A while back on a flying trip, I was at low altitude on approach to land at Austin-Bergstrom International Airport in Texas. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a black flash, which then quickly disappeared under the nose of the airplane, followed by an audible thud on the left side of the fuselage. “Sh*t”, I said out loud as I briefly scanned the engine instruments, saw that everything looked ok, and completed the landing without incident. It was something I’ve experienced too many times throughout my flying career – a bird strike. After landing, an exterior inspection of the airplane confirmed what I have long viewed as one of the biggest threats to landing aircraft; the bird bounced off the side of the fuselage and went down the intake of the left engine. Thankfully, the engine tolerated the ingested bird and kept running, but some of my colleagues over the years haven’t been so fortunate. “I hate birds” was the last thought that I remember as I walked away from the blood-spattered airplane.

Back at home the next morning, after the trip was over, I took my customary mug of coffee and sat down in my rocking chair for my normal morning routine of reading and so on. At our old house, my chair was right next to a window overlooking the back yard. A minute or two after I sat down, a noisy commotion interrupted the morning quiet, right outside the window. Looking to see what the source was, I saw a bunch of little birds squabbling over a suet feeder, which had been placed on a planting hook just outside the window. Dumb noisy birds. I hate birds. And where did this suet feeder come from? As it turned out, my well-intentioned wife put the suet feeder there, thinking I might like to listen to the cute chirpy birds (her words) while I sat in my chair. Ugh. As I looked out the window and saw freshly deposited bird poop on my truck in the driveway, I wondered if the neighbors would get upset if I put a stick of dynamite under that suet feeder. No, that wouldn’t do. Maybe a pellet gun. Yeah, a pellet gun. That would be quieter, and much more satisfying. Pop! Pop!Haha, take that, evil birds!

When we moved to our new house over the summer, we were greeted by…you guessed it…birds. Lots of birds. With the bay nearby, farm fields, and a wooded area at the back of the property, we found ourselves in the middle of a little bird haven. Big birds, little birds, all kinds of birds, from hawks to hummingbirds to woodpeckers, turkeys, sandhill cranes, songbirds, and the occasional owl. On top of that, the previous owners of the home had built up a little bird area in the middle of the backyard, with a little pond and a few plants, to which we added a birdbath and a few feeders (in spite of my silent objections). Target practice, I thought to myself. At least I had a garage now to keep them from bombing the vehicles. Stupid noisy birds.

Not long after, I ran across an article in my normal course of reading claiming that watching and listening to birds was beneficial for mental well-being. I was skeptical, to say the least. Listening to birds? Boo-rring. At the same time, I knew that my view of birds was distorted by a couple of decades of viewing them as not much more than an occupational hazard. And, since it seemed that we had just moved into the middle of bird-opolis, I decided that I’d attempt to reframe this contentious relationship that I had with birds. So, I downloaded one of those bird identification apps, sat down on the back patio with a beverage and listened up.

After sitting for a bit, I started to notice the many nuances of the bird songs around me. It was interesting, I had to admit. The turning point, though, came when I heard the cooing of a mourning dove behind me. Turning around to look, there it was, on the roof of the house, just a few feet from where I was sitting. It was nothing special to look at – small and kind of a dull brown color. It’s cooing song, though, was the sound of childhood; I remembered many times on my grandparents’ farm in Illinois, exploring the fields and climbing the hay loft in the barn, while the mourning doves sang their songs around me. It did, indeed, bring about a sense of calm and well-being, besides being a catalyst of happy memories. OK, fine, bird; you win this round. A few moments later, I heard what sounded like a really large bee in the flower bed next to the patio. But it wasn’t a bee; it was a hummingbird. Actually, it was several hummingbirds. I had to admit, watching the way they could move in any direction almost instantly as they fed was pretty cool. Birds=2, me=0. What was this that was happening? Was I actually enjoying these birds?

As the summer went on, I kept listening to the birds and using my app to see what types of birds were around. I learned to recognize a few species, and a couple of different bird songs. Within the last couple of weeks, the last of our resident hummingbirds departed for the season, which actually made me a little sad. I had come to enjoy seeing the charismatic little boogers flitting around the flower bed, and found myself looking forward to seeing them again next year. In the meantime, we decided to keep stocking the feeders and to put out a heated birdbath for the winter, so our remaining resident birds will continue to visit us. Will I become a die-hard bird watcher? Probably not. But, I figure that a little softening up around the edges in my relationship with birds won’t hurt me. All I really had to do was widen my perspective a little, and consider what is good and beautiful about our winged friends. Perhaps this is a lesson that I can apply in other areas as well. In the meantime, I’d like to ask a small and mutually beneficial favor of my newfound bird friends: can we please agree to stay away from each other near the airport?

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