Recognising the calls and songs of even a few species of birds can enrich one’s understanding of the world by revealing an almost forgotten aspect of the grammar of reality
This is a fabulous read by Steven Lovatt, on the Guardian from a couple of years ago. It gets at a lot of the joy I feel about birds.
'The Earth could hear itself think': how birdsong became the sound of lockdown
That reference to 'the grammar of reality' is something I've talked about before, perhaps even on here. Jenny Odell's How to Do Nothing was a magnificent read a few years back (probably a similar time to when the Guardian piece was published, actually, though I missed the latter at the time). She talks about the idea of enriching our layers of perception -- adding things that weren't there before [for us].
This has been my experience. The shift from maybe barely noticing birdsong at all, to hearing it, to not having to think about what a particular bird is -- the sound of a particular song becoming a direct referent for a particular bird. It's amazing to experience this shift, for multipel reasons.
Becoming aware of birds has been very enriching for other reasons. I have never lived somewhere where I have felt so connected to the area. Much of that, for me, comes down to birds. Knowing which areas are frequented by different birds. Seeing the hidden places where they nest. Forming relationships with the nonhuman inhabitants of the area.
That article above also contains some of the most magnificent descriptions of birds, and some of my favourite writing I've seen recently, hands down. Just:
Wren Tiny, brown and mouselike, with cocked tail. Bustles low down, too fast for the eye. A tuft of tumbleweed on the trellis. A perpetual motion meatball. Flight direct, whizzing, weightless, like a shuttlecock on a tiny motor. Sings repeatedly from cover, very loud, and tart, ending on a rapid trill.
It's incredible. 'Perpetual motion meatball.'
Blackbird Dark of feather and mien. Breeding males black with marigold bill and eye-ring. Females leaf-litter brown with lemony bill and an undercoat of speckles on the belly. Emits tetchy clucks, hysterical rattles and a sinister ventriloquial whistle. Spring song is glorious – rollicking and woozy. Spot them on aerials at dusk.
More at the link. I have ordered his book.
