Tuesday, October 11, 2011

Becoming a wild bird









There is something to be said about the camaraderie of having a bird sitting on your knee as you write notes. In reality, I tolerate it little from my birds as the last thing I want is 18 birds climbing all over me like a jungle gym while seeking out bread rewards. But on the rare occasion that it is a single bird that joins me and I am in a contemplative mood patiently awaiting for my focal bird to be ready to start the next step in my experiment, I welcome the feathered companionship. There are many joys to working so closely with social animals. Humans, ourselves being such social creatures, naturally tend towards social relationships (and in very specific forms for many of us), and having the proximity of sociality is pleasing.

As a field biologist, such study species also allows one’s mind to avoid approaching rapid loopiness within the field. I have friends and colleagues that have, in their long hikes, observations and solitude in the field have effectively learned how to melodiously (or rhythmically) play their cheeks, throats, knees and other body parts very well. Poems, broadway songs and jiggles have been written about study species, methods and experimental designs and once, in a particularly long hike with the marked absence of birds, I designed in my mind, an entire bellydance-tribal fusion interpretive dance based (of course) on a sound scape put together solely on apostlebird songs and other naturally occurring sounds within the Outback environment (yes, that is just how talkative the apostlebirds are).

The mind wandering towards an artistic interpretation of one’s research or research site is actually not a bad thing (albeit a bit crazy). It actually allows a researcher to shift perspectives and in the case of dance, think about what birdy body movements occur during birdy behaviour. I myself lacking wings and a large slightly green tinged tail would have to make use of a double layered veil, brown and grey tie-dyed silk on one side, and chiffon forest green on the other, to interpret the vast and variable movements associated with the apostlebird language and movements. The gentle way in which the softness of their downy chests rocks as they walk, balance and move across their terrain would never be brought to justice by my straighter bipedal form. Oh, to have the form of a bird, round in the chest and long in the tail, a delicate frame set on two quick little stilts (or many other forms of legs in the case of different species).

I was once asked why I did not study prettier birds, such as the bejeweled little birds that flit across a tropical jungle landscape or perhaps even the colourful parrots that dot the azure skies of the Outback, sitting high upon the branches of majestic gum trees. My initial response was that brains were better than beauty, and I liked to study clever, sassy birds. However, to me, the apostlebirds and crows are beautiful. In such close proximity to the apostlebirds, I can examine the way the brown and grey feathers blend together across a back that blend well into the dry earth. And how I love that when the sun catches their wings just right, it reflects back an olive green not unlike the green that streaks across the white and brown smooth bark of a gumtree. From the softness of the feathers on their head to their small broad beak that digs for both food and mud for nest building, they are beautiful.

But most importantly to me, is that they are interesting. These birds are communicators, constantly chatting and in constant movement, Even as I type this blog into my computer, I can listen to their night time negotiations (up in the roost tree), and as the sun sets behind the distant hills, I can enjoy both a magnificent view and an amusing acoustic backdrop.

The sociality the birds enjoy is both heartwarming and amusing and also not without tears. Furthermore, their bird psychology holds the workings of their minds just far enough away that most of their behaviour remains a mystery, a mystery that for solving will ensure that slowly, over time, will need to become a wild bird.

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