 360 degrees, and when I am sitting way up there the view of my yard, and the woods surrounding it, is fantastic. I can only imagine the fun I will have next April when spring migration slowly begins to set in.

I do at times lament the wasted opportunities at birder’s paradises – trips I took long before I was interested in birds – Bermuda, Sanibel, the Pacific Coast, Maui, the Caribbean – but for now I am pretty happy to find so much to enjoy so close to home.

I’ve made a few missteps along the way (i.e. the Northern Lapwing I was sure I saw in Lincoln that turned out to be an escaped Red-Whiskered Bulbul – sorry about that, everyone….). But I have learned so much from all of you, and I am paying it forward by now teaching my 6-year-old Godson to recognize the birds in his neighborhood along the shores of Lake Quannapowitt in Wakefield.

Jo-Dee grew into birding through a series of spark events:

I grew up in a house on the side of a wooded hill in Fitchburg, MA.  Like another of the stories, periodically a cock pheasant would stroll across the hill.  There were always shouts of  “Look outside!”  My parents weren’t birders, but my father, particularly, was very interested in the natural world.  I had a Golden Book bird guide.  Periodically he would describe a bird that he had seen and would ask me if I could find it in the book.

Time flies and when you’re a teenager, interests shift and no one that I knew was really into “nature.”  Turns out in college, my knowledge of pheasants would come in handy.  For my phys ed requirement, I took riding.  The fields in South Hadley had pheasants.  I probably saved a couple of my colleagues from untimely “departures” as I could identify the call of the pheasant and would call out “Pheasants in the field” if I heard them so that we could all take a little tighter rein of out steeds just in case we flushed them.

Several non-birding years later, my husband and I moved to the edge of the Charles River in Watertown.  Our corgi, Bennie, and I would stroll through the park on the edge of the river by the Perkins School.  That first spring the warblers arrived… there were all these amazing birds in the trees and the need to identify them took over.

Then I discovered that my best childhood friend, now living in Tuscon, Arizona, had become a birder…. and then my sister-in-law… companions with the same interests turn birding into fun…. and a bit of a competition.

Nothing better than birding with your kids.   They have sharp eyes and good ears!

Then there was the day in Madera Canyon.  I had made a deal with my then 2nd grade daughter Emily that if we could bird for the morning we would stop at the Pima County Fair on the way back to my friend’s house.  Birders were moving up and down the canyon in search of the trogon we could all hear.  Emily ran down the trail – froze – and found herself face-to-face with a pair of trogons.  She was hooked.

About 4 years later, we were back in Arizona for school break and Nathaniel, then a 2nd grader himself, found a Hermit Warbler along the edge of Sonoita Creek.  He was immensely proud that he identified it all by himself.  Another one hooked!   School vacations then became birding adventures.  Nothing better than birding with your kids.   They have sharp eyes and good ears!

My son is about to move to Ann Arbor….. I’ve promised to come visit him in the spring …. there are Kirtland’s warblers out there (a major blank in my life list).  He’s promised to go birding with me.

Amy describes her exposure to birding as a youngster and a rekindling after college:

When I was 9 years old my father gave me a Peterson field guide.  My parents then decided they would take me to New Mexico to see museums and parks, including Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Refuge south of Albuquerque.  On the plane ride down, I studied the field guide and as a young artist I even sketched some of the birds, too.

I remember learning that the Whooping Crane was endangered and was rare to see, but we saw it!  We also saw many Sandhill Cranes.

Seeing Sandhill Cranes at the Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Refuge was an early spark for Amy. photo by jronaldee

I remember seeing a small light-colored bird on a fence that sparked my memory of what I had read on the plane ride down.  I said to Dad, “I think it’s a Say’s Phoebe”.  He looked at me, doubtful that a nine-year-old that who just been introduced to serious birding would be able to identify a bird that we’ve never seen before.  In the end, (and I surprised myself too) I was right.  And since my parents gave me encouragement and praise, I will never forget that triumphant moment!  I loved being right about birds!

Growing up, my father and I listened to Eastern bird sounds on tape and laughed when the narrator sounded funny as he tried to sing out the name-sayers and mnemonic phrases.   We remembered, or tried to at least, all of them and often quizzed each other.  We even watched Sir David Attenborough’s “The Life of Birds” over and over again.  Oh, do I wish to see the birds of paradise someday!

Like another one of the stories I read on this thread, I stopped birding for a while.  Unfortunately, I let my high-school worry about appearance and popularity get the better of me.  I still loved it, but I refused to show it.  I slowly got back into it at the end of my college years and I found myself excited to introduce it to my friends.

Today, my Dad and I are closer than ever and we try to bird together whenever we can.  I’ve also introduced my fiance to birding and something has sparked his interest because he kept begging me to go down to see the Lapwing and now we may take a trip north to find a Northern Hawk Owl.  I am 28 years old and looking forward to many more birding adventures!

Greg’s spark occurred nearly four decades ago and he is nearing the coveted 700 mark on his ABA life list:

My spark was a beautiful Rose-breasted Grosbeak, seen with my father in the spring of 1974.  Today, I found out I likely have lyme disease; the symptons brought me home early from a work trip to San Francisco.  My doctor’s office is in Hyannis – 2 minutes from Kalmus Beach, so before I went in I was “lucky” enough to find the Little Egret and a bonus Black-headed Gull (around 10 AM this morning). The Egret was #699 in my ABA list, putting the pressure on to find another lifer before crossing 700 on a technicality.  Thinking about that, I decided that I’d celebrate again in the future if I cross 700 based on the 1974 taxonomy.

