I first posted this to the Maine-Birds listserve back on May 4th, 2009:
For months I have been occasionally looking at field guides with my now two-year-old daughter, Anouk. I would tell her stories about my experiences with the various birds we look at, including my interpretation of their song. To Anouk, a Black-capped Chickadee is, “Pappa, dee dee dee.” American Crow, “Taw taw,” (she pronounces her hard “c” and “k” as “t”). Red-breasted Nuthatch says, “Ang ang.”
Well, yesterday morning we went outside shortly after she first awoke. The dawn chorus was in full swing: Hermit Thrush, Black-throated Green Warbler, Yellow-rumped Warbler, Pine Warbler, Blue-headed Vireo. Then Anouk informed me, pointing to the tree-tops, “Pappa, zeeee-up.” Sure enough, my first of the year Northern Parula. I nearly fell over! And she was right, too!
Friday, November 20, 2009
Monday, March 02, 2009
Confessions of a butt-sniffer...
This posting was written a few weeks ago, but I am only now getting around to posting it....
Hi, my name is Rich, and I am a butt-sniffer. I last sniffed a butt just a few minutes ago as Anouk lay sleeping in bed. Thankfully, it was only farts.
Actually, I am concerned that butt-sniffing is a behavioral gateway: kind of like smoking pot is supposed to be a gateway to more hardcore drugs, sniffing butts is a gateway to worse actions. I have become desensitized to all manner of bodily emissions.
When I comment that it was just baby farts, there is no longer that tell-tale lie in my voice that I was actually the culprit.
Runny nose. Wipe it on anything handy: my sleeve, sock, my own fingers and then wipe them on my pants.
Changing a pee-filled diaper at night is an act of desperation: desperation to change it as quickly as possible so as not to wake the baby and to get back to sleep as soon as possible myself. Wiping her little pee-soaked fanny...forget-about-it. Just change the damn diaper, and quick. Are my hands dirty afterwards. I don't know (and I don't care), I am too exhausted to care about anything except the one thing I can't have: a decent night's sleep.
Poopy diapers? See above. Fortunately, with one exception in her 21 months of life, Anouk has never pooped at night.
Vomit. Fortunately (for me) Anouk seems to only like to vomit on Natalie, and those efforts have been voluminous! Which is not to suggest I have not come in contact with this particular textured fluid, but we will not talk about cleaning up after sick family members (yes, plural) on the coastal steamer to Francois, Newfoundland. As I lay in bed writing these thoughts, Anouk just had a little gag reflex and a few teaspoons of regurgitant came up. Wipe it up with the ever-present rag, toss the rag in farthest reaches of the nightstand (so it is still within reach should I need it again), flip the soiled pillow over, and call it good.
Sleep. What is that? I am getting so conditioned by a little girl who does not sleep through the night that even when she is asleep, I am on the edge. Lately I find myself waking in the middle of the night, checking that everything is okay in our little nest, and then lying there for an hour, sometimes two, once even three, trying, desperately wanting to go back to sleep. Natalie and I take turns with baby duty at night. Tonight is my turn. It is only 9:00 p.m. and I have been in bed for an hour-and-a-half. I'm wide awake, hence playing on the computer with email. I will probably drift to sleep just about the time Anouk decides it is time for a crying jag, or worse, a screaming fit.
I think I am getting senile, though. Anouk will arise for the day anywhere between 4:30 a.m. and 7:00. She will lean over to me, pat my chest, and say in the absolutely most sweetest voice ever, "Papa." Within 15 minutes of waking up, I will be alert and ready for the day (albeit a bit bleary-eyed). Half an hour after she first greeted me for the day I will have completely forgotten that it was not many hours ago that I thought the notion of eating your young was an increasingly reasonable idea. Tomorrow (Saturday) we will go birding on a Downeast Audubon field trip and many people will comment on what a cute baby she is (Heck, isn't EVERY baby cute?), and I will be one proud papa.
Hi, my name is Rich, and I am a butt-sniffer. I last sniffed a butt just a few minutes ago as Anouk lay sleeping in bed. Thankfully, it was only farts.
Actually, I am concerned that butt-sniffing is a behavioral gateway: kind of like smoking pot is supposed to be a gateway to more hardcore drugs, sniffing butts is a gateway to worse actions. I have become desensitized to all manner of bodily emissions.
When I comment that it was just baby farts, there is no longer that tell-tale lie in my voice that I was actually the culprit.
Runny nose. Wipe it on anything handy: my sleeve, sock, my own fingers and then wipe them on my pants.
