What a Bird Taught Bruce Lee

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It’s always a pleasant surprise to spot a bird in an unusual place. One of the places I love finding birds is in books. I recently read Bruce Lee: Artist of Life, it’s a collection of essays and writings by the man himself: Bruce Lee.

In one essay, Lee is meditating alone on a boat. It is here that he begins to unravel the famous metaphor that later turned into the maxim “Be Water My Friend.” Lee was an incredible thinker, a man born in San Francisco, one who grew up in Hong Kong, and later majored in philosophy at the University of Washington. Like his fighting style, his thoughts were a blend of many styles, both Eastern and Western.

It is while on the boat, meditating on the qualities of water that Lee spots a bird:

“Suddenly a bird flew by and cast its reflection on the water. Right then as I was absorbing myself with the lesson of the water, another mystic sense of hidden meaning revealed itself to me; should not the thoughts and emotions I had when in front of an opponent pass like the reflection of the bird flying over the water? This was exactly what Professor Yip meant by being detached–not being without emotion or feeling, but being one in whom feeling was not sticky or blocked. Therefore in order to control myself I must first accept myself by going with and not against my nature.

I lay on the boat and felt that I had united with Tao; I had become one with nature. I just lay there and let the boat drift freely according to its own will. For at that moment I had achieved a state of inner feeling in which opposition had become mutually cooperative instead of mutually exclusive, in which there was no longer any conflict in my mind. The whole world to me was unitary.”

-Bruce Lee essay entitled “A Moment of Understanding,” published in the book Bruce Lee: Artist of Life

I’ve grown to associate birding with mindfulness–the birds passing before my eyes and my thoughts passing across my mind. In fact, part of the appeal of birds is that they are momentary creatures, their presence so immediate yet so short-lived. It is a reminder to be present and to accept the discoveries of any given day.

This is one of the unspoken lessons I’ve learned while birding–the importance of presence and acceptance.

 

 

Birding and the Places You Will Go

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Pettigrew Lake, North Carolina

Can you think of a class of animals more ubiquitous than birds? Birds inhabit almost every inch of this planet–from the Antarctic to the Sahara to the wide expanses of the Himalayas and the Pacific. Each specie finds its place somewhere. And for those of us who look for birds, we must go to these places.

It is easy for bird watchers to get wrapped up with The List. Like roadtrippers fixed only on their destination, birders can miss out on the natural beauty of the environments birds occupy. It’s important to lower the binoculars every now and then and allow the world around us to excite us.

We find more than just birds in these places. We find the simple truths of nature–those that enlighten us to the world and to ourselves. The more I bird, the less important the birds become. Instead it’s about the times and the moments and the places:

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NC Highway 12, Cape Hatteras National Seashore, North Carolina
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Vonore Beach, Tennessee
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Pea Island National Wildlife Refuge, North Carolina
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Guilford County, North Carolina
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Grandfather Mountain State Park, North Carolina
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Bodie Island Lighthouse, North Carolina
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Wetland created by a beaver dam, Guilford County, North Carolina

Looking forward to the many birds and the many places I will find in the future.

Winter Birding

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A Winter Wren in snow.

Come wintertime we tend to retreat into our homes. We wait out the cold there, dressed in our PJs and accompanied by a warm drink or perhaps something stronger. When we do go out, we walk from our front door to our car door and blast the heat all the way to our destination cursing the cold that cracks our hands and lips.

Yet for the brave few who venture out into the winter world, they find something new in the familiar scenes that surround them. The seasons bring something new each year and winter is no different. Some may see this dark season as a symbol of inevitable ends; but for those who venture forth, surely they see the life that prevails in spite of it all.

My wife is just one of those people. She is an adventurer of sorts. She finds no solace in the comfort of routine and familiarity. She needs to be somewhere new, experience something different and this impulse is a blessing because it continues to take us to new and interesting places.

