Category Archives: Bird Art

Ruffling Feathers

Beloved birders,

Here’s an indication of my mood:

Print by Kathryn Lancashire, 2017. Check out her artwork. She paints the best birds!

I had the good fortune of meeting the awesome artist/designer Kathryn Lancashire on Twitter, and bought her most recent print a few weeks ago when she announced that all proceeds would go to Planned Parenthood. I love everything about this print, from the pussy hat to the bird to the message. Indeed — now is the time to ruffle some feathers.

I am utterly afraid for this world, and our natural habitats in particular. News tends to make me physically ill, so I’m doing the only thing I know how to do: having difficult conversations, supporting organizations I care about who are doing meaningful work. I’m also spending as much time as I can doing the things I care about — namely, birding and immersing myself in art that I find thought-provoking, beautiful, hilarious, and, yes, difficult.

This morning we headed north of the city and saw FIVE snowy owls. Two of those I managed to spot on my own. Interspersed with the owls were numerous flocks of snow buntings, little white-winged wonders. A little further afield we saw rough-legged hawks, both dark and light morphs, and further still I noticed a flock of something or other which was most likely BOHEMIAN WAXWINGS, but none of us could say that with 100% certainty. I like getting full frontal views of my favorite birds, so I guess I will keep looking. And that’s how it always is with birding: you see the bird you want to see when you’re meant to see it. Sometimes it’s as simple as that.

A few weeks ago, I thought I was meant to go to Amherst Island with the Toronto Ornithological Club to see a gazillion owls, but my body seemed to have other plans in store for me, which included a stomach bug and lots of nastiness, the details of which I will spare you. The owls didn’t happen because the body simply did what it had to do. How primitive life feels, sometimes. How utterly basic. But then once all is functioning once again, how miraculous it feels to be upright and energetic.

Last week I spent a day in Algonquin Park and mistook an American Goldfinch for a resplendent Evening grosbeak, and then mistook an Evening Grosbeak for an American Goldfinch about thirty minutes later. At least I’m consistently wrong about most birds I identify. But then again, five years ago I didn’t seem to know that either one existed, so there’s that. So healthy to be humbled, time and time again.

And yet, I did have an astonishing moment out birding this morning: we saw a woodpecker and my bird guru/guide immediately identified it as Downy, which is logical enough. But I took a closer look for some reason and noticed that the bill seemed to be thicker, in fact almost as long as the head is wide, and I ventured to disagree with the ID. “Uh… I think it’s a Hairy,” I said not-so-tentatively. And the guru looked again and indeed, it was a Hairy. Go figure. Who knew that identifying a (largely ubiquitous) Hairy Woodpecker would feel like something verging no the marvellous.

And so here we are in 2017. Ruffling feathers. In the best possible ways.

Hello Mincing Mockingbird (Bring on 2017!)

Beloved Birders,

For those of you following me on Twitter, you might know that I had a momentary, yet profound crisis in November when I realized that the Sibley wall calendar did NOT have a 2017 iteration. I’ve lived with the Sibley calendar since 2010, roughly when my birdy nerdy ways began, and couldn’t really imagine how I’d cope without one. In my mind, David Sibley can do no wrong (except for that minor misstep when he chose the CANADA GOOSE as the September bird, and my birthday month began on the wrong note), and his calendar has become a critical part of my home-office decor. I searched for a replacement for the Sibley and eventually settled upon an Audubon calendar, but let’s face it, it wasn’t SIBLEY.

Yesterday, I went to my mailbox to find the most amazing gift: a MINCING MOCKINGBIRD wall-calendar by Matt Adrian, whose bird art blows me away. Check out this majestic Snowy:

Matt Adrian's Snowy Owl. From the Mincing Mockingbird wall calendar.

Matt Adrian’s Snowy Owl. From the Mincing Mockingbird wall calendar.

Now imagine a calendar with 12 such glorious images. And that’s what I received from a friend in NJ when I was least expecting it. In a way, the gift summarizes 2016: unexpected gifts in the midst of, well, all sorts of, world politics which started resembling a dystopian world more and more.

But in the midst of everything, there were extraordinary highlights:

  • A trip to Israel, where I met my wonderful relatives and their 45+ feline creatures and realized that my marriage can be summed up by the phrase “the steppe buzzard and the little bee-eater.”
  • A pair of hand-knit socks, made from wool called BLUE TIT, no less, from an amazing new acquaintance on Twitter
  • an introductory ballet class, where I move in fantastically clunky ways, but every so often I sense a glimmer of grace
  • an ornithology class (I’m four chapters in and currently learning the difference between pennaceous and plumulaceous feathers) which saved me on election night since I had the luxury of choosing theropod dinosaurs over the alarming and depressing results trickling in on my computer screen
  • an owl-shaped soap-on-a-rope
  • an unexpected warbler party at the banding station; watching my friends band a Snowy owl in the wild
  • multiple bird-chases that yielded a Gray Kingbird, a Lark Sparrow, among other highlights
  • wearing my binoculars more than ever before
  • seeing my first Pileated woodpecker and discovering the unexpected loss of no longer having a nemesis bird
  • watching my nephew learn to walk, “talk,” and grow 12+ teeth
  • driving the backroads in Southeastern Arizona and developing a rather keen fondness for taxidermy

It wasn’t all rosy: there were losses, from which I’m still reeling, painful rejections, spectacular failures of all and every persuasion, but that is pure evidence of living, putting myself out there, again and again.

