for finding birds. But think about
it for a minute. On the prairie, we
can make all kinds of squeaking
and spishing sounds until birds
pop up out of the grass. It’s harder
to make all those funny noises in
the suburbs, where we know that
people are probably listening and
laughing. In the jungle, if a bird
won’t come out of the thicket, we
can crawl in after it. In the suburbs,
if we crawl into someone’s shrubbery after a bird, we’re likely to get
arrested. Out in wild habitats, we
can aim our binoculars and telescopes in all directions. In the suburbs, that interesting bird may be
perched in front of a window that’s
a little too interesting, so we always
have to be careful where we aim
our optics. Suburban birding has its
own unique challenges, and I never
fully realized that until now.
Kimberly and I have been living on our current street for almost
three years, and many of the neighbors know us as “the bird people,”
so I’m not self-conscious about
wandering around with my binoculars. But recently, walking these
streets, I’ve been thinking about the
birds I’m missing. Hidden away
in fenced-in yards and secluded
gardens are birds that I won’t see or
hear, birds that will go undetected.
Our circle of neighbors includes
a young family, John and Tiffanie
and their seven-year-old daughter,
Delaney, living down the block
from us. We had met them before,
but we started talking more often
after Delaney began to develop
a serious interest in birds. Her
second-grade class had completed
a unit on nature, and Delaney had
shown a flair for drawing birds.
Now she wanted to learn all about
them. Her enthusiasm was affect-
ing her parents as well. They
bought a copy of my bird field
guide, and we gave them a few of
my other books. Happy to have
the chance to help beginners, we
thought we could teach them a few
things about birds and nature. Ulti-
mately, though, they taught us the
most important things.
