Some kids grow up transfixed by the animals living in the pages of National Geographic magazines. They say they’re going to grow up and be park rangers or veterinarians or zookeepers. They can name all sorts of birds or sharks or dinosaurs or monkeys and will start off conversations with strangers by announcing a fact about an animal that they know.
I was not that kind of child.
I got through kindergarten and dutifully learned the names of all of the animals I was taught, but I never endeavored to learn more about them. They just held no interest for me. I loved animals that I could hold and pet and hug because I knew them on an individual level. Asking me to be invested in the study of an animal I’d never meet was the equivalent of trying to get me to make an emotional connection with my times tables.
My Mimi used to have hummingbird feeders at her house. When one would come by and sip up that red sugar water, all the adults would raise a fuss and run to the window to look at it. I never understood the excitement. It was a bird. There were tons of them around. They didn’t do anything. They flitted in and were gone just as quickly. At least the lizards that lived on the back porch had the decency to stick around for a season.
I don’t remember ever having seen a cardinal or a bluejay until we moved into the house we’re in now. I’m sure I saw them, but I wasn’t paying attention, and I didn’t really care. But when the yard the birds were showing up in was mine, I guess I started taking notice of them.
I pointed cardinals out to my husband when I saw them, and didn’t understand when my excitement wasn’t reciprocated. “I saw them growing up all the time at my grandparents’ house.” Oh. Had I married one of those zoo kids?
I heard the woodpeckers before I saw them, but once I heard them, I started looking for them. Turns out they were all over the place in the canopy of my backyard.
One day, I saw a giant bird on top of the telephone pole by my driveway. I grabbed my camera and my longest zoom lens to try and get a better picture of it so that I could figure out what it was. I’d never actually seen a bird that massive. I understood how there were birds that could fly away with smaller house pets now. After deep consultation with my husband and the internet, we determined it was probably a red-tailed hawk. They’re pretty common around here, but I’d never seen one before.
On our Yellowstone trip, I rented a long wildlife lens for the last two days. I was hoping to catch a bear or a wolf. I didn’t get either of those, but I did get antelope, bison, and a coyote with a raven in its mouth. As we were leaving the park for the last time, we took a scenic turn-off to drive along the river just in case there was one more composition on that road that I could round out the trip with. I got a couple of shots with my 70-200mm lens, which is what I typically used for landscapes.
Right before we got back on the main road, we stopped for one last picture. And then I saw it: a bald eagle. I fumbled to get out the long lens and attach it to my camera without busting any of my equipment. I couldn’t believe we were in the right place at the right time to capture a bald eagle in a national park. What an incredible—why can’t I get this lens on? The guy at the shop said it was a little finicky but come on.
“Is it still there?” I called to my husband, who was filming it with his phone.
“Yeah.”
I finally got everything ready and looked up at the sky to find the eagle.
It was flying away. Moments later, it was gone. I had missed the image.
I was devastated. I was the one who had seen the bird and realized it was a bald eagle in the first place! And I didn’t get the shot? What an absolutely rancid note to end the trip on. I was genuinely upset for an hour afterward. I felt like a bad photographer; too busy messing with my gear to actually take the photo.
I installed a bird feeder in my backyard last week. Having never done something like that before, I didn’t realize that it would take some time for the birds that spend time in my yard to suss out this new source of food.
The day after I installed it, I went outside expecting to see it full of creatures, and instead it was as empty as an uncool suburban mall set for demolition. These birds keep disappointing me.
Yesterday, I was making my coffee and looked out the kitchen window. Every four seconds, a new bird was gliding on to the cage surrounding the feeder. They’d peck for a moment and leave with their booty.
I was thrilled to see them, even if they only stayed there for a moment.
....uncool suburban mall set for demolition... Your writing style itself is entertaining.