For me, the holidays really start with the Audubon Society Christmas Bird Count. This year, my local event took place on Dec. 15. Despite sharp winter winds, last Sunday proved a good day to hoof through the snow to spy on tiny dinosaurs.
I started participating in this annual event in 2017, mostly because of my oldest son. He was the one curious about birds, not me. But as we continued through his teen years, Henry became more interested in trees while I descended into bird fever. (Not to be confused with bird flu, which I’m told is worse, though probably cheaper than a pallet of bird seed).
I look back at things I said at the beginning. Things like, “I am not a birder.” Ha! My son is away at college, unable to participate, and yet I printed the bird tally sheets and snapped awake on a cold Sunday morning just the same. Now I realize, binoculars in hand, just how quickly a person can redefine themselves. None of us are in our final form.
This is a bird count at Christmas, not a count of Christmas birds. Birds don’t celebrate Christmas, probably because we make a habit of eating them when they arrive for dinner. By counting around the time of the winter solstice, the Audubon Society gets a consistent appraisal of the winter population of birds in different areas. But for the people who do the counting, the birds and Christmas end up tied together. Sacred rites, built on hope.
At its most fundamental level, Christmas is a promise. It portends great things to come, but dresses them in shabby clothing. Christmas stories, both biblical and secular, show how people can be blinded by prejudice, cruelty and excess.
I’m talking to you, mean Santa from the stop-motion animated “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” And all those mean reindeer, too. Rudolph was a worthy soul before you knew his red nose would prove useful to you.
We are told how people turned away the refugees Joseph and Mary before Christ was born in a manger. That baby built a church on the idea that you should pull up one more chair to the table and share what you have. This is wealth. This is prosperity.
Christmas in America brings long lines for expensive things that sell out, only to end up in the dump or thrift shop within the decade. We stress out over comparisons with others, not realizing that those are not the comparisons we should be making.
Spend a little time at a bird feeder and you see what counts. Food and shelter for all and a community that looks out for everyone. Birds persist through the coldest part of winter because they have faith, a purer faith than most, that spring will come.
Birds know, by magnetic powers they can’t explain, the size and bounty of this earth, and yet concern themselves with impressive feats in these small woods. To survive through winter, raise hatchlings to fly, to feel the seasons turn without dread — these are no minor undertakings for birds or people. Birds do it without therapy or drugs. Cursed by our fitful brains and flightless bones, we lumber along the ground, nesting in very expensive boxes, screaming caw, caw, caw into our smartphones. Strange birds, indeed.
No matter. Spring will come. If we use our daylight well we may find birch seeds and frozen berries (take caution with the fermented fruit). Each of us may contribute eyes and ears to the flock to find and share. Time to time, we locate troves of sustenance left by a kindhearted stranger, manna from a heaven we don’t need to understand. Despite your misgivings, there remain those who want you to flourish because, even in drab winter feathers, you are beautiful.
Merry Christmas.
Aaron J. Brown is an author and college instructor from northern Minnesota’s Iron Range. He writes the blog MinnesotaBrown.com and co-hosts the podcast “Power in the Wilderness” on Northern Community Radio. This piece first appeared in the Saturday, Dec. 21, 2024 edition of the Mesabi Tribune.
Great thoughts, Aaron. So much to think about in a world that we hardly know.
Yes sir. Most of life doesn’t celebrate Christams. Hard to imagiane Beluga babies waiting for Santa. My immediate neighbors in my swath of the city both feed and count out feathered pals. Both our yards are wild spaces welcoming everything but bandit masked ones. But even their visits leaves a message to where homo erctus fits int the scheme of things. We have have had many memorable bird releases in our shared spaces over the years. The neighbor volunteers at the U vets’s centers locations. And both do the death count of birds trying to fly through the glass of downtown buildings. But the lesson in forging or foraging on another day while walking the path of hope. May I ask if the camera you use is a product called the Bird Buddy ? and if not what rig are you using. Thanks,
This is a fantastic work of art you created. It warmed my soul and chuckled my funny bone. My mother, who has long passed instilled in me the love of birds. Feeding and watching them, Mom is here with me. I guess I equate the love of birds for the love I still feel from her. Thank you, Aaron you are a gem.