Birds and Travel

and a reading update

Whenever I’ve traveled, I’ve noticed birds. But only recently have I sought them out. I never travel to “bird” and I take issue with using the word as a verb. Only birds can bird; humans can obsess over spotting them, but only perhaps BASE jumpers actually “bird.” Perhaps I’m reducing birds to flight, which is unfair to the flightless ones, but let’s face it; the flying and the singing are a big deal.

Amphibians are just as colorful as birds, and while there are “herpers”—which means people who search for amphibians and reptiles, not people who try to contract herpes—it is not as widespread a hobby or obsession, because colorful little jewels who constantly flap around and sing are terribly hard to ignore.

But most of us manage.

I’ve said before that I now appreciate the evening songs of the American Robin and the morning chorus of European Starlings and the sparrows who sing in the sun. When I was a teenager, the four A.M. chatter woke me, and I tried throwing bang snap toys from the neighborhood drugstore out of my window onto the sidewalk to discourage them. The birds were unfazed.

On vacation, birds can turn a dull day into an exciting one. My favorite day in London began with a trip to the Regency Cafe for a full breakfast, then to Kensington Gardens to walk to Buckingham Palace and see all the birds common to the city, but new to me. In Scotland, the landscape made it difficult to focus on birds, but I managed to see quite a few, from Hooded Crows and Eurasian Tree Sparrows at a rest stop picnic area, to White-Tailed Eagles soaring over the ocean while I drove the ring road around Skye.

Here are just a few birds that were new to me, that I saw often, and always appreciated:

House Martins

So abundant, and a little creepy, these swallow-like birds love nesting in human structures, thus the name. Why creepy? Perhaps its the black and white coloration, or the constant bustle and noise? They are not easy to photograph, and move so much that it was difficult for me to register their faces, with those tiny, almost invisible beaks. They’re lively and a joy.

The European Robin is more petite and shy than its proud, bold American cousin, but no less pleasant to encounter, with its lovely song and delightful red decolletage.

The European Goldfinch has a splash of red along with the familiar yellow that makes it stand out and draw the eye. These little grass hunters were wonderful to watch.

The Eurasian Chaffinch was often about. The striking shoulder stripe made them easy to spot. I caught this one with a snack.

Wagtails, Magpies, Jackdaws, Eurasian Blackbirds, and several kinds of crows and rooks made the day entertaining with their antics. Here on the east coast of North America, I see a lot of Blue Jays and Red-Winged Blackbirds, Fish Crows, Common Grackles, and American Crows. It was nice to meet their counterparts across the ocean.

Magpies were my favorite, always sassy and always around, brash and bright in their colors. We have magpies in the western side of the country, but I haven’t seen them, despite writing about one in Vyx Starts the Mythpocalypse!

The lovely cover art is by Kim Parkhurst.

What am I reading, lately?

The Last Report on the Miracles at Little No Horse, by Louise Erdrich was like reading a response to Death Comes for the Archbishop, another book I love. I needed to read Erdrich after being annoyed by Once There Were Wolves, which had characters exist for plot motivations; Erdrich writes people who live on the page, and in your memory long after you’re done reading. This one is no exception. As in Cather’s classic, it takes a lot for me to give a damn about a Catholic priest, and they both manage it.

Terrestrial History, by Joe Mungo Reed is an excellent if ultimately fatalistic look at imagined future through the lives of four family members; scientists, politicians, and astronauts all trying to save humanity from itself in a climate catastrophe. That’s not normally my bag, but this had compelling writing and characters, and isn’t a massive epic, it’s a short, evocative read that makes me want to seek out Reed’s other books.

The Get Off, by Christa Faust is the finale in her Angel Dare noir trilogy; the first took us through the world of porn, the second through MMA fighting, and this one to the rodeo circuit in the wild American west. No one writes noir like Faust, combining real people, fierce thrills, and humor in a tight little package that will stick with you a lot longer than eight seconds.

The Whispering Muse, by Sjón is another read that shows what a writer can do with a scant hundred and eighty pages or so, if they know what they are doing. This story takes place a few days on a luxury cruise voyage in the fjords with an absolute boor who thinks eating seafood is what makes Scandinavians the superior race, and manages to not make us feel like the other passengers trapped with this guy… because there also happens to be a sailor on board who may have sailed with Jason and the Argonauts. If you haven’t read Sjón before, this one is a great introduction, as is The Blue Fox.

I’m currently reading James, by Percival Everett, and loving it. James is “Jim” from The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, given his due, and is brilliant and entertaining from the first page. I have a Folio edition of Finn on the shelf that I may read afterward; it’s been a long time since I’ve read it, and I want to experience it after finishing Everett’s book.