Mark has a  different story from most birders:

For many years I’ve been a fish geek.  I grew up on Jacques Cousteau TV specials, got very into aquariums, and eventually became a scuba diver to see the reefs for myself.  As an amateur marine biologist, I learned the common names of all of the reef fishes, and eventually most of the Latin names as well.  I studied their behavior and interactions.  I learned not just the flashy colorful fishes, but how to tell the silvery ones apart, and how to see the well-camouflaged ones as well.  It was disappointing that I could only afford a couple weeks a year in the tropics, and while there a dive only lasts an hour at a time.

At some point I noticed that often while out on dive boats, some of the other divers would be commenting on the various sea birds around us.  I used to hassle them that “they all looked like sea gulls to me” when they said one was a booby and another a shearwater.  During a dive trip in the Sea of Cortez when there were Peregrine Falcons on the cliffs above our dive sites, I discovered that birds could be interesting (it’s taken me a while to warm to sea birds which still all look a lot alike to me).  Once I started paying attention to the birds back home in Boston, I realized that birdwatching used many of the same skills as fish watching, and I could do it year round. I’ve been hooked ever since.  After a couple of years of watching them, I discovered I could listen to many more than I can see.

You can’t really understand the feeding habits of boobies, cormorants, or penguins until you’ve dived with them and seen them underwater. Here is a Common Murre at Montreal’s Biodome. photo by christopher.woo

I still plan my travels around diving, but always bring my binoculars too.  Twice I’ve actually gotten lifers *during* a dive. Coming up during a dive in Monterrey Bay in California to get my bearings back to the beach where we entered, I saw my first Black Turnstone on some nearby rocks.  And in Fiji I surfaced near a navigation buoy where my first Nazca Booby was perched.  You can’t really understand the feeding habits of boobies, cormorants, or penguins until you’ve dived with them and seen them underwater. It’s pretty startling to be 20 feet underwater when a booby makes a plunge dive right in front of you.

My next dive trip is in the Bahamas, and I expect to see our warblers wintering there, when I’m not underwater.

More “spark” stories from MASSBird:

Jo-Anna experienced a number of small sparks until later in life the kindling finally ignited with a swoosh:

Birding started slowly.  In my late teens, my aunt bought a house on the Cape in Sandwich.  I would visit frequently.  She had a number of bird feeders in the backyard.  I remember looking at the incredibly colored breeding plumage of the American Goldfinches that visited the thistle (nyger) sock.  I never even knew they existed!!!  I would sit fascinated watching those feeders and comparing what I saw to her copy of Peterson’s Field Guide.  I kept an eye out for the other brightly colored birds I was expecting to see.  Those maps in Peterson’s made it look like I’d be seeing Indigo Buntings and Rose-colored Grosbeaks.  Hmmm . . . they never did show up at her feeders.

In the early 1980s I moved to Sandwich.  Then like so many others, life intervened – marriage, kids, work, etc.  Until one day I was in a CVS parking lot waiting for a prescription to be ready when I spotted a bird – a shorebird of some type in the grassy area beside the parking lot.  I wondered why is this bird here?  There aren’t any beaches for miles. On the way home I stopped by my aunt’s to picked up the field guide so I could figure out what kind of bird it was.  A Killdeer of course.  Curiouser and curiouser . . .

In 2003 I noticed a large black bird perched on a roof as I drove to work that morning in Marstons Mills.  It wasn’t a crow – way too big.  I took a walk back in the direction of where I’d seen it.  It was still there and I crept as close as I could to see what it was.  I noticed its bald red head.  I called Mass Audubon and described the bird which they identified as a Turkey Vulture. A Turkey Vulture . . . wow!  Until then I had thought vultures were only found far out west.  Well that did it.  I was hooked.  I had discovered the wide world of birds.

A Turkey Vulture hooked Jo-Anna on birding. photo by minicooper93402

Finally, couple of years ago I learned of a bird banding demo at the Cape Cod Museum of Natural History in Brewster.  Well . . . I fell in love that day with bird banding.  Sue Finnegan (the one woman dynamo who runs the Wing Island Bird Banding station) ask if anyone would like to release a bird after it had been banded.  After all the kids got a chance, I couldn’t wait to raise my hand and have my turn.  She patiently explained how to hold the bird and how to release it.  Then she placed this most precious prize in my hand – a Lincoln Sparrow!  A life bird at the time!!!  So small and vibrant.  I was mesmerized.  I wanted more, more, more.  I’ve found it’s so much easier to id a bird in hand, than when it flits about – way up in that tree or behind that annoying branch!

I am most grateful to Sue for sharing her experience, patience, vast knowledge, but mainly her friendship since that day.  Thanks to everyone for sharing their amazing stories.  It has been a remarkable, enjoyable time reading and reliving with everyone.

Kevin tells how a city kid got hooked:

I grew up in a Housing Project in the Roxbury section of Boston and in order to get away from the city I spent a lot of time wondering the wilds of the Blue Hills. It is quite wild, you can catch wild Brook Trout ( delicious! ) and see Mink and many other wild creatures that a city kid would not normally see. One day while walking through the woods I heard a sound that I didn’t know. I decided to find out what it was and after carefully sneaking through the woods I got to watch a Ruffed Grouse Drumming on a log at about 20 feet away. Have never stopped Birding since although I”m probably the only Birdwatcher in the world to spend 13 months in a country and not see a Bird!

P.S. That country was Vietnam and I was a Marine, can’t understand how I didn’t even remember at least ONE Bird !!!

Mike describes three sparks in his evolution as a birder:

The first was shoveling 2+ feet of snow from the back yard during the blizzard of ’78 so my dad, who always fed the birds, could get seed and suet out.  I had no idea, at the time, which birds were which, but it hardly mattered. We HAD to get seed out for those hungry birds!

