Spring Migration and the Art of Paying Attention
Every spring, morning conversations with my husband begin much the same way: we talk about migration. While Douglas is making the coffee, he takes a look at the radar. Not the weather, but the bird radar. Beginning at dusk and sweeping westward, the map lights up with a glowing flow of hundreds of thousands of birds. Hidden within these images is the wonder and spectacle of the annual migration.
One morning two years ago, even before he’d finished the coffee, Douglas started packing his gear to go birding. His excitement was palpable as he showed me the map.
The conditions were perfect, he told me. The year before, he’d stumbled on an amazing phenomenon. Thousands of birds, passing over at treetop level, for hours on end. Could this surge of flight be occurring again? He kissed me goodbye and promised to send me a text as soon as the sky got light.
A little while later, my phone buzzed: “It’s happening!” I quickly got dressed, grabbed my sketching kit, and headed down to Finley Wildlife Refuge to join Douglas and his grad student at Muddy Creek Bridge.
When I arrived, the setting looked rather ordinary. Short scrubby forest on both sides of the road and a rather sluggish creek. But above, the sky was alive with a nearly constant stream of birds. Their soft chirps and tweets didn’t mean much to me but to Douglas, they were the familiar calls of warblers, tanagers, and many others.
I watched and sketched while Douglas and his student kept count. Over the course of nearly four hours, they estimated that over eight thousand birds had passed overhead (you can see his eBird checklist here).
Two springs have passed since that amazing morning. He’s gone back again and again but he’s never witnessed a flight day like that again.
Technology tells us that the birds are above us, winging their way through the night, but for the most part, their migration is invisible to the naked eye. Through attentiveness and chance, Douglas spotted a river of birds as they followed a crooked forest in the middle of an agricultural landscape. This otherwise hidden event, for a few hours, became visible. And we don’t know why, or if it will ever happen again.
Even so, Douglas watches the radar and the wind speed and visits the bridge whenever conditions seem right. And if there are no birds, he records his count as zero. Because showing up matters, even when there is nothing to see.
🪶 If you enjoy birds, sketchbooks, and small acts of noticing, you’re always welcome here at The Painted Redstart.
Such an interesting fascination. Love the feel of those sketches with ballpoint!