Can Birding Change the World?
Here's how:
Dear Friends,
It's the first day in a week that I've been able to roll outside. I pull to the edge of the patio, so the sun hits my jeans, but stops short of my bare arms. I'm thankful for the warmth even as it portends a brutal summer: I simply wasn't built for the Arctic winds that sweep unimpeded across the Great Plains to my Central Texas doorstep. I recline my backrest, thinking I have at least fifteen minutes before the sun reaches my arms.
Suddenly, a thirty-strong flock of White-winged Doves takes flight. There's a thunderous applause of wings, then the birds arc southward, their silhouettes cutting across a clear blue sky. I wonder if I'm the one who spooked them, but then I catch sight of the culprit: an accipiter hawk slicing deftly through the trees. Could it be the same one that got momentarily trapped in our rosebush—an ingenious ploy, perhaps, of those devious House Sparrows? Whatever the case, it's leaving empty-handed, again. I fumble for the appropriate emotion: relief for the safe, or woe for the hungry?
I shift my eyes to the birdfeeders, bustling with chickadees and goldfinches. I begin to cue up a podcast but am interrupted by a flash of movement that disappears into the sage, just below the feeders. I stare into the shrubs, eyes wide to detect the slightest twitch amongst the branches. At the first quiver of leaves, I lock onto a small, dark shape, hopping furtively from twig to twig until it drops to the leaf-littered ground. It's an olive green bird, no larger than a sparrow, jabbing at the earth with its thin, sharp bill. Astonished, I realize it's an Orange-crowned Warbler!
My awe might seem excessive: the Orange-crowned is probably the drabbest warbler, and in the shadows, it's even duller. It's also one of our most common winter birds. I've seen it foraging this very spot twice in the past week. But, that was through the back window, not out here on a cloudless afternoon, the bird within eight feet of my naked eyes. I can even make out the sparkle in its own beady eyes!
Watching the warbler allays, if only slightly, the cruelty and chaos that have dominated the last month and a half. The sacked agencies, the scrapped environmental protections, the planned gutting of Medicaid and SNAP to offset trillions in tax cuts for the wealthy—these pressures seem distant, almost fuzzy. Incredibly, this tiny, unassuming bird has slackened their grip on my psyche, permitting in their place a profound gratitude and wonder.
It is not, however, a guiltless joy. Because I also recognize that our collective actions, political and otherwise, imperil this very warbler, and innumerable other species. Species integral not merely to my mental health, but to my identity as a human animal that evolved in the natural world. How can I relish this moment while destruction rains on American life? How can I truly enjoy this warbler when both she and I are threatened?
But, dwelling on every doom to the point of paralysis serves only a politics of disengagement. What we need is clarity of mind. We need our ability to distinguish the essential from the noise, to separate what we can do from what we cannot control. We need the spirit of love and motivation that powers great causes. And birds, in their boundless beauty, their omnipresence, offer respite from the barrage of terrible news. They refuel our exhausted brains and bodies. They foster community.
The Power of Birding in Community
(Originally appeared as an audio essay in my October 2024 Conversation with Cat Fribley)
My birding journey has been filled with surprises. I didn’t realize, for example, that the simple goal of learning the songs and calls of my backyard birds would lead to multi-day bird-a-thons on the Texas coast and beyond. But I also didn’t know just how many of the extraordinary avian species that I traveled miles to see could actually be seen from our home—some sixty-four and counting.
I didn’t anticipate what a monumental challenge it would be to learn and memorize scores of bird sounds. But I also never imagined that one day I’d be able to identify birds by their mere flight style, or size and shape: a Blue Jay by its stern, staccato flaps, or a Northern Harrier by its aimless wobbling over fields. I never predicted I’d be able to identify a Loggerhead Shrike by its big-headed appearance on a power line, or a Sharp-shinned Hawk by the slighter projection of its head and the square cut of its tail.
I didn’t know that birds would revive my dormant creativity, or that they would inspire, in the wake of losing my ability to play music, a zest for life, and a newfound passion for writing. Perhaps the biggest surprise of my birding career was the way that birds led me back into community with people. First through field trips and classes with Travis Audubon, then through Birdability.
In the beginning I viewed birding as a solitary act, best done alone or with one other person. It was a way to unwind, to meditate, to re-center myself in nature. And of course this remains true. But it’s also true that birding in a group offers a host of joys that birding solo does not.
First, there are limitless opportunities to learn. On a given walk I may be birding alongside folks who have been birding for ten, twenty, even sixty years! That’s a vast amount of knowledge, and many birders are pleased to share what they know. It’s also thrilling to notice something new about a particular species, or to witness some interesting behavior that surprises everyone, including the most expert birders.