The second was when I was working in Wareham.  I had the fortune of working with Mike Sylvia and listening to all his fantastic birding adventures.  He put up a feeder outside the lab’s window but what got me really interested was the dead Flicker he brought in one day.  How could such a colorful bird live around here?  It looked like something from the rain forest.  A “death march” in Chatham gave me a bad sunburn, 20 life birds and a desire to see more.

A dead Northern Flicker sparked Mike’s interest in birding. photo by FunGi

The third was a spring trip to Plum Island. I had only recently moved north of Boston and was dying to hit this famous hotspot.  It was spring and no one else was around.  I had almost always birded with others up until this point.  I turned a corner on the Hellcat boardwalk and there it was; Chestnut-sided Warbler.  A life bird and I identified all by myself!  The fire that was slowly growing burst into a conflagration and hasn’t subsided yet. I’ve had the honor and pleasure of meeting and birding with some great people who also happen to be excellent birders.  Thanks to all who’ve shared their expertise along the way.

Jim’s love of birding was sparked by a Pileated Woodpecker:

As a kid in Akron, Ohio I didn’t know a soul who knew anything about birds. My mother fed them, and I remember seeing cardinals (her favorites), families of bobwhites running across the back yard, and the occasional red-headed woodpecker.  I also remember identifying a male scarlet tanager with my naked eyes on a family picnic, thanks to a tiny bird book my parents had bought me with 30 or 40 birds in it.  Those birds are with me still, and were the beginning of my interest, but I never had a mentor, someone who could show me HOW TO WATCH BIRDS.

Years later, as a college student on summer vacation in 1963, I went with my fraternity brother (and future brother-in-law) to a remote fishing camp in an Ontario wilderness.  “Remote” like nobody was there but the two of us and the old couple who ran the camp.  One day I didn’t feel like fishing and asked Tony to drop me off across the lake from the camp so I could try my hand at watching birds with my father’s primitive binoculars.  He did, and I soon found myself in a long-abandoned beaver swamp that had grown back to timber.  I was reveling in the utter solitude of the place when a series of loud staccato calls rent the air like thunder, sending shivers down my spine.  Within seconds a black-and-white bird with a flaming red crest, as big as a crow, flew to a dead tree not a hundred feet from me and proceeded to dismember it.  That bird lit the flame that changed the course of my life.

A Pileated Woodpecker was Jim’s spark bird. photo by Seabamirum

Two years later, as a senior at Miami University in southwestern Ohio, I had a chance to take ornithology as an elective.  The field trips were like going to heaven for me.  In March we saw colorful ducks through telescopes on a nearby lake; in April it was seeing a great blue heron colony near the local (and tiny) airport; in May it was identifying warblers (who knew?) along Tallawanda Creek.  I finally knew a little about how to watch birds,  and the years between then and now have been a constant process of learning.

I can count on one hand the times have I had such an ecstatic experience watching wildlife. The only comparable thrills came when I was attacked by a nesting goshawk in Boxford and when a curious badger approached me within six feet in Idaho.  But these events occurred long after the hook had been set.  The pure joy I felt encountering that pileated woodpecker, alone in the wilderness, is one of my most cherished memories.

Initial Post   Responses:  Part 1    Part 2   Part 3   Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7

Join those who comment on what spark set them on their birding journey?  Tell us about it with a comment below.  You should sign up by RSS feed or via email to have future “spark” articles sent to you.  Thanks

Here are more stories from the wonderful thread from birders on MASSBIRD:

Jean’s sister got her started in birding:

My spark wasn’t a bird but a person-my sister who still lives in Rochester, NY.  She had begun birdwatching and would tell me about it over the phone. I went back to visit in February, 1985. We went for a walk in Mendon Ponds Park. For a quarter you could buy a handful of black oil sunflower seeds at the visitor center. She took me down this path and we stood quietly with our mittened hands outstretched. We could hear the birds calling around us and within a short time the little tuxedo dressed bird landed on my hand. I’ll never forget how light the Black-capped Chickadee was and how amazing it felt to have this creature in hand. I came home, put up first one feeder and then another, and began to keep track of birds I saw in the yard.

It wasn’t until 1997 that I began to pursue this interest more and began keeping a “Life List” although I had bought a book from Cornell to keep my first sightings in. I had joined Audubon, Mass Audubon, The Nature Conservancy, Brookline Bird Club earlier. My first field guide was the Petersen Guide to Birds. I took a Shorebirds workshop with Wayne Peterson and my first trip to Plum Island was with Rick Heil. Bill Drummond took me (and sometimes Ed) over the years to places I thought I would never visit. The interest grew into a passion, one my friends still doesn’t understand but rather humors me.

Jean loves the first Dark-eyed Junco of the year. photo by dobak

When I retired from teaching I was sure that I would bird everyday and never miss a rarity again but that has not proved to be true. Life still intervenes. Well I do watch my feeders everyday and still keep a list of birds I see there. It delights me when the first Dark-eyed Junco appears in the yard mid-October and the various species bring their young to the feeders. My passion has led to a substantial book collection, many wonderful memories of places seen, people met, and making my yard bird/animal friendly. One regret is that I wish I were younger when I was hooked but I hope I have many years left to pursue this wonderful experience called birding.

While neither son has become a birder per se, I do get calls wanting to know what bird it is that they are looking at. We were basically living in the Mt. Washington Valley these past four years taking care of our granddaughter. Often I would have my granddaughter(s) call out to me when birds were at the feeders, so perhaps there is an ember waiting to be fanned. I hope so-after all I have all these books…

Ann describes two sparks and expresses gratitude for others who have helped along the way:

The first time I saw a Snowy Egret lift its “golden slippered” foot.