This world is a truly strange and wonderful place, forever surprising, often devastating, and endlessly fascinating. And though I’m a little sad to retire my Sibley calendar, I’m entirely ready for the Mincing Mockingbird. Bring on 2017!

 

A Chicken, a Flicker, Roger Tory Peterson & Me

Beloved Birders,

I must left you all hanging yesterday when I told you that I bought a painting of a chicken, and forgot to share it with you. Hope you didn’t lose sleep over it. In any event, here is the Chicken, painted by the lovely Dawn Stofer of Denman Island. You’ll be happy to know that when I purchased said bantam chicken, I was very appropriately clad in my chicken T-shirt purchased at Shelburne Farms in Vermont. Serendipity? Or maybe the chicken stars were aligned that day. In any event, here is the masterpiece which makes me very very happy:

Bantam series 18, by Dawn Stofer

Bantam series 18, by Dawn Stofer. Embarrassingly terrible photography by yours truly. 

Chickens aside, I just learned that today is the birthday of Roger Tory Peterson, bird god extraordinaire. He would have been 108 today. I think of the great RTP every time I see a Northern Flicker because I know that was his favorite bird, and it happens to be mine too (or one of my 20 favorites). I’m enamored of the way the flicker wears his cacophonous polka-dotted & striped plumage with confidence; would that I had such assurance in my choice of dress. Seriously — a woodpecker trapped in a fashionista’s body.

But what I marvel at most is that Peterson — the man who had traveled the world and seen the most exotic species imaginable — still loved the common, ubiquitous flicker best. It’s the loveliest way of reminding me that the greatest, most exciting natural world is the one right outside our window and that there’s never an excuse not to pay attention. Thanks for the reminder, RTP, and happiest of birthdays. You enriched the world of birds (and, by extension, my world, too) immeasurably.

Families

Beloved Birders,

There’s something ridiculous about my new wall art, this new unwieldy poster of 740 North American Birds that we have just hung.

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Designed by the hip folks at PopChart Lab in Brooklyn, the poster makes me smile every time I walk by (which is multiple times a day because it hangs on a wall around the corner from our bathroom, which was a coup in and of itself, because my husband had originally hoped to relegate it to my study, aka: the Bird Horror room, as he sometimes refers to it, lovingly, of course). And yet there’s also something bizarre about the poster. It’s not a teaching tool the way by any stretch of the imagination, and the birds are recognizable to me only because I know them (or most of them, or know where to look to get more complete images of them). This is not a poster for the novice birder, but it’s poster for the bird lover at any stage of the process.

BackyardBirds_Poster_E

Compare it to Sibley’s backyard birds (which also, for those of you following my interior decorating reports, hangs in our home, to the left of my desk). Sibley’s birds are excellent teaching tools, for their detail, nuance, and the important addition of females as well as males.

Needless to say, my husband’s first question was, “ANOTHER BIRD POSTER?” Do we really need another didactic poster of birds to add to our already zoologically-heavy interior?

I’m not sure whether I’ve shared that my husband has more than a passing thing for elephants, and “our” collection numbers in the hundreds, and I put our in quotation marks, because isn’t that what happens in a marriage? My becomes ours, and inevitably the idiosyncratic kitsch collected by one’s spouse becomes an extension of one’s own. And suddenly one finds oneself inhabiting a zoo and has no idea quite how one got there, but the most shocking thing of all is that one finds it comfortable, and after a while, it’s just home. The place I’d usually rather be. (Except when I’m birding, which is always where I’d rather be. Oh, thoughts on home are complicated around here.)

I had no answer to my husband’s (somewhat reasonable) question about the need for another bird poster, other than I just liked it and wanted it and knew it would make me happy, and it does all of those things. But What I hadn’t realized is that the PopChart poster, by virtue of its composition by bird family is making me see birds in an altogether different way. It changes things to remember that an American Coot, though it hangs out with ducks, is actually a rail and belongs with their kin. Seeing finches and crossbills and their allies lumped together forces me to zone in on their feisty bills, and having the Gallinaceous birds congregating together is just plain bizarre and reminds me that birds are so very OTHER than humans, so very wonderfully strange, and that the strangeness might be the very reason I got sucked into this extraordinary avian world in the first place. (I know that field guides are arranged by family, too, but what a difference it makes to see them all in one place–what a world it feels like.)

And I think of my own family, with its bizarre, often inexplicable characters, most of whom I don’t exactly understand, but whose company nevertheless completely delights me.