Each year December 30th through January 1st we take a trip to the NC Outer Banks. For many a coastal trip in the dead of winter seems heinous. But for the naturalists out there, it is an ideal time. Migratory birds are in full force and the forest and fields are void of the bounty of spring (beautiful as it may be, the lush leafiness of spring hides much of the nature we are hoping to find).

This past year was particularly cold. We bundled up layer upon layer and walked out binoculars, scope, and camera in hand. The barrier islands are fierce in winter. The wind is unmerciful at best and the icy spray of the ocean is never more than a quarter-mile away.

I remember my wife bundled and smiling. Her voice rising over the wind.

“This is perfect!” she said, her eyes bright and cold.

I couldn’t help but think about my definition of perfect. Were I to define the perfect day on the outer banks of North Carolina, I might leave out the bit of freezing and shivering and discomfort. I might instead wish it to be a moderate 60-65 degrees Fahrenheit, comfortable and calm. I might wish the wind to be someplace else, because its presence is inconvenient as I try to focus my scope which constantly shakes with every gust.

Perhaps if these changes occurred and I could indeed control the climate of my life I’d be happier.

But who says that happiness requires control. Who says that I can’t be happy in the dead of winter or in a storm or when my fingers are wrapped beneath two layers of gloves.

My wife does not allow the rain or the wind or the cold dictate her happiness. She goes out into the world and feels it on her skin and that, that is what is perfect to her. The fact that she can go out and experience every nuance the Earth has to offer. Each season, each habitat, each day.

Winter birding may not be for the faint of heart. But it is certainly for those who are open to the joys that can appear on cold, windy days.

 

Birding at Dusk

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Sunset at Pea Island National Wildlife Refuge.

Two hours before sunset the sky is filled with day. The colors of the Earth are vibrant beneath the blue sky and it is quiet. There is still time before the night comes.

At the first hint of change, from day to night, the forests and the fields and even the lakes will become alive again–a frenzy of feeding before the light runs out. Fish reveal themselves on the surface of the water and birds make their hurried calls to eat before dark.

You’re apt to hear the chittering of a Kingfisher making its rounds above the water–diving in and reemerging with a small fish. If you pay attention, you may see the bird land on its chosen branch, perhaps a downed tree sticking out from the shore. Keep watching because you just might observe the Kingfisher bashing its prey on the branch, incapacitating the fish before it is swallowed.

One hour before sunset the sky is gold and the lighting becomes divine with the hint of heaven reaching down through the leaves. Most birds will use this time quietly. Their locations will only be revealed to you in the rustling of the leaves and the motions among the trees.

Thirty-minutes before sunset the sky is becoming red and pink and purple and blue and . . .

The colors of the Earth are no longer vivid, but the sky bleeds an artist’s palette. Visual observation is still possible here, but behavior is what we’re looking for. How does nature behave before bed?

There is a calming that occurs in the final seconds of daylight, a peace available to those who are there to experience it.   

It is in these moments that the world becomes beautiful again–and indeed it is necessary for us to be reminded of this. No matter the difficulties of your day and the challenges of the night, these moments will be there for you.

If only you have a mind and a heart to observe.

Connection and the Christmas Bird Count

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House Finch in an Eastern Redcedar. Photo by Tripti Suwal.

From December 14, 2017-January 5, 2018, birders of all ages and experience will traipse around feeders and fields counting birds and tallying species.

The Christmas Bird Count is one of the greatest citizen science efforts the world has ever seen. For over 100 years, birding enthusiasts (birders, bird-watchers, twitchers, what have you) have braved the winter weather in order to go out and count birds!

It’s a tradition that started at the turn of the 20th century. It began with only a handful of eager birdwatchers, led by ornithologist Frank M. Chapman. It only took 28 people, but together they tallied over 18,000 individual birds and 90 species. Now the Christmas Bird Count boasts tens of thousands of participants all across North America. Last year’s count found over 18 million individual birds and 2,607 bird species.