Ann’s first spark with a Snowy Egret “lifting its golden-slippered foot.” photo by donjd2

Being alone watching a Great Blue Heron standing by a river and seeing the heron extend its neck straight up and raise its wings – wondering what that behavior meant – what was the bird seeing, hearing, sensing that I was not.

There has been a noticeable thread of gratitude in these messages – people expressing gratitude to their birding friends and mentors and for the wonders of nature.   My “spark” event that evokes gratitude was becoming a volunteer at the Mass Audubon Joppa Flats Sanctuary  13 years ago.  I’m grateful to Sanctuary Director Bill Gette for being a mentor, friend, and role model and encouraging me to grow as a person and a birder.  I’m also grateful to the Joppa Flats staff and volunteers for many wonderful and memorable experiences and for the gift of community.  My life is so much richer from being part of that group.

Many thanks, also, to Barbara Volkle for this Massbird forum – I have learned a lot here and seen many wonderful birds as a result of others postings.  Barbara, you moderate the group with patience and diplomacy.

John, like many, had a number of sparks that turned him into a serious birder:

My spark came in about four stages. The first came when I was growing up in North Carolina. I had good hearing, unlike today, and was doing a lot of music. I could hear the music of birdsong and enjoyed it, especially the Bob-white, which I thought was nice and would dearly love to hear it again, now that I am in New England and they are much less common here today, than back in the 50s in NC.

The second stage came in 1963 when I traveled across the country with a friend when we were both on our way to school out west. He was an avid birder and insisted on driving the whole way, a trip of 3 or 4 days, during which we camped each night. He would immediately stop the car for a Lesser prairie chicken or a hawk overhead. As he drove, I paged through his Peterson guide and asked him about each bird that caught my interest, and he knew a great deal. I was impressed with his passion and knowledge, and always thereafter considered myself to be a birder. I had no idea how intense it could be.

One summer only a few years later, I was camping with my parents and sisters in the Great Smoky Mountain National Park and I kept hearing such a beautiful sweet song that I had to find the singer, which proved to be a three-day effort, hearing it each day and only at great length being able to get a good look at the bird. It was a Wood thrush, and since that day its song is burned into my memory, as it is for many who consider it their most favorite bird song.

Walks at Arlington Reservoir helped spark John’s birding.  photo by towodo

The fourth stage came when I retired in 2003 and at the same time had a minor surgery that required me for six weeks to avoid my habit of running. I live near the Arlington Reservoir and what a great place to be if you are forced to walk each day! I took my small binocs and walked there, discovering how little I really knew about birds, and how much fun it was to find out more. I joined the newly formed Menotomy Bird Club and began to learn more quickly about birds and the great people who admire them. I can recall leafing through the field guide looking for a very mallard-like duck with a PURPLE head, which turned out to be just a mallard in different sunlight so the green head looked purple – I’m sure many have seen that illusion. Also very impressive were the Great blue herons there. Then the spring migration, and I’ve been solidly hooked ever since.

Another real boost, not to say a spark, has come from the marvelous experience I have had with recent years of bird banding with Trevor Lloyd-Evans at Manomet. Many on this list can attest to the extremely broad influence of his hospitality and the deep insight that comes from handling birds up close and learning season by season more about their lives and habits.

Henry is thankful for fresh air birding and helpful mentors:

My family and I went to Kenya in 1996 to visit my brother-in-law, a zoologist living outside Nairobi.  He took us up north to the edge of the Rift Valley.  It was vast; it was stunning; it was like the whole earth was spread out in front of us.

A week or so later I was home, in a claustrophobic cubicle office in Brookline, feeling like I was going out of my mind.  A friend saw that I was down in the dumps and made a simple suggestion, ”Why don’t you try bird watching?  You have to be outside to do it.”

I am grateful to that friend (Mark Aronson, a fine birder from New Haven).  I am grateful for all the kind birders who are so patient with me, because bird watching is very challenging and I’m always asking for help.  And I am especially grateful for the people who maintain and preserve places like Plum Island and Mount Auburn Cemetery.

California birds hooked David:

Always a nature lover it took me a while to get beyond feeding mallards on childhood vacations. But in high school I worked in western Pennsylvania weeding and planting in a lovely nursery for Elton and Verna, a retired school teacher couple who taught me much about plants.. wild ones, and cultivated.. but I distinctly remember one day planting out some shrubs, and Elton looking up into the tops of the trees to see the Baltimore Oriole he heard. I knew they were orange, nothing else, we did not see the bird, but Idid hear it, and was startled at the concept that one could look for a bird because you recognized its song – amazing.

The birds and birders of Point Reyes, CA help hook David. photo by donjd2

Fast forward a few years.. a summer working in a lab in Panama.. amazing birds.. amazing colors, amazing calls, and someone showed me a Toucan!!  But I had no binocs, or bird books.. and hadn’t a clue what I saw for the most part.  Fast forward another couple years.. and I am a resident physician in San Francisco.. birds everywhere, not just hiding in trees.all over the beaches, lagoons, flocks filling the air at times.. some just ridiculous to look at.. flocks of pelicans looking like pterodactyls, odd little quail with feathers popping out of their heads, ducks who looked like Picasso designed their heads.. and there was this place called the Point Reyes bird observatory.. on a spectacular piece of Northern California..they had people who led walks.. where I saw hundreds, thousands of shorebirds.. and was with people who knew what we were looking at and where to look.. who taught.. I was hooked. I moved back East 20+ years ago to western mass, and told to call a lovely woman named Sally Venman. She said there was this club called Hampshire Bird Club with walks and meetings practically in my back yard. Wow, what a resource.

