I have never regarded myself as a “birder” – not in the sense of someone who spends hours, binoculars in hand, gazing high into the trees to discern avian activity. Standing like that hurts my neck, for one thing. I have never kept a Life List, or taken trips just to see the birds. I’m happy for the many people who enjoy spending their time in thrall to birds. It’s just not for me.

This may stem from my birding-heavy background, when I saw just how consuming the birding passion can be. During childhood, my mom and brother were both avid bird watchers. One December, they left me on my birthday to spend the day outside in a freezing New England rain helping with the annual bird count. My mom felt guilty about abandoning me for years. Our paternal grandmother was not grandma or grammy, but  “Birdie.” When she went for a stroll, she donned her binoculars like a rule. In his teens, my brother worked in the studio of a guy named Roger Tory Peterson, who lived nearby. The ornithologist/illustrator renowned as the author of the Peterson Field Guides and his wife graced our home at Thanksgiving. In the fog of my adolescent, horse-addled brain, I was utterly unimpressed.

And yet: I do love birds. What I love is the way they are so gloriously free and unfettered. I never tire of their restless activity as they fly, swoop, and soar nearby. I enjoy when they stop by my feeders for a kernel of millet, a stab of suet, or a sunflower seed. I seem unable to refrain from sharing cool bird photos to my social media friends. When the turkeys strut through my meadow, usually daily, it is rare that I don’t stop what I’m doing and watch them do the turkey trot, scratching for dropped seeds under the feeders. I cannot stop myself from tracking flocks of geese or cranes winging their way across the sky, or reveling in the antics of my neighborhood crows.

Lately, I have realized that many of the photos from the far-off places of my travels are of birds, even though they have never been my main focus. I can still hear the similarities in the plaintive songs of doves greeting me at home, in Africa, in South America, in eastern Europe and Norway. I think of the pelagic birds glancing over, as they glided with such majesty past ships on the Drake Passage, in the Bering Strait, on the North Sea. I think of the intensity of the thousands of migrating snow geese as they paused to rest and refuel in Montana.

What’s not to love about creatures that inevitably remind me to appreciate the gift of this present moment? Birds weave together so much of our collective world, connecting the skies, the trees and bushes, the ground and grasses with innocent grace. It is beautiful to witness how birds offer up hope for resilience, for endurance, for strength and humility, and for community, just by their simple act of Being.

The internet tells me there are at least 10,824 bird species in the world, each, probably, with its own researchers and fans. It is possible to spend a lifetime delving to the nth degree through layers of detail and study to be a bird expert. Each species has its own behaviors, common names, Latin names, habitat, food preferences, nesting and procreation habits, on and on. Even though that level of dedication is not for me, I am grateful for birds. What would our planet be like without them?

 When I realized how many bird photos were alongside the usual African wildlife in the photos from my time in Namibia in 2022, it seemed only fair to highlight these beautiful, relevant, and necessary creatures. Just as much as giraffes, zebras, elephants, and rhinos, the birds were captivating and worthy of appreciation. Every bird is. I know that much, even if I do not care to know every little thing about them.