The Backyard Bird Chronicles

by Amy Tan

Exploring that creek gave me joy similar to reading and drawing in the solitude of my room. It was pleasure without criticism, without the expectation it had to serve a future productive purpose. It was a refuge from the overwhelming craziness

Her curiosity and exuberance over so many things brought me back to that time in my childhood when I crouched and touched plants and animals, when I turned things over to see what was underneath, when I happily spent hours lost in curiosity and exploration, and was never satiated. I may not have asked endless questions aloud, but as a kid in nature, I wondered about everything.

“intentional curiosity,” what leads us to deep observation and wonderment.

Questions that beget more questions are the fertile spores that can lead you deeper into the forest.

I also think my impulse to observe birds comes from the same one that led me to become a fiction writer. By disposition, I am an observer. I want to know why things happen. I need to feel the gut kick of strong emotions. I am drawn to see details, patterns, and aberrations that suggest a more interesting truth. I am obsessive and can spend months doing research that I may never use, but to me it is time well spent.

After a minute, the hummingbird shot up into the oak tree. He had remained on the hand feeder for forty-five seconds. Or maybe my excitement had lengthened the actual duration of that moment, one that altered my life.

Was he curious? Was he being aggressive, warning me that he owned the feeder? Whatever his meaning, he had come back. He had acknowledged me. We have a relationship. I am in love.

Such heartbreak comes with love and imagination.

I am controlled by birds.

My view of seasons no longer follows the Earth’s spin axis. Spring, Summer, Fall, and Winter have been replaced by Spring Migration, Nesting Season, Fledging Season, and Fall Migration.

I hope I don’t ever come across as a smart ass. I have a long way to go before I am qualified to be one.

I have heard experienced birders call the Lesser Goldfinch a “trash bird” because it is so common and numerous. I heard others call a House Sparrow a “junk” bird, an invasive, like the European Starling. I understand the antipathy. Invasive birds usurp habitat and resources. But I can’t help but feel discomfort.

every bird is a good bird to see, even the ones I see all the time.

I think they discover by happenstance what in their expanding world is fun to do, just like I did as a kid wading through the creek. Part of the fun is discovering what’s fun.

The popularity of my birdbaths feels like the reciprocation of love.

I don’t feel indifferent to any creature struggling to survive. I think my distress over theirs is a good thing.

I am always happy to find exceptions to what I hastily judged to be the rule. Nature abhors a generalist.

There: a Great Horned Owl. Omigod. A rare deity in daylight. Invisible at night.

To all the birds in my backyard. If only you knew what I see in each of you. If only you knew how much I love you.