Reading · Birding with BillBow

Last Monday, as I was hiking the ravine behind our house (AKA Saddle Sanctuary) and looking for early spring migrating birds, I noticed something was off—I felt… good. Noticeably good. Awake, alert, and observing every bird I saw with a glee usually reserved for a new life bird. After a long, cold, punishing winter, the sun was shining and warm. A brutal stretch in the single digits had finally broken and temperatures were in the 60s. I don’t think it would be an overstatement to say I felt euphoric as I stood there admiring the newly arrived Red-winged Blackbirds, epaulets blazing in the morning light. The males arrive ahead of the females to stake out their nesting grounds, and I was reveling in their signature Screeeeeeeeeee! It felt magical, but in truth it was also mundane. The song of the Red-winged Blackbird in March in a Pennsylvania meadow is about as ordinary as it gets.

So what gives? Why such ebullience over a chorus of the commonplace—Blackbirds, yes, but also American Robins, Northern Cardinals, and Song Sparrows, birds I’m almost guaranteed to see every day of the year? Sure, the fair weather had something to do with it, but there was something else behind the clearheadedness, the spike in energy, the joy with which I was imbibing all I surveyed…

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Or maybe it was about what I wasn’t imbibing—I hadn’t had any alcohol in three days.

Everything seemed bright and cheerful. As though a thin veil had been swept from my vision, I was seeing each bird in technicolor, like this Robin—so vibrant it was startling.

Just yards away, the local waterfowl were paired off and ready to get in a family way. The first spawn of spring will certainly be a passel of Canada Goslings.

Mallard babies will soon follow, the promise of renewal in the form of fuzzy yellow hatchlings.

It wasn’t a novel experience, feeling physically, mentally, and spiritually better in this way. I’d gone the first two weeks of February without so much as a sip of beer and felt similarly great during that time. I even noticed my pants fitting a bit looser by the time my parents and brother visited mid-month. My embargo ended that weekend with an ice-cold martini, and I reverted back to daily drinking and all that comes with it—empty calories, restless sleep, anxiety. I was feeling less and less great, so gradually I didn’t notice at first, until reality became impossible to ignore—the booze was beating me up.

By last Monday, my pants were no longer feeling loose as I made my way down the railroad tracks that cut through the Sanctuary, but three days back on the wagon were already paying off. Oh, I was intoxicated all right, but this time with birdsong. Northern Cardinal song, to be specific. Male Cardinals were belting it out with all their might. They were courting mates of course, but the chirrups seemed a herald of sorts—an era of better health was dawning.

And oh how those birds were glowing!

I even found renewed appreciation for the commonest of common Sanctuary birds. On any given day, I’m liable to turn up 30 or more Song Sparrows during an hour’s walk. They sing casually throughout the year but are turbocharged in early spring as they contend for mates, territory, and resources. What a visceral, exhilarating reminder of the fierceness behind the cute facade.

So why drink at all, if one of the benefits of abstaining is an even more profound adoration of birds?

A little-known fact about me is that I once co-wrote a book, a textbook on wine appreciation with an extremely on-the-nose title—Wine Appreciation. My job was to turn Purdue University Professor of Enology Christian Butzke’s lecture series on wine appreciation (yes, wine appreciation was a class. Yes, there were wine tastings at the end of each class) into a textbook.

Nearly 20 years after its publication, one line in particular has stayed with me—We drink wine because (1) it tastes good and (2) it makes us feel good. Professor Butzke wanted to make clear that, though there are some potential health benefits that come with the moderate consumption of red wine, our primary motivation for drinking alcoholic beverages is not whatever salubrious qualities, if any, can be found in the bottle.

To that point, I’ve always drunk because 1) it tastes good and 2) it makes me feel good. Still tastes good, but lately I can’t ignore the toll that comes with even moderate daily drinking, all of it adding up to a sustained feeling of malaise. That’s a pretty hefty price to pay for a relatively short-lived buzz. Bottom line—I’m not 25 anymore. I’m not even 45 anymore. I’m 50. My body simply can’t take it like it used to.

On the other hand, the bird-fueled buzz I was feeling on my hike was longer-lived and came with no icky side effects. That my body can take.

Further down the tracks I was pleased to see that overwintering American Tree Sparrows were still around and hadn’t yet migrated to their breeding grounds in northern Canada and Alaska. Here’s one looking plump, dumpy you might even say, as if they too could stand to cool it with the booze.

Tree Sparrows don’t breed in the Sanctuary, but many songbirds do, including orioles of the Orchard and Baltimore variety. Neither has arrived yet, but there are vestiges from last year’s mating season, like this Baltimore Oriole nest. I’ve been aware of this nest since last spring, but not until Monday, in my more alert state, did I notice the plastic building material woven into the organic matter. I throw away the fishing line I find around Pine Creek, which runs parallel to the train tracks. Resourceful Orioles have found a more practical use for it.

I’m not going to quit drinking altogether, at least not at this stage in my life. I’m not one for extremes (even extreme birding). A cocktail helps me suffer through Cleveland sports fandom. There’s no better way to celebrate anything than with glass of Champagne. I rejoice in every new life bird with a shot of rye whiskey. Furthermore, I’ve always fantasized my old age thusly:

This year, and my 50s, and hopefully the remainder of my life, is about finding balance. I feel better and more balanced when I bird daily and keep my drinking occasional, not the other way around. So that’ll be the plan. Have a drink when a lifer strikes. During a big game. Whenever there’s cause to be festive.

And bird my ass off every day.

I was wrapping up my hike and hurrying back to the car when a perched Red-tailed Hawk informed me in no uncertain terms that my birding day was not over—there was one more spectacle to observe. After posing for a minute or so, the great big beautiful brute took off, but not before I was able to capture one of the few in-flight bird photos I’m really proud of. I love how muscular this juvenile bird looks, and how deadly with those two talons, razor-sharp and ready to strike. Beware, critters of Saddle Sanctuary!

Later that day I was ready to drive our son Santiago to his Odyssey of the Mind practice when we found a castaway perched atop our Kia. Showing no inclination to move, I was about to shoo the American Goldfinch away when I noticed she was flapping only one of her wings. Before I could exit the car and properly assess what I presumed an injury, she flew off clumsily and disappeared into the woods, hopefully to safety.

After almost a week and a half, the FeatherSnap smart feeder I installed at my friend Holly’s house finally attracted a bird. To the five of you who guessed Tufted Titmouse, take a bow.

That’s all for this week. How’s the early spring birding where you live? Have you seen any migrants yet? Have you experienced similar diminishing returns when it comes to alcohol? Have you sworn it off altogether? As always, the comment section awaits👇

Birds vs Booze

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