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Here is the next batch of stories prompted by Gerry Cooperman’s post on MASSBIRD list serve:

David’s interest was kick-started by a rare gull in Newburyport:

Today, I was birding with Dennis, my twin brother, and Fay Vale at Plum Island. Fay mentioned that the person who “sparked” her was Herman Weissberg, who worked at the same company that she did. Many “old-timers” will remember Herman (the Brown Thrasher), a fixture at Plum Island. I’ve just realized as I start writing this, that I can claim Herman as a catalyst for my birding. First, a childhood memory before I get to Herman again.

I have always been interested in nature, along with my brother, Dennis. We did everything together, including birding. My first bird memory was in the 1950’s when Dennis and I were walking to the Hosmer Elementary School in Watertown. Feeding in a small berry-producing tree were a group of Cedar Waxwings and we marveled at their understated beauty. We noted that there were birds out there besides starlings, pigeons, and sparrows. As the years went by, we did see new birds, without binoculars, and knew robins, jays, crows, etc.

Ross’s Gulls were unknown in the continental United States until an individual appeared in Newburyport, Massachusetts in 1975. Now sightings occur nearly every year. photo by Seabamirum

In 1975 something happened that set us on a road of discovery and adventure that I never could have imagined at the time. Here’s where Herman Weissberg comes in. Herman and Phil Parsons found a Ross’s Gull in Newburyport harbor that January. Of course, Dennis and I would never had known about it if it wasn’t such a big thing. But it was a big thing, and the sighting made the newspaper and the television news programs. We watched in awe as we saw people coming from all over the country to see the Ross’s Gull. Now we knew that the world of birding existed and that world was something we wanted to do. We never saw that Ross’s Gull, but did catch up with it in Churchill, Manitoba, thanks to Bill Drummond. Later that year, we bought binoculars and in July went on our first birding excursion. We couldn’t get enough of these gorgeous, musical, fantastic birds.

Sarah’s (CT) story is not about her (She wrote that she had so many sparks of her own, thanks to her father!), but rather of passing along the torch to the next generation.

I teach middle school science in a large, 3-story school with a flat gravel roof and resident flock of pigeons.  We are located just a few miles west of the Traveler’s Tower in Hartford.  We have been VERY lucky that the pair of Hartford peregrines has, for many years, chosen to hunt at our school.  I’ve taught the students to watch the behaviors of the pigeon flock, and they’ve come to understand that when the flock is panicked, something is chasing them.  I keep a box of old binoculars by the windows in case we need them, and am pleased to say that my students don’t hesitate to jump out of their chairs, race to the windows, and grab the binoculars when the peregrines flash past.

I don’t mind losing some classroom time now and then to build their love of birds and understanding of nature (which IS part of the curriculum!!!).  I’ll never forget the day when an entire class rushed in from down the hall to report that a peregrine had grabbed a pigeon not 3′ outside the windows of the Spanish class — they were SO excited!  The Spanish teacher thought it was extraordinary and loved their enthusiasm, and then added Spanish birding words to their vocabulary.   It is wonderful to see students develop their observation skills and share them with each other and their families.  Many of my students and their families have come back to me in later years to report that their introduction to birds in my classroom helped them see nature with new eyes, setting them on a path of loving nature, science, and birds.  I hope that someday a few of them might remember our school birds as that first spark.  Go peregrines!

Perigrine Falcons are spectacular birds that were virtually eradicated from eastern North America by pesticide poisoning in the middle 20th century. Their recovery is a great success story. photo by Just chaos

Gian is a “Hatch-year birder” who was hooked by Perigrine Falcons:

On a cold February afternoon, while driving with my son to pick up his sister at a birthday party, we were blown away by two Peregrine Falcons engaging in an aerobatic display that would put fighter pilots to shame.

The mythical Peregrine, the fastest animal in the world, was no longer the stuff of books or “Wild Kratts” or YouTube, but a REAL creature in our world.  We watched for a brief ten seconds before the traffic light changed, but what an indelible image that brief encounter left etched on my being.

That was this February, and as a hatch-year birder, I have stumbled, bumbled, and lucked myself along, devouring field guides, meeting some wonderful folks in the field, picking up great tips from Massbird, and studying eBird’s maps and graphs and checklists.

It’s been a wonderful start to this journey, and I feel lucky whenever I venture outside and hear a familiar call, spot a flash of color flitting through the trees, or look up to see the gulls riding invisible waves of wind.  And the exhilaration of seeing something new, well that’s beyond description.

Bird banding was one of the big influences on Glenn:

My first memory of a single bird was a Ruby-throated Hummingbird at a window flower box seen from inside the house of my step-grandfather’s house in (Middle) West Pubnico Nova Scotia.  I think I would have been around 8.

I had a sixth grade writing assignment which was to write about something different.  My mother’s brother, Herman, would come over every Monday evening for dinner.  I announced the assignment at the dinner table and afterwards he told me of the banding operation at Manomet.  He was volunteering with the project.  I took note(s), wrote my paper, got an A.  When I told him this he asked if I would like to actually see of what I wrote.  I said yes.