Birding in a group also transforms the experience into a team effort. The responsibility of identification is shared amongst the group, and the group is stronger for it. It’s similar to how geese fly in a V-formation to conserve energy: together, the flock can fly higher, and farther, than they can individually. And, in my experience, birding with a team does not mean that anyone works less. In fact, everyone works harder, brings more knowledge and attention to bear, and takes the time to impart what they know, so that everyone becomes a better birder through the process.
Of course, there are also social benefits, the camaraderie of shared goals and interests, the joys of friendship, laughter, conversation. In this regard, birding with others manifests its greatest potential: the opportunity to create a wholly equitable, inclusive, and accessible community. It is a space where we can re-envision and thus re-create at a minute scale a world that accommodates our needs, that celebrates and reflects our true diversity, a world in which everyone can thrive. If we can achieve this in a group of fifteen folks on a trail, can we do it elsewhere?
But can’t we foster this microcosm of change in any group activity? What about group meditations, sports, yoga, workshops, classes? The truth is, I think we can, and should, aim for inclusion in all of these spheres. Still, for a variety of reasons, I think that birding presents an ideal space for us to practice inclusion and equity.
It’s something that everyone can do, and yet no two people will do it in exactly the same way. It’s an adventure, a quest, an activity that calls us to show up in mind, body, and spirit. It’s an endeavor in which each person is both student and teacher. It’s also a healing space, a space where we can disconnect from the superficial priorities of our society and ground ourselves in the land, in the ecosystems that give us life. When we bird, we deepen our appreciation of nature, we cultivate peace and presence, we shift our perceptions of what truly matters.
So, Where Do We Start?
Each month I plan to share some small actions we can all take to ensure a better future for ourselves, and our extended feathered family. I am under no delusions that these actions alone can reverse the arc of cruelty and destruction that we face. But, they are a start. And, as a recovering procrastinator, I can attest that the hardest part is usually getting started. My birding journey also speaks to the power of small steps: how the simple practice of watching birds outside my window became an all-consuming passion, one that led me here, in conversation with you.
Yes, we are in the throes of a dire situation, but we can still center our work in self-care and gratitude—even joy, if we dare.
Here are my next steps. Join in any capacities you can!
Switch off the Lights for Migrating Birds: Most birds migrate at night using navigational tools that are impaired by light pollution. But, we can help our nocturnal-migrating friends by turning off all non-essential lights between 11 PM and 6 AM each night from March 1st through June 30th. Spread the word by emailing your neighborhood listserv or posting on Nextdoor. You can also get a beautiful yard sign from Travis Audubon! Learn more about Lights Out. Not in Texas? Contact your local Audubon chapter for guidance.
Contact Your Representatives: A friend recently turned me on to 5 Calls. The app streamlines the process of contacting your representatives and speaking up about the issues that matter most to you. You'll find scripts on a wide range of causes along with phone numbers for your elected representatives. It also shows how many of your fellow citizens have advocated for each particular issue, which can be quite heartening! Download the 5 Calls app.
Support Living Wages for Community Care Attendants: Texas is facing a severe caregiving crisis, and low wages are largely to blame. Our current base wage for community care attendants is an abysmal $10.60 per hour. Though both the House and Senate budget bills would raise the rate to $12, this is still far from a living wage. If you live in Texas, please urge your state representatives to support Senator Hall's budget rider that would increase the base wage for all attendant care programs to $17. Contact your Texas representatives!
Read a Book that Inspires You: Now more than ever, we need new perspectives, and hope. We need to hear from the brilliant minds who are reimagining the possibilities of our world, and we need to know that our efforts, albeit small and localized, can amount to real change. Birding to Change the World by Trish O'Kane is an excellent place to start. You'll be astonished by what a motley group of neighbors can accomplish when they bring their disparate skills and experiences to bear! I also recommend Saving Time by Jenny Odell, a book that calls us to see beyond the capitalist perception of time that dominates our lives.
Join a Bird Walk: Travis Audubon offers an impressive array of bird outings each month. Check the Travis Audubon calendar for current offerings. Note: any trips with Birdability in the name are accessible and co-led by yours truly! Join us if you can. I'd love to bird with you! And if you don't live in Austin, there are Audubon chapters and Birdability volunteers across the country leading bird walks that you can join. Or, you can form your own group: invite your friends, and head to a local park!
Enjoy the birds,
Eric
agree with Cyndy Forbes... great inspiration to me as well. Keep on. Love you. Pete McGee
This month's prose truly lifted my spirit, despite the dire message. Your writing is so pleasurable to read that it feels like a drink in the dessert. I appreciate your call to arms. It inspires me. Thank you!