The Birdman Cometh
I hadn’t seen the Birdman in months, but there he was standing at the edge of the trail that disappears off onto a wooden observation platform thrust out over one of the estuary’s smaller inlets. He was unmistakable: surrounded by a conclave of ducks, geese, and other small birds.
I walk this particular trail a couple of times a week. It’s a bike path that connects up with a beautiful nature preserve. The conservation area stretches over about 130 acres and is largely wetland. Part of the trail skirts around a large pond and a couple of inlets, which are all fed by a nearby river. The remainder of the land is an impassable mixture of grassy, marshy, wooded terrain. Every time I walk through I’m impressed that it exists at all given the amount of urban sprawl closing in on every side. Every so often I encounter deer nosing their way out of the brush. We stop, equally startled, sharing identical cartoon thought bubbles above our heads: “What are you doing here?”
The preserve is especially great for birding because you don’t have to work at it. Minimal effort and maximum reward is the beating heart of every amateur pursuit or casual hobby. All you have to do is pick any part of the trail and stand at the edge on either side. Within minutes you’ll spot blue jays, robins, cardinals, Red-winged Blackbirds, and tons of what I call “hoppy-tweetie” birds. These things fit in the palm of your hand. They have greyish-brownish-whitish feathers and are everywhere—in the city, in bushes and trees in peoples’ yards, in wooded areas—and never seem to disappear with the changing seasons. Around here they are the Dunkin Donuts of birds. I’ve been lucky enough to see hawks in the preserve as well as plenty of herons. It’s prime real estate for swans, a few different type of duck varieties, and a lot of those nasty, ornery bastards, Canadian geese.
The first time I encountered the Birdman I was on my way back through the preserve, walking over a stretch of boardwalk that connects the large pond to a small inlet. The man was standing against a low wooden fence on the top of the embankment leading down to the water. I remember it was winter. He wore a black puffy jacket; black jeans and dark, dusty books; a black knit cap; thick grey gloves also covered in grit; and black sunglasses. He grinned beneath a neat salt-and-peppered beard, looking like a slimmed-down Kenny Rogers. A flock of ducks milled around his feet and several varieties of birds were perched on his outstretched hands with more lighting on the fence behind him. I saw that he had a plastic bag of seeds or crumbs or both that he was scattering. Food also rested in his palms. The birds were not shy, hopping onto him wherever they could land to get right at the sweet stuff. He and his entourage were blocking the trail, it was a real traffic jam. I had no choice but to slow down.
“Someone’s popular!” I said. It was a dopey thing to say, but in these instances my first line of defense is levity, which is basically my only line of defense. It’s a disarming mechanism that usually works fine in mundane social situations or even in minorly stressful encounters like dealing with a botched order at a busy café. However, if I were kidnapped by Vikings or my deep cover was blown by the mafia, I would probably need to reevaluate this strategy.
The Birdman laughed. “I love’em. Aren’t they marvelous? My sister thinks I’m nuts. ‘You’re gonna get sick!’ she yells at me. But I’m careful. I always wash my hands and clothes real good.” I wasn’t too sure what to do with all of this information. I was glad that he called out the whole “avian flu” angle right away, which I thought was the proverbial elephant on the trail. It was definitely the first thing that crossed my mind when I saw his scene. I wondered what the inside of his car looked like, covered in dander and seed. And how do you even begin to explain that to a passenger? Dog or cat hair, sure. Sticky splotches of juice or emulsified gummy snacks, easy. Feathers in a Honda Civic? Did you just Uber Big Bird somewhere? I think if it came down to it, rather than grabbing a ride with this guy, I’d take my chances hitchhiking. Serial killers appreciate a girl with a sense of humor, right? I’d be fine.
