Bird Watching

My grandfather loved  birds.  I didn’t get the appeal at the time.

Once, while driving the hour and a half between home and college, I tried to engage this quiet man in conversation by asking, “Hey, what do you call those black birds on the side of the road?  The ones with the red wings?”

He replied:  “Red-winged black birds.”

We drove in silence for another 45 minutes.

Today, 30 years later and 26 years after his death, I finally understood the appeal.

I’m on Maui for some ocean therapy.  I walked down to the beach early this morning, before it got hot and crazy.  As I was walking home, I saw about a dozen little green birds with white circles around their eyes.  I couldn’t wait to get back to my condo and google what they were.  (Japanese White-eyes, as it happens).  In that moment, my grandfather’s interest in birds suddenly made sense.  I’ll always remember exactly where I was when I saw my first (second, third, fourth, and eleventh) Japanese White-eye. Just like I’ll always remember those red-winged black birds on the side of I-29.

I didn’t take a photo.  I was simply present with the little birds for a few minutes.  If I kept a bird log I could mark it down.   Or, you know, I could finally get back to writing.  

Turns out the Japanese White-eyes are an invasive species on Maui.  So, there's that.  

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