Changing a pee-filled diaper at night is an act of desperation: desperation to change it as quickly as possible so as not to wake the baby and to get back to sleep as soon as possible myself. Wiping her little pee-soaked fanny...forget-about-it. Just change the damn diaper, and quick. Are my hands dirty afterwards. I don't know (and I don't care), I am too exhausted to care about anything except the one thing I can't have: a decent night's sleep.
Poopy diapers? See above. Fortunately, with one exception in her 21 months of life, Anouk has never pooped at night.
Vomit. Fortunately (for me) Anouk seems to only like to vomit on Natalie, and those efforts have been voluminous! Which is not to suggest I have not come in contact with this particular textured fluid, but we will not talk about cleaning up after sick family members (yes, plural) on the coastal steamer to Francois, Newfoundland. As I lay in bed writing these thoughts, Anouk just had a little gag reflex and a few teaspoons of regurgitant came up. Wipe it up with the ever-present rag, toss the rag in farthest reaches of the nightstand (so it is still within reach should I need it again), flip the soiled pillow over, and call it good.
Sleep. What is that? I am getting so conditioned by a little girl who does not sleep through the night that even when she is asleep, I am on the edge. Lately I find myself waking in the middle of the night, checking that everything is okay in our little nest, and then lying there for an hour, sometimes two, once even three, trying, desperately wanting to go back to sleep. Natalie and I take turns with baby duty at night. Tonight is my turn. It is only 9:00 p.m. and I have been in bed for an hour-and-a-half. I'm wide awake, hence playing on the computer with email. I will probably drift to sleep just about the time Anouk decides it is time for a crying jag, or worse, a screaming fit.
I think I am getting senile, though. Anouk will arise for the day anywhere between 4:30 a.m. and 7:00. She will lean over to me, pat my chest, and say in the absolutely most sweetest voice ever, "Papa." Within 15 minutes of waking up, I will be alert and ready for the day (albeit a bit bleary-eyed). Half an hour after she first greeted me for the day I will have completely forgotten that it was not many hours ago that I thought the notion of eating your young was an increasingly reasonable idea. Tomorrow (Saturday) we will go birding on a Downeast Audubon field trip and many people will comment on what a cute baby she is (Heck, isn't EVERY baby cute?), and I will be one proud papa.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Musings on Darwin's 200th birthday...
The anniversary of Charles Darwin’s 200th birthday seems an appropriate time for me to finally update our blog. In case you haven’t figured it out by now, yes, we are home from Newfoundland (we returned to Bar Harbor at the end of October 2008). Anyway, here is an edited version of one of my recent postings to the Maine-Birds listserve….
The other day I was sitting at my desk in my home office, working on my book, tentatively entitled A Prairie Home Naturalist. Although blue skies beckoned, I diligently remained put. I have strategically placed all of the bird-feeders in our front yard so that they can be observe from my desk. The feeders had been active all morning with the usual suspects: Black-capped Chickadee, Red-breasted Nuthatch, Common Redpoll, Downy and Hairy Woodpecker, Blue Jay, Mourning Doves, Dark-eyed Junco, American Goldfinch, and Pine Siskin. Later that day, when I went out to get the mail, a Brown Creeper was in a dead spruce in the side yard.
I keep a running list of all our “greater” yard birds – that is, birds that have been seen either in our yard, or from our modest 4-acre property. It would take some effort to come up with a precise tally: I could more easily tell you what birds have NOT been in our year than which ones are actually on the list. So, imagine my surprise when movement out of the corner of my eye turned out to be a flock of 12 turkeys! This is DEFINITELY a new yard bird for 285 Knox Road! I only wish 21-month-old Anouk could have been here to see them. She would have said, “Ta too, ta too!” Anouk is learning both English and French, and the Francophone name for turkey is “dinde,” pronounced something like “dah doe.”
Anouk, born April 29, 2007, has become my most regular birding buddy. When she was mere hours old, she and I sat in a chair at the Mount Desert Island hospital, rocking gently back and forth. I was telling her about the birds I was seeing out the window. For her first spring, we routinely awoke with the sun and went for a walk down the Knox Road. I pointed out the various warblers, describing them to her, trying to imitate their songs.
When we were in Newfoundland this past May through October, she always wanted my binoculars, so I taped together two toilet-paper tubes and a lanyard for her. Ever since, when I tell her we are going birding, she goes and gets her “binoculars” and says, “All set.” I have many fond memories of sitting on the ground in Newfoundland, my spotting scope adjusted as low as it would go – which was the perfect height for a 31-inch tall person – and sharing the view with her.
