Christmas Bird Counts
Yep. I’ll hep ye out on this subtopic Ray. Despite yer earlier remarks and all the bemusement ye took in that picture. And Ray, the reason I’ll hep ye, is due to my Christian past. Call it a lingerin’ effect of bein’ saved, once.
_____
Is everyone assembled? I see that the CB personnel and even some of the Druidry in these parts have fetched up here. Now where to begin?
Did you know, Ray, and ladies and gentlemen, that these Audubon Christmas bird counts have been occurring since 1901? That’s almost equal to the age of Dr. Swineherd in his current iteration. So you can see that they are a relatively enduring tradition. And know wonder they are an enduring tradition, for the desire to see more different kinds of birds and to tally them up, can become, an obsession. I can testify to that, because I was once among the obsessed, and that obsession even outdid my love of Jesus. Hallelujah! But nowadays, praise be to the Sweet Goddess I am well shut of those twain false periwinkles, verily both those obsessions.
Recently, I met a young man who has abided 23 turns of the merry-go-round, 10 of those obsessed with detecting and enumerating birds, and he admitted to tallying in excess of 500 different kinds, on his Texas list. “Yikes!” thought I. Prior to our chance meeting this young man had already completed several other 2005 Christmas counts, prior to focusing in on his current mission, the “Mad Island Marsh” Christmas count, which in this particular day and age, almost annually, exhibits the very highest evidence of obsession.
These are the lists I, the presumptive Crumby Ovate once kept: Travis County List. Texas List. Oklahoma List. Mexico List. Yorenited States List. North America including Mexico List. A great many of the birds tallied on all these lists were first encountered, by me, on Christmas counts. Once for example, on a Falcon Dam count I espied all three of the Texas kingfishers in a single binocular field of view, and one of the three was a lifer, maybe.
Yikes! My last lifer was just pointed out to me last spring, a goofy exotic dove that has turned up in these parts and that I had somehow managed to ignore the presence of, until a certain presumptuous and presumptive horse goddess brought it to my feeble attention. What’s the name of that particular kind of dove?
_____
It’s called the Eurasian collared dove, Crumby. It eats collard greens.
It does? Are ye sure it don’t just eat the seeds er flowers? What’s its habitat?
All I know is that it eats collard greens and its habitat is electric distribution lines, Crumby.
_____
All righty fer ye then, ye dern Tabby Labber smart aleck, quit messin’ with Crumby er ye’ll throw him off track and we’ll be here ferever. Now get on with it Crumby and no more pivots..
_____
All righty then, Red. I shall proceed now, verily onward with no more pivotin’.
Just let me see. Oh Her Goodness Gracious. Bird obsession. Or more correctly, the obsession that occurs, as it did with me, of seeing new kinds of birds to add to my lists. I had it pretty bad. But don’t for an instant think that this bird obsession leads always to a proximate or distal bad end. Proximally it gets you thinking about a class of little wonders and it gets you out in the fresh air and spheres shines. Distally, it may get you thinking about greater and more complex subtopics, even possibly to thinking about Druidry; all this from the urge to see and enumerate lotsa birds.
These are the lessons I learned on Christmas counts that stand out and had a profound influence on my subsequent development.
1) I learned the lesson of sanitary versus unsanitary bird sightings which lesson can be applied universally. If you can not provide details, pertinent to your claims, you will be justifiably embarrassed and humiliated at the countdown. Or to put this another way, if you can’t explain yourself, you don’t know what you’re talking about.
2) I learned the lesson of dehydration. If you drink nickel Mexican beer instead of water over a several day period you will become stove up.
3) I learned the lesson that when I was birding, me and my stuff were generally invisible to Mexican hill-folk in the mountains west of Saltillo during the 1970's.
4) I learned the lesson that some of us really are more cold-natured than others.
5) I learned the lesson of my bird name and why I got it.
6) I learned the lesson that not knowing anything about a bird’s usual habitat is exceedingly troubling. This lesson continues to trouble, as when some human or proto human queries, “What’s that bird in that tree over there?”while gesturing vaguely in the midst of a forest.
7) I learned the lesson of patience, as in, you are only going to get to see the birds the WG wants you to see, when She wants you to see them.
8) I learned the lesson that when your wife smells smoke, there is probably a fire around somewhere.
9) I learned the lesson that eccentric behavior won’t necessarily get you locked up in the nervous hospital.
10) And recently I learned the lesson that your brain freezes to plumb numbness when you get too cold.
These 10 are all very positive and important lessons I learned, and I learned all of them on Christmas counts, the hard way, of course.
On the down side, while I, in birding mode, considered myself very interesting and important, and my birding of paramount importance, I began to notice that I had very little interest in other birders’ tiresome recitations of their exploits, even on Christmas counts when I should have been more tolerant. Moreover, certain stock birder phrases like “What you got?” and “Empid” for Empidonax, and “It’s right in that third clump of yellow grass just to the left of that fence post!” and “Did you get the coppery-tailed trogon?” began to irk me. So gradually I tired of all that and swore off Christmas counts for a great many turns of the wheel.
But now, in my dotage, I am at them again, but with a difference. Now I don’t give a hoot if I see a great many birds I think I am entitled to see on a particular adventure. Now, I’m just taking what She’s giving.
Boy howdy. Nature study sure is fun! What would we do/be without the little wonders?
That’s all I have to spell right now on this subtopic. Thank you very much. Any questions?
_____
Er, what about grown men in three overcoats each?
Beats me Ray. I reckon they were just cold natured and wanted to stay warm.
_____
All righty then. That was expeditious. Now let's break this up and have a Dolmen er two.