But what is it exactly that drives these enthusiasts to leave their homes and trot through a field or a forest or even a front lawn to count birds?

Any birder will know the bewilderment of a friend’s face when they find out you’re a birder. At times these friends may be pleasantly surprised because they too are secretly a birder at heart. Other times though, your peers may look at you quizzically wondering whether or not you’ve lost your mind. It is in those times that I’ve wondered myself, “What is it about birds that keeps me coming back?”

It’s not necessarily the birds, but the moments that the birds create. When a bird flutters into view, it is only there a moment before it is gone. In that moment you must be quick to collect the details.

When you go out into nature and decide to start noticing the details, you begin to make connections–connections to place, connections to nature, and (in the case of the Christmas Bird Count) connections to people. This is significant considering our desperate need for connection (think social media, television, celebrity culture, etc.). We’re a people searching for each other; we’re a people searching for the present moment; and we’re a people searching for ourselves.

It’s lofty, I know. But it’s also simple. Take a moment and observe the world around you. You’ll be amazed how it changes you.

What the Christmas Bird Count does is it connects people with nature, with tradition, and with other like-minded yahoos foolish enough to go count birds in the dead of December. It’s a remarkable experience open to any and all.

In Search for Birds, You’ll Find . . .

In search for birds, you’ll find nature bit by bit. It can be disappointing at times for the forest to be quiet and the trees to be void of any fluttering. But if you are patient, nature will reveal herself to you. Be vigilant to observe. The array of creatures that will cross your path will only be there a moment before they again disappear into the brake.

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Racoon fishing for some food. Spotted this guy while looking for sparrows hidden in the fields of Pea Island, NC.
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Black Bear in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Spotted some Cedar Waxwings flying over a creek before seeing this bear.
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Black Snake in a tree. We could hear a Wood Thrush singing its summer song. Our search for the bird led us to this snake.
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Eastern Fence Lizard. Spotted this lizard while searching for Orioles and Yellow-Breasted Chats in an undeveloped suburb. Photo by Tripti Suwal.
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Northern Cricket Frog. Just barely saw this well-camouflaged amphibian as we were observing a Little Green Heron in some marsh land. Photo by Tripti Suwal.
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Ebony Jewelwing. This damselfly was on the trail on a quiet day in late spring. We didn’t see much that day but we did see a juvenile Indigo Bunting. Photo by Tripti Suwal.

 

The Newness in Nature

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Crow perched on a wire.

The Earth has been around for a long time and yet when we look into nature we refer to it as the unknown. We have this sense that some great mystery lurks just beyond the edges of the forests and the deserts and the oceans. Yet, for us humans, Earth is all we’ve ever known.

Why do we regard our home with such obscurity? It is a blessing I believe: to forever be on the cusp of discovery. Human history is one that has been shaped by the discoveries of man, but there are still new discoveries going on every day. Even on the smallest scales . . .

I recently started a nature club at my school. It is a school that is characterized by free-and-reduced lunch and one that has been dubbed “high-minority.” Many of my students have very few opportunities to experience the natural world outside of their neighborhoods.

At our last club meeting, we planted bulbs as part of a beautification project. One student was not happy about the project. She told me that she didn’t want to get her hands dirty and that she was upset for being placed in the club. I told her to have an open mind and to just try the club for at least one day.

While the other students were planting, I handed her my binoculars and challenged her to find a bird. This changed everything. Moments later she came back grinning and pointing toward some birds she’d found in the top of a tall tree.

They were crows.

Other students were immediately drawn to her enthusiasm and wanted to see the birds for themselves. Pretty soon a group of students were wandering the school grounds in search for something new.

Discovery is out there for everyone. And anyone who looks will be granted a new experience, one that sits deep in your bones. When you look back on the moment you will remember it all–what you saw, what you felt, and the possibilities that filled your mind.