Now, one of her favorite activities is to stand on the living room couch and look out the window at the feeders. When she says, “Dee dee dee,” I know the Black-capped Chickadees are there. “Ang ang” is for the Red-breasted Nuthatch. “Ja ja” tells me the Blue Jays are present. And “Zzzzz” is for the Dark-eyed Juncos. We are working in “Perchickory” for the American Goldfinch, but that is a lot of syllables for a little mouth.
I have been keeping a life-list for her, which I intend to compile for her second birthday. I imagine Anouk is one of few people in Maine with three hummingbirds on her list: Ruby-throated, Calliope, and Green Violetear. She has seen pelagic birds galore, including touching a Dovekie we found on the road in Newfoundland and a Leach’s Storm-Petrel that was stranded on a ferry on The Rock. When I carried the Dovekie back to the ocean, she watched my every move as I released it. And the storm-petrel so captivated her, I think she still remembers it.
She has seen King Eider, Common Murre, gannets plunge-diving, hundreds (maybe thousands) of Sooty Shearwates crowded to shore by a fogbank rolling in. Snow Buntings at Sand Beach were intriguing. Chasing Herring Gulls is always great fun. Cawing back to the crows is a favorite pass-time. And she has been packed up Cadillac Mountain to the hawkwatch. Despite all this, the feisty Black-capped Chickadee is clearly her favorite. “Dee dee dee.”
The other day I was sitting at my desk in my home office, working on my book, tentatively entitled A Prairie Home Naturalist. Although blue skies beckoned, I diligently remained put. I have strategically placed all of the bird-feeders in our front yard so that they can be observe from my desk. The feeders had been active all morning with the usual suspects: Black-capped Chickadee, Red-breasted Nuthatch, Common Redpoll, Downy and Hairy Woodpecker, Blue Jay, Mourning Doves, Dark-eyed Junco, American Goldfinch, and Pine Siskin. Later that day, when I went out to get the mail, a Brown Creeper was in a dead spruce in the side yard.
I keep a running list of all our “greater” yard birds – that is, birds that have been seen either in our yard, or from our modest 4-acre property. It would take some effort to come up with a precise tally: I could more easily tell you what birds have NOT been in our year than which ones are actually on the list. So, imagine my surprise when movement out of the corner of my eye turned out to be a flock of 12 turkeys! This is DEFINITELY a new yard bird for 285 Knox Road! I only wish 21-month-old Anouk could have been here to see them. She would have said, “Ta too, ta too!” Anouk is learning both English and French, and the Francophone name for turkey is “dinde,” pronounced something like “dah doe.”
Anouk, born April 29, 2007, has become my most regular birding buddy. When she was mere hours old, she and I sat in a chair at the Mount Desert Island hospital, rocking gently back and forth. I was telling her about the birds I was seeing out the window. For her first spring, we routinely awoke with the sun and went for a walk down the Knox Road. I pointed out the various warblers, describing them to her, trying to imitate their songs.
When we were in Newfoundland this past May through October, she always wanted my binoculars, so I taped together two toilet-paper tubes and a lanyard for her. Ever since, when I tell her we are going birding, she goes and gets her “binoculars” and says, “All set.” I have many fond memories of sitting on the ground in Newfoundland, my spotting scope adjusted as low as it would go – which was the perfect height for a 31-inch tall person – and sharing the view with her.
Now, one of her favorite activities is to stand on the living room couch and look out the window at the feeders. When she says, “Dee dee dee,” I know the Black-capped Chickadees are there. “Ang ang” is for the Red-breasted Nuthatch. “Ja ja” tells me the Blue Jays are present. And “Zzzzz” is for the Dark-eyed Juncos. We are working in “Perchickory” for the American Goldfinch, but that is a lot of syllables for a little mouth.
I have been keeping a life-list for her, which I intend to compile for her second birthday. I imagine Anouk is one of few people in Maine with three hummingbirds on her list: Ruby-throated, Calliope, and Green Violetear. She has seen pelagic birds galore, including touching a Dovekie we found on the road in Newfoundland and a Leach’s Storm-Petrel that was stranded on a ferry on The Rock. When I carried the Dovekie back to the ocean, she watched my every move as I released it. And the storm-petrel so captivated her, I think she still remembers it.
She has seen King Eider, Common Murre, gannets plunge-diving, hundreds (maybe thousands) of Sooty Shearwates crowded to shore by a fogbank rolling in. Snow Buntings at Sand Beach were intriguing. Chasing Herring Gulls is always great fun. Cawing back to the crows is a favorite pass-time. And she has been packed up Cadillac Mountain to the hawkwatch. Despite all this, the feisty Black-capped Chickadee is clearly her favorite. “Dee dee dee.”
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