Humans on Wings
A friend of mine lives on the edge of a forest. The location is undoubtedly romantic, but not advantageous in every respect. Having to chop wood is a plus, developing muscles, hand-eye coordination and determination. The sound and warmth of a wood fire in an abode fireplace is as cozy as it can get. But they had to have a fence built that reaches to the stars, for a matching astronomical price. Deer are good jumpers and one of them was very fond of the organic veggies of their garden. He had a refined taste, always starting with the finest stuff, then munching his way through the menu.
In winter, however, they have the joy of buying sunflower seeds by the sack: clouds of blue tits and another dozen kind of birds visit their feeders. Every species arrives at their own date so at this time of year some of them are still roaming the forest.
The entities roaming our inner world, our thoughts and feelings, have some resemblance to birds. Birds are the first vertebrates to show up in a new niche such as an island born in the sea. Blown away by the wind they might be lucky to land on a rock and, meeting some of their specie-mates, found a new population. Which will, in time, evolve and become a new species. This is how the descendants of serin arriving to the Canary Islands became canaries.
Source: Juan Emilio, Wikipedia
According to classic evolution theory still taught at school, living organisms evolve very slowly, by random mutation. Today we partly intuit, partly know for a fact that this is not entirely true. Even in the scope of one human generation, animals may develop remarkable new habits. We have already talked about the urbanization and related problems of our most intelligent birds, corvids, in another post. And dozens of other avian species that in my childhood were living in the bush have since made human settlements their home.
Why is it, that when certain members of a species change their behavior, their specie-mates in other geographical areas tend to follow suit? A few decades ago I was quite astonished upon seeing pairs of wood pigeons walking on the grass in Belgian city parks. In Hungary at that time these birds were still reclusive dwellers of riveraine forests. Today their hoarse cooing can be heard in every town and city. They walk the asphalt with such confident bobbing, most people don’t realize they are not feral house pigeons but a larger relative. Nuthatches, little sylvan goblins that can creep upside down on trees have also moved into city parks. Mallards, in this season wearing full breeding plumage, can be found not only on the Danube but in every pond and canal in Budapest.
Source: Alpsdake, Wikipedia
It’s as if members of a species were connected into a kind of a fabric by invisible threads. When one part of the net undergoes a change, all the other parts feel a flutter. The far ends then may or may not follow suit. Forest European blackbirds still respond to humans with a loud warning call, fleeing from a distance, while their urban cousins seem to completely ignore people. When only part of a population changes habits, the species might eventually split into two. This seems to have happened to orcas who are nowadays being regarded as several species with wildly varying behavior, feeding habits, even language.
Source: Stephen Walker, Unsplash
But let us return to birds and their pedestrian companions, humans. As we have observed, different realms of the Universe reflect each other in interesting ways. Phenomena in our inner world: soaring fantasies, high aspirations, swooping sensations are, in some sense, birdlike. Is this why so many of us are in awe of our airborne siblings, the masters of the skies? Or are we simply envious of their three dimensional freedom? Both sleeping and awake, humans dream about flying. I suspect if we really pay attention to birds, their very being, their lightness and elegance can show us things, teach us, heal us. Isn’t it amazing that out of all the dinosaurs, only they survived? While the monsters were swallowed by time, these delicate creatures kept evolving, becoming the most flexible vertebrates of the planet. Penguins dwell on the ice fields of the Antarctic.
Source: Siggy Nowak, Pixabay
The screech of swifts can be heard all night in the summer sky. They sleep in flight.
Source: pau.artigas, Wikipedia
Frigatebirds spend most of the year in open ocean.
Source: Andrew Turner, Wikipedia
Civilized humans have torn themselves out of nature. This act did not result in a positive emotional, mental, or even physical state. Because there is another invisible net, much more extensive than the one connecting members of a species. This net connects all sentient (perceiving) beings. We all have the same flame inside us. Our hearts have different shapes but the beat comes from the same source.
One of the ways to introduce happiness into our lives is to reconnect with living creatures that are different from us. There’s quite a difference between the aged person who goes home to an empty apartment and the one who is greeted by a small furry creature. When establishing a connection with wild creatures the bond is not as strong or intimate but may encompass more freedom and respect.
Winter feeding of birds was originally introduced for practical reasons. Let us bolster a healthy avian population that will destroy pests, they said. Establish biological protection instead of spraying with chemicals. Sure. Yet such intrusion into nature might not be as beneficial to birds as we believe. Making them dependent on people might actually jeopardize their long term survival. Fortunately birds can take care of themselves.
Source: Dmitry Beloglazov, Unsplash
Could it be that the main beneficiaries of bird feeders are not the birds but us? I don’t only mean birdwatchers already hooked on flying fowl, crawling in the bush with binoculars. I mean city folks who can barely distinguish a swallow from a stork. While so many new species live right among us. I wonder if ‘normal’ people take notice of them.
I have to admit to being selfish. Chickadees, members of the finch family, European robins and the rest of our flying friends make me happy on sunless winter days. And as for respecting the laws of nature I think some sunflower seeds are okay. I hung the feeder today in a fairly concealed place by my window. I’m curious how long it’ll take for chickadees to discover the food source.
How about you? How do you feed the birds of your soul?