I’m not a birder. I don’t even play one on TV. If it eats rodents or other birds, I’ll give it more than a passing glance. Okay, if it’s a kestrel, I’m intrigued: all that fight wrapped up in a tiny, graceful package. But I don’t carry binoculars; I have to rely on the kindness of strangers (or my father-in-law, mother-in-law, or husband) for their binoculars .
Every once in a while, though, I look out the window and see a bird I don’t see every day (I see crows, scrub jays, and robins every day). Years ago, when we lived two houses down, it was a northern flicker. Tephra and I raced from window to window, hunting the wild flicker, Tephra with ears flattened, me with Sibley Guide to Birds open, seeking the right page before my prey disappeared. Flickers are woodpeckers with tan and black striped backs, gray heads, and white rumps that flash the observer as the bird flies away. I think I actually called Chris to tell him about the flickers. I do know that he said something like, “Oh, a flicker. Yeah, they’re often in our yard.” Since that day, I’ve seen a flicker every month or so in our neighborhood. Undoubtedly, a keener birder would see them more often, but that’s not so bad for a dedicated non-birder.
Today, once again, I added a bird to my repertoire. This time, it was a varied thrush, a bird whose song I’ve recognized for years but that I’d never seen. I stood at the front door, again with Tephra, watching the pair of bright orange and black birds, Sibley in hand. For a non-birder, I really do like thrush song, as does Tephra. When I told Chris about my sighting, he said, “You’ve never seen one before? I’ve seen four or five in the last month, although I’d never seen them right here before that.” I guess I really need to open my eyes more often.