The Obvious, Unseen

My friend Laura (who is currently hosting the blog carnival, I and the Bird (go see!)) recently wrote a lyrical piece about our owling excursion entitled Of owls and seeing, in which she discusses how difficult it can be to spot an owl and how she personally is finding her distance vision (and thus faraway birds) deserting her.

My distance vision deserted me in ninth grade, and I've worn glasses, now contacts, ever since.

But she knows that there are owls (and other birds) out there to be found. A wondrous avifauna worth seeking out and marveling in. Sadly many people are not only not interested in birds, they don't even realize they are out there waiting to be seen. A form of conceptual blindness which diminishes their world. My world was once so constricted as well.

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Avoiding (barely) the blizzard that hit the north east coast of the US this past week, I made what has become my annual pilgrimage to the Florida Keys for the Winter Star Party. A 1400+ mile journey one way to stargaze in shorts and t-shirts in February. Combining hobbies I stop each year and bird the greater Everglades region. And I take pictures, photographing birds ...

... beasts ...

... and stars.


This trip I got a jump on two of the three at a gas station in Port St. Lucie, Florida.

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As I was leaving the gas station I spotted a pair of sandhill cranes on the side of the road.

I quick snapped a photo with my iPhone as I waited at the stop light. I made a u-turn straightaway and headed back, hoping the birds would still be there. They were. I then rushed to get out my camera gear, buried beneath my astronomy and camping stuff (poor planning!), hoping the birds would not fly. They did not and I was rewarded with images like this one:

But as I watched and photographed the cranes I also noticed that no one else did. That is, no one noticed the rather large birds feeding just feet from the road. None of the passing cars slowed to look. None of the other customers at the busy gas station spied the birds or the curious character photographing them. No children pointed. I saw them because I am always looking, aware that birds (and other interesting things!) can show up anywhere. Most people don't think to look because they're unaware that there are things to look for. They've that conceptual blind spot. For them animals, especially rare animals, occur only in tropical rain forests and African jungles. Faraway places, certainly not gas stations in suburbia.

When I was a kid I watched Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom every Sunday. And I was always bummed that we didn't have and big animals in our back yard, only stupid birds!

I was alone in my enthusiasm and wonder.

"The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead, his eyes are closed." - Albert Einstein, What I Believe, 1930

Perhaps the people of Florida have become so inured to large birds being about (on this trip my road list included herons, egrets, wood storks, ibis, and a fly over roseate spoonbill (and my life armadillos!)) they've become dulled to their presence. But I've found the same unawareness other places as well. On a recent workday lunch outing I pointed out a great blue heron hunting along a stream near my office. A colleague noted that he had never seen one before. Another asked if they were rare in New Jersey. I've a short (~ eight mile) commute and I see them regularly. Why doesn't everyone?

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I noted above that I was once unaware of the wonders all around me. I briefly discussed how I started birding in my Portrait blog post. Before becoming aware I knew the birds in my neighborhood to be bluejays, cardinals, robins, and sparrows (every little bird not of the first three was a 'sparrow'). Since becoming aware my world has become a much larger place, with many new co-inhabitants to discover an delight in. (To say nothing of new friends.)

I've since become a world bigafication junkie, studying amongst others, plants, insects, and even snowflakes. My world expanding with each.

I'm sure my friends would tell you I've got my own conceptual blind spots, ("Paging Captain Oblivious"). I suspect we all do. But how many of us realize this? How many know that there is a handicap to overcome?

"What can I tell them? Sealed in their metallic shells like molluscs on wheels, how can I pry the people free? The auto as tin can, the park ranger as opener. Look here, I want to say, for godsake folks get out of them there machines, take off those fucking sunglasses and unpeel both eyeballs, look around; throw away those goddamned idiotic cameras! For chrissake folks what is this life if full of care we have no time to stand and stare?" - Edward Abbey, Desert Solitaire, 1968

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It was the bird, specifically a pair of gulls and a little yellow jobbie, that helped make me cognizant of the wider world around me. And birds continue to bring me pleasure as I observe and photograph them, as well as enjoy the company of like minded people. They are out there and easily seen. Won't you go look?