Birds of Dull Plumage Provide A Lesson in Beauty

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Discouragement has dogged my birdwatching since Dec. 27, when I photographed a bald eagle – my 150th species in Utah.

I know the exact date because that’s when walks in nature became spoiled by the need to see a new species. I’ve photographed about half of the 325 species that are commonly seen in Utah throughout the year. I’ve shot the two eagle species and, if I can get a peregrine, I’ll have the four members of the Falco genus, as well. However, I have only one hummingbird, one wren and one owl, and not even a single grouse.

My goal is to have photographed 200 species in Utah by my one-year anniversary of birdwatching. As of Jan. 26, I had 158, so I am 32 species short, with about four weeks to go. Mind you, I’m not asking for anything exotic, although I’d gladly snap a photo if a snowy owl or a gyrfalcon happened to fly by. On the other hand, I’d be just as happy with a juniper titmouse or a pinyon jay, both of which are common permanent residents here in Utah, but neither of which has come within reach of my lens.

So now my walks are full of thoughts like “Is that flash of orange a varied thrush?” and then pouting after the bird in question reveal itself to be a spotted towhee.

This obsession with adding to my list has taken the beauty from my walks. I still see sunlight play on the water, reeds sway in the breeze and birds flit in the trees, but I’m not satisfied unless I see something new. I took a nice photo of a house finch, posed regally in a bush, its red head and chest gleaming in the sunrise, but I would have preferred a blurry shot of a redpoll instead.

Last week I invited a friend to join me on a birdwatching trip. We hadn’t seen each other since last fall, so it was a good chance to catch up. She was happy to walk with me because she’d gotten a Fitbit as a Christmas present and wanted to get her steps in.

We went first to a pond where both a cackling goose and a Eurasian wigeon have been spotted recently, and then to a trail along the Provo River Parkway. I mentioned to her that I no longer appreciate the birds I see. Even new species are merely a check on my list. My confession led her to tell me of a lesson she lately has learned.

For many years, whenever she and her family visited the beach, she said, she would look for a perfect shell. If it were scratched or chipped or marred in any way, she would discard it.

That changed this summer, she said, when she realized “there is beauty in brokenness.”

Her words reminded me to look for beauty, which abounded in the birds we saw that day even though we saw nothing unusual. Inhabiting the pond was a flock of American coots, a rather squat gray duck-like bird with a black head that frequents Utah waterways. At first I dismissed them with a glance, but then they became startled and, as is their wont, with flapping wings and churning feet they raced a short distance across the surface before settling down again.

“They walk on water!” my friend exclaimed.

I had seen the sight so many times that it had lost its wonder, but seeing it through her eyes I again was astonished that these ungainly birds do such a remarkable thing. And so when in the woods I captured on camera the little bird known as a brown creeper, I was able to marvel at how its mottled feathers allow it to blend with the tree bark so that it is visible only when it moves, which it does almost unceasingly – it darts head down along the trunk with as much ease as it skitters sideways and straight up before flitting to the next tree in search of its insect meal.

Compared to the flashy yellow and white and black evening grosbeak, which we saw not too much farther down the trail, the brown creeper is drab, its feathers gray and white and various shades of brown, and yet yes, beauty is there in the blend of colors, the dainty bill, the unmistakable grandeur of life.

Marie Mischel is editor of the Intermountain Catholic.