It doesn’t happen suddenly. At least it didn’t for me.
You live your whole life as a normal person, taking it all in. Appreciating, yet taking it for granted. But not really seeing it, or hearing them, for what they are.
It is a gradual process. First you see one. Then you might hear another. Or maybe there’s a whole group. Whatever it is, it makes you take notice, even though they’ve been right there, in your backyard all along. Right under your nose, or perhaps beak, so to speak.
There are things in life that are so common you simply don’t see them, or pay attention to them. Like the TV playing in the background, faces in a crowd, the taste of water, the smell of fresh air or the softness of a favorite sweatshirt.
Our senses tune things out because they are commonplace – everyday – and we don’t always pay attention to the everyday things in life.
Until that changes, in one way or another. For me it culminated with the birds in my backyard. For most of my life, I lived a parallel existence with these winged creatures. I knew they were there, but that is where it ended. They existed - nothing more.
But then, I started noticing. One morning, one chirp at a time. And one day I realized: the birds were singing. Their chorus of songs was a literal symphony waiting for me to hear.
I heard. Then I started looking. Who was singing such songs? What color were his or her feathers?
And so it began. Bird watching, or for me, more appropriately, bird listening. I am a bird groupie - one of the flock. Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. You might think I sound as crazy as a loon, but consider the birds in my backyard. They’re anything but crazy when they singsong their sing songs at 6:00 in the morning. That might sound like an alarm clock, and it might be, if it weren’t so joyous.
For me it started with one itty bit of a bird, who perched on a tree right outside my window one morning. He belted out his song like a troubadour: regal and unapologetic. He was so confident, I found a need to know what - or exactly who he was.
Turns out there is an app for that. I downloaded it and entered the professional world of bird listening.
My troubadour was a Carolina wren - well known for his small stature and large voice. I can personally attest to that.
Since then, I’ve heard more than 20 different species of birds in my backyard. And I’m learning to identify them. It takes a perceptive ear to differentiate between a tufted titmouse and a yellow rumped warbler, but now I’m just bragging - proud as a peacock you might say.
In noticing their songs, my eyes and ears have opened to other backyard wonders. The way the sunlight reflects off the grass carpet under the oaks. The way the wind moves the the leaves on the trees, causing them to dance. The tree branches, which serve as home and haven to not only the birds but other woodland critters. Even the harsh and loud caws of the American crow contribute to the mix (and then some). My backyard is beautiful. It has been all along.
This may all seem new to me, but it isn’t new. The birds have been there, all along, creating their synchronized chorus - just waiting for me to notice. Or maybe not caring if I noticed at all. Maybe they create simply to create and me noticing their beauty is but a happy by-product manufactured by and for me.
Either way, it’s a gift. One I’ve overlooked for far too long. Call me a bird lady. Call me what you will, but feel free (as a bird) to join the flock. I’d welcome you under my wing.
But even if I end up flying solo, it will be an adventure. My eyes and ears are now open.
Tufted titmouse - chirp away!
Jill Pertler is an award-winning syndicated columnist, published playwright and author. Don’t miss a slice; follow the Slices of Life page on Facebook.
