This post is about a slow and unexplained disappearance of some beloved neighbors. And I take their departure serious because I expect them to be there. I’m talking about my frequent flyers, visitors, and guests: the chickadees, blue jays, robins—all the wonderful birds.
I now know that we can’t take them for granted.
One morning while reading the newspaper, I couldn’t believe my eyes. I saw the headline, “3 billion birds have disappeared.” The information was part of a recent Nation & World Science article that appeared in The Birmingham News.
Until recently, I didn’t know what an ornithologist is. Looking at the word, there isn’t a feathery clue. But an ornithologist is a person who studies birds. The word originates from the Latin word ornithology, the “science of birds.”
Now that we know the definition of an ornithologist, let me also say, I’m not an ornithologist. I’m not even a birdwatcher. Watching birds isn’t one of my hobbies. And I don’t have a bird feeder in my yard.
But you don’t have to be an ornithologist, a bird watcher, or have a bird feeder to like birds and take notice of them.
I love sparrows singing and calling outside my bedroom window. The happy birds are perching alarm clocks in the mornings. They alert and inspire me to shake off the dregs of sleepiness and get out of bed.
It was somewhat alarming to see the caption. Maybe even creepy.
Believe it or not, I’d told my husband several weeks earlier that there were fewer birds in our backyard. And for long periods during the day, they were unseen and unheard. There were very few birds singing and calling.
After reading the article, I thought, OH NO! NOT THE BIRDS!
Be gone pesky mosquitoes, crickets, cicadas. I certainly wouldn’t miss these squatters with their annoying incessant noise. Who cares about missing or dead mosquitoes? Those miniature buzzing vampires need to disappear. Chirping crickets are also nothing to delight in. And I guess I’d rather hear a cicada than see one. These things look horrible!
But ornithologists don’t lose sight of the birds.
There’s nothing quite so sweet as the little tweet, tweets. They are democratic songstresses to the rich and poor. Birds remind us to lighten up. Let go of the weights and worries of the world and let our spirit soar.
Is it selfish to think that birds only sing for our enjoyment? Creatures of the air, treetops, front yards and back yards, do birds even like us? Perhaps we’re no more than eavesdroppers to them. In the same manner that we use words to communicate, bird songs and calls are their methods of communication.
A sparrow’s “teak,” a lark’s “chirrup” is a kind of language. Hungry baby birds have to communicate that they are hungry. And they know what sounds to make. Each sound or birdsong is purposeful and used when needed.
Do birds say hello or good morning?
Sure, they do. They greet each other at dawn on the wings of daybreak.
Did you know that usually, only male birds sing? Birds are territorial. Male birds sing to mark their territory and attract mates.
Can birds talk to people?
What about the old-school, lame pick-up line guys used, “A little birdie told me…?” Birds don’t talk to people.
What do you think?
By the way, I listened to that lame “birdie line” and married the guy. He was a pigeon, alright. But I don’t know who or what sent him.
Maybe I should consider this bird talking topic in a post.
Ecclesiastes 10:20 (NIV) speaks of a talking bird. “Do not revile the king even in your thoughts, or curse the rich in your bedroom, because a bird in the sky may carry your words, and a bird on the wing may report what you say.”
What!
Well, God used a raven to transport food to Elijah. If he wants to use birds to carry messages, he can.
But birds do more than sing or call; they are also vital to our ecosystem. Birds eat bugs that ruin and destroy crops. They cross-pollinate, eat rodents, and are beneficial in many other ways.
Oh! Some make good pets.
Supposed you opened your door one morning, saw no one, saw no moving vehicles, and the air was void of city sounds. The grunting of eighteen-wheelers climbing a hill. The screech of a motorbike scorching the pavement. The honking of cars and trucks. The normal daily vrooms.
You would think this was alarming.
I would say that the loss of 3 billion birds means something is threatening. The change in the numbers is subtle and occurring right in our backyards, before our eyes and ears.
OH NO! NOT THE BIRDS!
Fewer birds mean fewer voices in God’s bird choir. Fewer birds mean an unnatural silence. Fewer birds mean fewer sightings of the wings of freedom.
Thanks to all the ornithologists devoted to discovering and solving this bird mystery.