_____
What in the heck is a false periwinkle?
The Arkdruid
_____
Is everyone assembled? I see that the CB personnel and even some of the Druidry in these parts have fetched up here. Now where to begin?
Did you know, Ray, and ladies and gentlemen, that these Audubon Christmas bird counts have been occurring since 1901? That’s almost equal to the age of Dr. Swineherd in his current iteration. So you can see that they are a relatively enduring tradition. And know wonder they are an enduring tradition, for the desire to see more different kinds of birds and to tally them up, can become, an obsession. I can testify to that, because I was once among the obsessed, and that obsession even outdid my love of Jesus. Hallelujah! But nowadays, praise be to the Sweet Goddess I am well shut of those twain false periwinkles, verily both those obsessions.
Recently, I met a young man who has abided 23 turns of the merry-go-round, 10 of those obsessed with detecting and enumerating birds, and he admitted to tallying in excess of 500 different kinds, on his Texas list. “Yikes!” thought I. Prior to our chance meeting this young man had already completed several other 2005 Christmas counts, prior to focusing in on his current mission, the “Mad Island Marsh” Christmas count, which in this particular day and age, almost annually, exhibits the very highest evidence of obsession.
These are the lists I, the presumptive Crumby Ovate once kept: Travis County List. Texas List. Oklahoma List. Mexico List. Yorenited States List. North America including Mexico List. A great many of the birds tallied on all these lists were first encountered, by me, on Christmas counts. Once for example, on a Falcon Dam count I espied all three of the Texas kingfishers in a single binocular field of view, and one of the three was a lifer, maybe.
Yikes! My last lifer was just pointed out to me last spring, a goofy exotic dove that has turned up in these parts and that I had somehow managed to ignore the presence of, until a certain presumptuous and presumptive horse goddess brought it to my feeble attention. What’s the name of that particular kind of dove?
_____
It’s called the Eurasian collared dove, Crumby. It eats collard greens.
It does? Are ye sure it don’t just eat the seeds er flowers? What’s its habitat?
All I know is that it eats collard greens and its habitat is electric distribution lines, Crumby.
_____
All righty fer ye then, ye dern Tabby Labber smart aleck, quit messin’ with Crumby er ye’ll throw him off track and we’ll be here ferever. Now get on with it Crumby and no more pivots..
_____
All righty then, Red. I shall proceed now, verily onward with no more pivotin’.
Just let me see. Oh Her Goodness Gracious. Bird obsession. Or more correctly, the obsession that occurs, as it did with me, of seeing new kinds of birds to add to my lists. I had it pretty bad. But don’t for an instant think that this bird obsession leads always to a proximate or distal bad end. Proximally it gets you thinking about a class of little wonders and it gets you out in the fresh air and spheres shines. Distally, it may get you thinking about greater and more complex subtopics, even possibly to thinking about Druidry; all this from the urge to see and enumerate lotsa birds.
These are the lessons I learned on Christmas counts that stand out and had a profound influence on my subsequent development.
1) I learned the lesson of sanitary versus unsanitary bird sightings which lesson can be applied universally. If you can not provide details, pertinent to your claims, you will be justifiably embarrassed and humiliated at the countdown. Or to put this another way, if you can’t explain yourself, you don’t know what you’re talking about.
2) I learned the lesson of dehydration. If you drink nickel Mexican beer instead of water over a several day period you will become stove up.
3) I learned the lesson that when I was birding, me and my stuff were generally invisible to Mexican hill-folk in the mountains west of Saltillo during the 1970's.
4) I learned the lesson that some of us really are more cold-natured than others.
5) I learned the lesson of my bird name and why I got it.
6) I learned the lesson that not knowing anything about a bird’s usual habitat is exceedingly troubling. This lesson continues to trouble, as when some human or proto human queries, “What’s that bird in that tree over there?”while gesturing vaguely in the midst of a forest.
7) I learned the lesson of patience, as in, you are only going to get to see the birds the WG wants you to see, when She wants you to see them.
8) I learned the lesson that when your wife smells smoke, there is probably a fire around somewhere.
9) I learned the lesson that eccentric behavior won’t necessarily get you locked up in the nervous hospital.
10) And recently I learned the lesson that your brain freezes to plumb numbness when you get too cold.
These 10 are all very positive and important lessons I learned, and I learned all of them on Christmas counts, the hard way, of course.
On the down side, while I, in birding mode, considered myself very interesting and important, and my birding of paramount importance, I began to notice that I had very little interest in other birders’ tiresome recitations of their exploits, even on Christmas counts when I should have been more tolerant. Moreover, certain stock birder phrases like “What you got?” and “Empid” for Empidonax, and “It’s right in that third clump of yellow grass just to the left of that fence post!” and “Did you get the coppery-tailed trogon?” began to irk me. So gradually I tired of all that and swore off Christmas counts for a great many turns of the wheel.
But now, in my dotage, I am at them again, but with a difference. Now I don’t give a hoot if I see a great many birds I think I am entitled to see on a particular adventure. Now, I’m just taking what She’s giving.
Boy howdy. Nature study sure is fun! What would we do/be without the little wonders?
That’s all I have to spell right now on this subtopic. Thank you very much. Any questions?
_____
Er, what about grown men in three overcoats each?
Beats me Ray. I reckon they were just cold natured and wanted to stay warm.
_____
All righty then. That was expeditious. Now let's break this up and have a Dolmen er two.
_____
What in the heck is a false periwinkle?
The Arkdruid
posted by ray pistrum at Wednesday, January 04, 2006
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