Think back to when you were interested in befriending another kid in high school. Did you chase them around all morning? No. That would freak them out. Instead, you might wander around in their vicinity, occasionally glancing their way but acting blase’. Your attitude projecting, "Nothing to see here. I'm just wandering around. Definitely not interested in getting to know you."
It's the same with birds. One of the keys to getting close to birds is not to care too much about getting close to them. Birds can read our body language. If you move quickly and stare at them, they will likely move away. A single misplaced footstep and a crunching leaf is all it takes to scare them off. You should not embody the intensity of a predator. Taking on the demeanor of a demure fan is the way to go.
I have had many close encounters with birds recently. Something seems to have changed, but I am not sure what it is. I suspect a subtle shift in my way of being has occurred that is beyond my conscious understanding. I have so many images of birds now that I no longer need more portraits. I am primarily out to enjoy the birds' company and to get to know them. As a result, I am more relaxed and move more slowly.
When I try to get close to birds, I consider imitating how herons move when hunting. They move so slowly that you can barely discern movement. Being still inside and out, moving slowly, minimizing direct eye contact, and knowing when to move are all important. Understanding context ties it all together.
Bathing birds seem to sense their vulnerability and are very wary. Preening birds on an elevated perch tend to be more relaxed and approachable, so I pay attention to preening birds.
I recently watched three redstarts streaming through the canopy of a Sugar Maple when one of them came to rest on a bare branch 10 feet away. Seeing a redstart sit still is rare. When she first landed on her new perch, she assessed her surroundings, so this was not a good time for me to move. I waited until she started preening, then slowly took baby steps toward her while she was actively preening. I held my camera up to obscure my face. She became progressively larger in my viewfinder. I could see she was watching me, but she was intent on preening and seemed relatively calm for such a hyperactive little dynamo.
I could see the beautiful symmetry in her primary feathers and the subtle yellow colors on her flank and tail. She held individual feathers in her bill and pulled them through, zipping the barbs back together again. She was tuning herself up before continuing her high-speed, acrobatic pursuit of insects.
I kept moving closer, 6 inches at a time, until I reached the 4-foot minimum focusing distance of my lens. She fanned her tail and suddenly doubled in size as she fluffed up her feathers and shook like a wet dog. She cast an occasional glance in my direction with her dark, starlit eyes.
I love moments like these when you're completely engrossed in an encounter and time ceases to exist. I had crossed a threshold and entered her world. My thoughts had disappeared as she filled my consciousness. When she disappeared in a flash, I came to my senses, looked around, and thought I had just experienced a hint of heaven. I had more spring in my step, and my thoughts were lighter. There had been a transmission of energy. We comprehended each other. She rebooted my mind.
The worldly demands that fill my days seemed far away, receding into mist. How could I leave the birds for a ticking clock and blinking screen?
Mary Oliver was well-versed in close encounters with wildlife and wrote about them in one of my favorite poems.
...I look; morning to night I am never done with looking. Looking I mean not just standing around, but standing around as though with your arms open….And now I will tell you the truth. Everything in the world comes. At least, closer. And, cordially. Like the nibbling, tinsel-eyed fish; the looping snake. Like goldfinches, little dolls of gold fluttering around the corner of the sky of God, the blue air.
I see more redstarts than any other migrant this time of year. This encounter highlights the value of being curious about common birds. Many birdwatchers invest a lot of time and energy into less common birds. They have a certain appeal, but you are less likely to get close to them in most instances.
Close encounters with common birds are a good way to build intimacy and empathy. This is where you can become familiar with their silhouette, subtle patterns in their plumage, and the underside of their tails. Sometimes, all you need to see is the underside of a tail to identify a bird. Magnolia Warblers (or "Maggies") are a good example of this. The tip of their tail is black, and when viewed from underneath, you can see a straight black line across otherwise white feathers. You will also come to know how they move and the character of their call note and song. The next time you see Maggie in the canopy, you will know an old friend is nearby.
We have a magic elm in one of our urban parks. Tiny flying ants hatch under the bark in the fall, and the warblers fixate on them and deftly pluck the tiny insects off the bark. They must eat thousands. The birds are so intent on eating that they let you get close. It is like they are at an all-you-can-eat buffet, and they are worried that other birds will gobble up all of the food.
I watched a Cape May, Tennessee, and Bay-breasted Warbler pick ants off a low-hanging horizontal branch on this tree. At one point, the Bay-breasted Warbler got too close to the Cape May, and a chase ensued. The Bay-breasted Warbler disappeared, and the Cape May returned to continue foraging.
Knowing these flying ants hatch out of this tree in the fall is valuable knowledge. Out of the tens of thousands of people who live in our community, only a handful know about the relationship between this tree, the ants, and the warblers, even though it is adjacent to a paved walking trail. The tiny birds flitting about at eye level ten feet away just do not seem to capture most people's attention. People walking by tend to be lost in thought. This is a heavy burden that cuts them off from the world.
Are you searching for your true self? Then, come out of your prison. Leave the little creek and join the mighty river that flows into the ocean. Like an ox, don't pull the wheel of this world on your back. Take off the burden. Wheel and circle and rise above the wheel of the world. There is another view.
Rumi
If you take the view that every bird is an unfathomable miracle, you can see them in a different light. Free your mind from the need to identify and make lists. Instead, come into the moment and allow your attention to deepen and appreciate this brief encounter where your life intersects with a fellow traveler. A tiny being on an epic journey. Many of the birds we see this time of year are juveniles. They are only a few months old, yet they can navigate by the stars and fly across the US and down to their wintering grounds in Central or South America.
Mysteries upon mysteries. The voices of birds speak to the voices inside us, prompting us to be true to our nature and speak with the same clarity of purpose.
Home again; down temporarily in the Jersey woods. Between 8 and 9 am, a full concert of birds from different quarters, in keeping with the fresh scent, the peace, the naturalness all around me. I am lately noticing the russet-back, size of the robin or a trifle less, light breast and shoulders, with irregular dark stripes-tail long- sits hunched up by the hour these days, top of a tall bush, or some tree, singing blithely. I often get near and listen, as he seems tame; I like to watch the working of his bill and throat, the quaint sidle of his body, and flex of his long tail. I hear the woodpecker, and night and early morning the shuttle of the whippoorwill - noons, the gurgle of thrush delicious, and meo-o-ow of the catbird. Many I cannot name; but I do not very particularly seek information. (You must not know too much or be too precise or scientific about birds and trees and flowers and watercraft; a certain free margin, and even vagueness -perhaps ignorance, credulity - helps your enjoyment of these things and of the sentiment of feather'd wooded, river, or marine Nature generally. I repeat it - don't want to know exactly, or the reasons why. My own notes have been written off hand in the latitude of middle New Jersey. but they describe what I saw - what appeared to me - I dare say the expert on ethologist, botanist, or entomologist will detect more than one slip in them.)
Walt Whitman
My way is to feed them in my urban garden. For example, there are a couple of blue jays that come by daily for nuts, mostly almonds and walnuts, but sometimes peacans, that I lay down for all the avians along with sunflower and pumpkin seeds. Sparrows come as do starlings and sometimes a raven or two.
Birds are wary of humans, and understandably so. I have gained their trust by allowing them to be. I also talk to all the birds. This week, blue jay landed within a yard of me.
A lovely piece -- thank you for sharing your wonderful insights, beautiful photos and for sharing the poetry of others: Oliver Rumi, Whitman . . .