My excitement was acknowledged by the rest of the team and matched by my dear friend Hunter, but I could feel a gap in emotions between me and the rest of the birders. What was earth-shattering to me was received warmly and casually by the more experienced birders…Should I feel silly in how hype I am? Am I wrong to feel this excited?! Are they wrong not to feel this excited!?

Scanning the horizon for more insane-looking birds, I saw a group of swiftly moving erratic sprites chasing each other. Looking through my camera’s telephoto lens & lacking binoculars, I could not snap a photo or discern what I was looking at. Frustrated, I suggested to my friend Hunter that we should ask the expert birders what they could be, but a few seconds after looking at the buzzing birds, he confidently declared, “Oh, those are swallows! Probably tree swallows.” His speed at identifying these impossible-to-see birds triggered skepticism.

“Are you sure…? We can barely see them!”

“Yes, I’m sure, they were one of the first birds my grandma taught me. She was a birder and gave me a bird book, and I always liked watching the swallows.”

I trusted him, and also suddenly distrusted everyone around me. How many secret birders were among me? How could everyone know exactly what these things were so quickly and easily?! Was everyone going birding without me all these years?………??

Even more so than feeling inexperienced, I felt worried… Birds were so cool, but who would match my excitement as I learned more about them? Should a novice birder stifle their excitement? Why does learning feel embarrassing when “catching up”? When will I get to be one of the birders whose pulse doesn’t erupt upon seeing a typical backyard bird?

I have done plenty of things alone (or with others who didn’t share my enthusiasm) throughout my whole life; I prided myself on how independent I could be considering my shy and anxious nature, so why was I hung up on feeling behind or alone in terms of… birding?

A year later,

I was working at Liberty State Park and was tasked with leading bird tours. I was nowhere near comfortable leading a birding group at first, and it showed. One gracious attendee offered IDs, sharing her knowledge about dabbling vs. diving ducks freely and without judgment. At the park, I progressed in my birding, but it wasn’t until moving to Arkansas that I became more serious as INDIGO BUNTINGS and tanagers propelled me outdoors.

In Arkansas, I found myself among a bunch of graduate students and academics who all happened to be great birders. I tagged along when I could, breaking the silence with my camera shutter and my “oos” and “aa”s whenever I saw Carolina Chickadees and Tufted Titmice. My friends received my ID questions/confessions of a common bird being a “lifer” unflinchingly with grace and normalcy. I did not feel as self-conscious of my excitement and skill as the years went on, and I also got to see what made them excited. In those moments, I would hold my breath watching the expert birders first freeze upon recognizing a call, then frantically scan the reeds and tree crowns. If successful, they’d leap with joy while I was still craning my neck desperately trying to see what got them going. When I would finally catch a glimpse of the birds inducing the experts’ glee, I was disappointed that I didn’t experience a similar exaltation. I didn’t really get why they were excited until the friends shared their reasons that pertained to their higher-level appreciation of ornithology. And though I understood the reasons, what excited the experts did not really light my fire. I met their explosive enthusiasm with an anticipatory but blank expression (unable to fake excitement just as they couldn’t fake it for me)– waiting in vain for the lightbulb to go off (it eventually did, years later!).

Returning home or being outdoors with friends who haven’t birded much, I noticed that I had become the relative “expert” who did not jump up and down when seeing a cedar waxwing. Recognizing the shift and how I felt, I tried to mirror my friend’s excitement, but at times, I would get self-conscious of how quickly I move along or the fact that I did not try to get a photo.

coming back to basics…

I find myself going through phases of growth and stagnation as a naturalist. I stopped for a period of time trying to find birds that I already knew. But a few weeks ago during migration, I re-evaluated what it means to appreciate the “known.” I got to show my friend a painted bunting — 2 days after I saw my first one, in the same tree, at the same site, during similar weather. The lighting was different, though, and the male’s feathers looked much less shaggy this time! I got a much better photo & appreciated how watching the same individual bird is an experience I never got before (aside from the wren that nested outside my window!!!)…

A few days after that, I took another friend birding to the same spot. We did not see the painted bunting, and while I was devastated, it underlined the ephemeral nature of being a naturalist. Enjoy the common now before they’re gone– whether it’s natural and part of migration, or due to anthropogenic impacts… I still left with a “lifer”- an American redstart, but when I think of that birding day, I think more of these cedar waxwings my friend pointed out above the creek. I had seen a million cedar waxwings before, but never a couple “kissing”! I took photos – probably the best of a cedar waxwing I ever got. My friend and I giggled and we shared in the joy of watching two pairs flitter about– a memory we both got to leave with and cite when others asked about our trip. The individual behavior of birds is something you can’t appreciate unless you watch a lot of them, and that’s something I am still learning! Our trip was a reminder that even in the “known” and “obvious”, there are opportunities for delight, wonder, and discovery…

zooming in to zoom out to zoom inside

The minute we stop getting excited over the common things is a point of inflection. This disengagement is peddled by the subconscious, but ultimately governed by our rational minds as we decide not to look, not to stop, and not to listen. The more we know, the easier it is to close ourselves off to learning. There’s been so many moments experts have missed things because they’ve seen it all 1,000 times… While it’s fun to go out with people of the same skill level in birding and botanizing, I think it’s a lesser appreciated gift to go birding and botanizing with people from all backgrounds. As an expert, your biases can be checked as beginners and intermediates pay closer attention to the ordinary; and as a beginner/intermediate, you start to see the bigger pictures of ecology. And perhaps best of all, even if you don’t see anything new or learn anything new….how ordinary was it to appreciate the abundance of common things (birds and plants that arose millions of years ago; species and populations navigating the ever-changing landscapes and streams of pollution; small, fragile creatures thriving and surviving in the wake of global change and massive existential uncertainty long enough, allowing the songbirds to sing for you and the milkweeds to diffuse their vanilla bubblegum scent to your nose) alongside someone else?

notwithstanding, just for fun, after all that………

here’s some unvetted, unauthorized notes on what excites my birding and plant friends based on their experiences lol

*not a plant