The date is October 8, 1968.  This is the day I decided I REALLY liked birds.  Herman picked me up at Braintree for what was to be a morning at Manomet.  Note this is only a banding operation at this point.  Manomet Bird Observatory was incorporated in 1969.  I met people whose names I forgot.  What I did not forget was the birds which were handed to me for release.  I had no idea of the variety and delicate plumage(s) and sizes and shapes.  The one bird I recall vividly was the Black-throated Blue Warbler.  Some day I will obtain the actual records of the day, but my memory wants to say there were lots.  I was moved by how fragile these living things are and felt odd I could actually control the destiny of such a living thing.  I took care in my duty holding gently and opening the hand slowly.  Some would not realize they were free, so I get them a little boost.  At 5:00 p.m. Herman told me we had to leave.  Why I asked?  Because the banding day was over.

Bird banding is a wonderful way to “spark” young, and old, into birding. photo by Dick Mansfield

The person who handed me some, if not most, of these birds?  Kathleen “Betty” Anderson. (Read her “spark” story here.)

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Here are more of the stories prompted by Gerry Cooperman’s post on Mass Birds:

Carolyn had several sparks — here is an early one:

I was watching the goldfinches, chickadees, etc. with my dad’s ancient binoculars and saw what turned out to be a large young cowbird begging and being fed by a tiny, very solicitous colorful bird. I got my color markers and drew exactly what I saw — a yellow bird with black head and yellow face. I dug out an old 1960s era book from the attic and saw that it was a Hooded Warbler. I have only seen one once since then and not in my yard. After seeing the picture and all the other birds that supposedly lived in my town, I got out of the house to look for them.

A Cowbird being fed by a Hooded Warbler sparked Carolyn’s birding. Here a Common Yellowthroat feeds two Cowbirds. photo by USFWS

Darin’s aunt launched him into birding:

I was fortunate enough to be “taken under wing” pun intended by my great Aunt Helen.  I was about 10 when she told me she wanted to teach me about birds before I got into girls.  She was a great lady and was once the “den mother” at Manometer Bird Observatory back in the 70’s.  Some people might remember her, Helen Passano.

I grew up in Duxbury on a farm and we had a pond out front with a pair of Mute Swans.  Their wings were clipped and I was around them all my formative years.  I would have to go out in the winter and break the ice open to feed them cracked corn as a young boy.  In the summers, Auntie Helen would write out test questions for me in regards to my adventures around the pond.  I would have to draw ducks and other birds and answer specific things about them to pass.  It was such a great learning experience.  Then came that interest in girls she warned my about….and small block Chevrolets!

She was correct in her assessment, I am now in my mid forties and have passed on that love of birds to my wife Denise and my son Wil.  We go on adventures about once a month all over Massachusetts.  We keep lists upon lists and I really enjoy the time we all spend together.  We even went to Machias Seal Island in Maine a few years ago and had our best birding trip we have ever had.  The Razorbills and Atlantic Puffins so close you could almost touch them from inside the blinds!!!  Absolutely amazing.  They are both up to about 170 species on their life lists and they are constantly looking for a new entry.

I am so very lucky for my great Aunt Helen from 35 years ago.

Tom got started with NYC pigeons:

Having grown up for the best part of my early and teen years in a NYC Housing Projects in the 50s and 60s=2C we didn’t see much but pigeons.

But when I was around 12 I began to visit the American Museum of Natural History and found myself drawn to one diorama in particular and that was in The Great Hall of Birds on the first floor  which I believe no longer exists in its original form.

A diorama, similar to this in the American Museum of Natural History, sparked Tom’s interest in birding.

There were the ropes  and the rail of a wooden ship looking out upon a stormy sea and hovering just above was a great seabird – a great albatross – and it held me in awe.  At the same time at home we had a large illustrated edition of The Rime of The Ancient Mariner.

Between these two visions I began to wonder how this bird could provide me with such a feeling of peace every time I saw it at the museum and then give me the creeps whenever I opened the book and saw the arrow heading straight towards it.

In any case, it got me noticing birds and I really wanted to see live ones. So I began to find pheasants at the local cemetery ( St Michael’s in Queens- the other kids used them as archery targets) and later got a permit to visit the Jamaica Wildlife Refuge near Kennedy Airport  ( we still called it Idlewild back then) – a long subway ride away.

And it’s been birds since then wherever I find them.  And the pigeons? I still delight in their iridescent necks when the sun shines.

Thanks for letting me share and thanks to all who share their sightings.  I would have never seen a Tufted Duck or Northern Lapwing without your kindness.

Dee relates how she and Bob “simmered” into birding:

For my husband Bob and I, getting into birding wasn’t so much a spark as a slow simmer. We met in college and liked to take long walks. Along the way, we’d notice a bird here and there. Being curious, when we got home,we would try to look the bird up in a guide only to discover that, not knowing what features to look for, we hadn’t noticed the ones we needed to identify the bird. So… we started taking the field guide with us – only to discover that we couldn’t see the bird well enough to make out the characteristics we needed. So… we started taking along a pair of binoculars – only to discover that one of us would get to see the bird, but by the time the other one got the binoculars the bird was gone. So… we started carrying the bird guide and two pair of binoculars. About that time, we realized that instead of looking at birds while we were taking walks, we were taking walks to look at birds. We had become birders.

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Dana D was “oozed” into birding by a rustic island camp:

Now admittedly it is a long time ago now but I was blessed with having grandparents that read an ad in the mid 1920’s of a cabin for rent on a pond in Center Tuftonboro, NH.  I am told that when the sun rose that next day (after they arrived in the dark) the magic of the pond captured them and a few years later they had built a cabin across the lake.  I was also very fortunate that my Mother loved that spot and I remember the moment that school got out, my parents would pack us up and off we would go for the summer living the life of Huckleberry Finn.  Those of you that have been there know that my side of the lake  is much the same as it was way back when.