A couple of joggers passed by, slowing down so as not to startle the ducks that were continuing to make their way out of the water, methodically plodding toward the food source like squat, two-legged zombies. They shot the Birdman dirty looks. If he noticed it didn’t register. At one point a bird alighted briefly on his head. He smiled so wide, I thought the Birdman’s face was going to split open like a zipper and slide off his skull. They accept me as their own, his grin seemed to say. These are the same people who keep Bengal Tigers in their rec rooms and then wake up one morning surprised to find their beloved JoJo casually snacking on their face.
I stood there awkwardly as the Birdman became happily engulfed in his flock--a modern day St. Francis in his L.L. Bean robes.
“Well, um, don’t get any on you,” I called out with a laugh as I edged past the mele.
After that I saw the Birdman at least once or twice a month. He would station himself in different parts around the trail, a herd of the devoted swarming around him. I wondered if I was the only one who felt unnerved by this situation because it seemed really off, even by the standards of city living, which allow for a high oddball quotient. I even started to gaslight myself a little, thinking Well is it any different than someone feeding the pigeons in the Common? Birds are allowed into our homes, not actually like Bengal Tigers. Couldn’t I decide to keep a stork as a pet? We do have that guest room that barely ever gets used.
The city has any number of conservancy and restoration initiatives going on in the preserve. You’ll often see signs posted about what’s going on like: Aquatic Plant Regeneration Efforts or Marsh Habitat Regrowth and Renewal-A Five Year Plan. At some point in the summer I noticed a different batch of signs posted throughout the trail:
DO NOT FEED THE DUCKS OR BIRDS!
They were laminated, attached to sturdy wooden posts, and bore a graphic of a duck caught inside the universal symbol for DO NOT DO THIS, which is an angry red circle with a slash through the middle. A few short sentences were written below the image explaining why it was unhealthy and unsafe (for humans, fowl, and the environment) to feed the birds. I sort of felt like they could have gotten away with adding a last line: WE ARE ONTO YOU, BIRDMAN! THIS MEANS YOU! Because he had been nothing if not utterly conspicuous in his endeavors. I had been coming to this trail for a few years and this was the first time I had seen any signs like these. It didn’t take Nancy Drew to solve that mystery as to who they were really for.
I was relieved—mostly for the birds who wouldn’t be unknowingly harmed by this walking leaky pinata of bread and disease. He probably knew it wasn’t great to feed the birds, but he did it anyway because he obviously enjoyed the intimacy with these animals created under false and pretty gross pretenses. The birds weren’t his pals; they were there for the free food like wedding crashers. Something about the Birdman’s whole deal was doubly offensive to me: he was not only messing with animals, but he was giving weird a really bad name.
It was nearly a year after those signs went up before I saw the Birdman again. I first noticed the ducks and birds pooling together, traveling in the same direction. As my eyes followed them I spotted the Birdman waiting for his guests to arrive. He was dressed in black as usual. His demeanor was far more reserved. Rather than spreading bread and seed on his palms, I saw him reach into his jacket and discretely dole out bits of feed, dime-bagging it like the dealer he actually is. When he saw me coming our eyes met. He smiled before quickly shoving his hands back in his pockets and turning around to walk away.
Lens Zen!
In keeping with the birding theme of this piece, here is an image I took of a cardinal that I spotted in that wildlife preserve. Cardinals are very quick, so I was pretty pleased to have been able to capture one.
I shared this image on the socials with the caption: “Diva! And she knows it!” Friends: the birdsplaining was SWIFT and SAVAGE. Comments like:
“Hey nice shot. This is a male, you know.”
“The red ones are males. This caption is confusing!”
And my personal favorite: “Male birds are the colorful ones. The same when there is sexual dimorphism with fish. The fact that modern humans "make her paint her face and dance" is more of an aberration, among vertebrates *and* for us.”
Hoo brother. I appreciate the attention to factual information. May you all please apply the same diligence in the upcoming election.
A perfect last line…
I love the whole Birdman story, but the final paragraph of your blog this time was the chef’s kiss. Bravo!