But this is the spot where the wonders of the spot just oozed out and enchanted me.  I am not sure now if it was the loons that swam by, or the majestic Scarlet Tanager or my favorite Black-throated Blue Warbler or the Pileated Woodpeckers that first captured me or whether it was that whole experience that propelled me to ask my parents for a bird book for my 8th birthday.  I like the ooze idea!  Now the place is mine and Bob and I spend most of the summer there still entranced by those same experiences and working hard to preserve them.

Common Loons swimming by the camp were part of Dana’s “spark.” photo by mikebaird

We still have to go by boat – we do have a footpath but is like island living.  We still have no electricity and a little house in the woods, and a spring further back in the woods for drinking water .  In the old days we cooked with wood on a big old stove and had to haul in ice for a frig..  Now the “modern” things we have consist of propane tanks that power a frig, stove and a few lights, and recently a solar panel that runs a little demand pump which allows us to have lake water coming out of a kitchen sink and will charge those modern things like my computer and a cell phone.

This influence has propelled me for the rest of my life sustaining a passionate interest in birds – I have been very fortunate as no matter whether I was working at a Mass Audubon summer camp, at Cornell getting to know Allan and Kellogg, teaching biology in India, travelling around the world, or just watching my bird feeders here in North Andover, I know that my disease in incurable and I will always be caught in this wonderful web.

Dick H (VT) was another who started birding very young and has continued for many decades:

Was born and brought up in Winchester, MA and since the age of 8, 1940’s, I asked for Birds of North America, can’t think of the author, and liked to sketch from the pictures in the book and from real life.  Even then, I had to know the names.  When I went fishing at Big Winter Pond, would sit for long periods just watching the birds and testing my knowledge of them in my head. But, as a teenager, I was more interested in sports and not into birding as such, I simply got enjoyment from being outside and knowing as much about the natural history around me as I could at that age.  What sparked a passion for birding as a way of life waited till I was visiting our family place in Maine for a week in May in the late 1950’s.  I saw for the first time a gorgeous male Blackburnian Warbler singing from a spruce tree just outside the house where we were staying!  I would watch in awe! Oh my, that was the moment!!  I was bound and determined to learn the Warblers and set out with my Petersen’s to experience as many as I could find at that time.

The Blackburnian Warbler was a “spark bird” for many, including Dick H. photo by Matt Tillet

Went to different local habitats in the area.  I have never looked back, have loved every moment, from banding in the 60’s and 70’s, going after rarities, being involved with Christmas Counts.  Now that I’m retired and live in Vermont, keeping records of whatever I see on our property is fun for me.  Beyond going out west or to Churchill, I have been fortunate enough that because John Kricher, don’t think he knows this, but through him and his books got me interested in tropical birds. That has led to trips to Africa, Brazil, Panama, Venezuela and Australia.  Many thanks John!!

Jim’s dad was his spark:

My spark was my dad. I was blessed with a father who liked to be outdoors (mainly fishing) but happily supported his son’s obsession with birds. The gasoline to that spark was a very active local birdwatching club. Before I was a teenager I had visited many famous birding spots in England including the Isles of Silly. I progressed to twitching which was great fun until I discovered the opposite sex. Bird photography is the latest iteration of my life long passion. In 2010 I was finally able to take my dad to Scotland to finally see our nemesis bird, a Corn Crake.

Lesley’s grandfather provided the spark:

For me, it was my loving grandfather who adored the outdoors . Although I was born and raised in Marblehead, MA, we had a summer home on a mountain overlooking New Found Lake in NH and it was here that my granddaddy took my brother and myself fishing and hiking in the woods where he would point out the birds, wildlife, and wildflowers. He gave my brother and myself a set of 2 books of birds, they were large books, one was Songbirds and the other was Water Birds and they were filled with the most beautiful colored photos of birds that I longed to see , but the best part of these books was they each came with these flexible plastic records that had all the songs of the birds. This was pure magic for me and although I could not have been more than 8 to 10 years old I was totally hooked, I listened to the records and committed so many songs to memory and was completely enchanted when I found, through song, my first Baltimore Oriole in my very own neighborhood.  I can still remember seeing that first flash of brilliant orange and even found their sling like nest in a big old Elm tree… ya that was like 50 years ago.

Lesley still remembers the oriole’s nest, like this one, from fifty years ago.  photo by Dendroica cerulea

So when I started to become serious with photography 10 years ago, it was just so natural for me to choose birds as one of my main subjects. My world has been so magical since resuming my  love of birds and nature the last 10 years. I have seen birds that I never dreamed I would and so many right under my nose. It is a joyous journey and I am so happy to be on it.

And Fred, inspired by Miss Dickey, has used her as a model to pass the spark on:

I remember no spark. The interest was always there in all kinds of nature. There was no one bird or one event that started me on my path. I think I was born with it. But it wasn’t until I was 8 in 1964 that it really started to grow.=A0 That was when my parents signed me up for the bird club at Children’s Museum in Jamaica Plain, taught by Miss (Miriam E) Dickey.  She fed the sparks into flames which have burned intensely ever since. She fed the desire to learn as much as I possibly could and helped me to see as many birds as I could. The first bird I identified on my own was in the big sugar maple tree in front of the house in West Roxbury shortly after starting in the bird club. A beautiful bird with iridescent purple and green on its feathers, a bright yellow beak, and fluttering its wings as it sang the most amazing complex song. It was the song that grabbed my attention and drew me outside from the bedroom. I memorized the bird, studying it with the binoculars my grampa had given me. Then I ran into the house and identified it from the posters hanging on my wall. My first bird. A European Starling. I was so excited. And so amazed that it was from Europe. The next time in bird club, Miss Dickey told me it wasn’t rare, which was a disappointment,but she did not squelch my enthusiasm, and congratulated me on my identification. Miss Dickey led us on weekly walks at the Arnold Arboretum or around Jamaica Pond and through Sargent’s Estate. Every Saturday AM during the school year. Amazing.

Miss Dickey was a model for me. I am very thankful for her. I have taught grades 3 and 9-12 for over 30 years. Inspired by her I have tried to plant new sparks, and fan already-existing ones into flames in my students and teen bird club members, by getting them out there into nature to experience it first hand, hoping that they will form a heart-connection with nature and a great curiosity about it.  It is a real joy to see this passion for birds (or any kind of nature) take off in their hearts and minds and faces, and sometimes careers.

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As we read the stories from birders, many were sparked by a mentor — an older friend or a parent.  Others were converted by the flash of a Blackburnian Warbler or Northern Cardinal.  Still others were young nature lovers who evolved into birders.  Doug C. has been thinking about this and summarizes it like this:

I find this particular thread on how people acquired their passion for birds to be extremely interesting.   I have always been curious how others got into birding and have asked many. Over the years, I have decided that this acquired passion can be placed into one of three general categories. To paraphrase William Shakespeare, people become dedicated birders by being born into it, or achieving it, or having it thrust upon them.

Some have been toting binoculars since they could walk and have gotten field guides as one of their earliest remembered gifts.  photo by USFWS

Some of us are born to birding.  We are born into a family that is already seized with this passion.  Some are the children of professional ornithologists or naturalists. Some are children to parents who are already dedicated amateur birders.Because these people have been studying birds all through their peak learning years, they are often the most accomplished among us.

Some of us achieve birding.  My Lois is one of those.  A new feeder in the back yard brings in birds one has never seen before and curiosity takes over.  When a person enters birding by achieving it quite often results in it being difficult to know the exact moment when the passion took over.  They start trying to find out what the yellow bird picking at the thistle is, and before they know it they are standing in the rain at the Pipe line road in Panama. The transition is slow but sure and ones’ life has changed.

Gerry Cooperman and I fall into the third category.  We had birding thrust upon us. His conversion took place 9 years before mine but is eerily similar.  The bird he saw through the scope was in a plowed field and was a Killdeer. My experience was also through another’s scope and it occurred on a beach and was a Ruddy Turnstone.  In both cases it was a revelation.  We stepped away from the scope knowing that our lives had changed in a fundamental and profound way.  We were blind but now could see.

An interesting note on my first birding encounter was that the two birders who took me out for the first time at one point became excited and directed me to look at the bird in the scope. “Look at the bill” they encouraged me, “Look at that big black bill.”  It was a rather plain looking plover and although I knew it was exciting by their reaction, I didn’t think it matched my stunning Ruddy Turnstone.  The Turnstone turned me to birding but I also got a Wilson’s Plover as a bonus that I have only appreciated in later years.

Stuart W. was one who began young and has been at it, off and on, for six decades:

Where does it begin?  One of my earliest memories is being held up by my  mother to see a bluebird or robin’s nest in a tangle of leaves next to the back door of our house in Plymouth. Then, as a little boy, I chased robins  across the yard with a salt shaker because I’d been told I could catch one if I could only put salt on its tail.  We moved to Sudbury when I was ten, during an invasion of Evening Grosbeaks that lasted a couple of years or more, and they would mob the feeder I had outside my bedroom window (I also remember a one-legged Chickadee that showed up for at least two years running.)  The next year, in 1959, my father drove me to Concord to see the Hawk Owl that appeared in a mid-town parking lot that winter – the last life bird of the great Ludlow Griscom.  It’s been an erratic trajectory, but one I’ve been on for sixty years.

Walt W. likewise has a lifetime of observing nature, the wonders as well as the environmental changes:

Walt has a 1947 Peterson field guide that he used as a youngster in Ohio.

As a child growing up in Ohio in the ’40s, I was lucky in having fields right behind my house. My lifelong interest in nature was sparked one day as I sat spellbound in a school auditorium watching a live snake show! While I began my nature interest by collecting snakes & other reptiles, my fascination with nature eventually spread to the rest of the natural world, including birds. (I still have a rare 1947 copy of Peterson.) For many years I kept a diary of my nature observations & jaunts which included pencil sketches in the margins.

Although I moved to MA many years ago, I still return occasionally to my Ohio hometown & there to revisit the center of my youthful world–the woods, creeks, & pond at the local golf country club. Little did the golfers realize what a natural paradise existed beyond the greens & fairways! I mapped & named the places where my discoveries were made–Snake Bank, Turtle Peninsula, Oak Ridge, Salamander Creek, Fern Glen, etc. Although much has changed in the years since I roamed this wonderful place, there have been occasional delightful surprises during my visits.

On one return in the summer of 1993, I discovered, to my considerable distress, that a maintenance road had been cut right through the middle of “my” beloved woods (a big island of trees surrounded on all sides by the grassy fairways). But a pleasant surprise awaited me that day! I quote from my notes: “In & around a clearing along the road where tall dead beeches & debris piles existed, there was a concentration of birds: a  Wood Pewee singing from an exposed dead branch; a Carolina Wren calling loudly while searching through the low cover; a flock of both adult & juvenile American Robins on the road itself; Common Grackles; a raucous Blue Jay; American Goldfinches; an American Crow; a pair of Mourning Doves also on the road; Tufted Titmice; a flock of Cedar Waxwings taking flight. The highlight was a family of Red-headed Woodpeckers! The adults were working the dead trees, periodically calling & carrying food to the dark-headed young following them.” Unfortunately, sometime later the entire woods was replaced with a practice green! A sad ending.

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