Inner City Kids and Bird Language

I am soon to start a programme working with young adults from the inner city. I have been giving a great deal of thought on how to work with them. I have been looking at ways of taking them on a journey ending in a rites of passage, by employing varying methods like hunting, drumming, sit-spot and so on, mostly traditional type of approaches.

However, I am always looking for different ways of approaching things. For several reasons one of which is by trying different ideas I know from my own experience by doing this, it opens you up to other possibilities, which is something I talk about in my Discover Nature Awareness books.

After attending an Intense Bird Language course in the states I began to consider the possibility of using bird language as a means of connecting with the kids. I have a few ideas on how to do this which of course includes the awesome sit-spot.

I even thought maybe there is a way of getting them to connect with the birds through rap, drumming and dance, which they take ownership of and create themselves. I have no idea how this would play out. I tend to let things evolve which means I must pay attention to events as they unfold and be in the moment to and aware of my own creativity, of course I must also follow certain guidelines as well.

Then I got an insight of how it might play out. I was reading chapter four the Sit-spot in Jon Young’s book ‘What the Robin Knows’. Jon talks about a young man’s experience of birds and his sit-spot. At first the young man does not see any birds due to his level of awareness and noise making as he approaches his sit-spot to by the end of the year he is talking about how a Bewick’s Wren is in dispute with another wren, and from this he was able to say where the boundaries of their territory’s where.

It might sound like I am plugging Jon’s book. We’ll let me tell you I am. It is rare that I read a book or attend a workshop where I agree with everything that is being discussed because I like to question and explore, and I still do this with Jon but in  new way one that feels inspirational. I have been birding since I was eleven and while I knew about and have experienced many of the things Jon talks about. None the less Jon brings a new and refreshing look at the world of birds and our relationship with them, from doing a group sit-spot to giving us an insight on how he worked with and experienced young adults and their relationship with birds over a 12 month period.

I am feeling excited by the prospect of working with the young adults and who knows they may get to a stage were they can tell if danger is approaching their area through their new found relationship with birds, or they may find a new way of communicating with each other, perhaps through dance, or song?

In other words their new understanding may allow them to explore their area through new eyes; it may even lead them to new discoveries about themselves.

A Cunning Hunter

I was reading Jon Young’s book ‘What the Robin knows when I got to page 46, here Jon talked about his observations of a Coopers hawk bringing around 66 song birds to its chicks in the nest over the period of his sit-spot.

This reminded me of an experience a close friend of mine had at our nature reserve in Germany called the Zachariassee which I would like to share that with you.

One day while observing the birds at the Zach. Peter observed a Kestrel (Falco tinnunculus) hunting juvenile Little Ringed Plovers (Charadrius dubius) 

The Kestrel sat on a fence post in the north eastern corner of the reserve. The fence ran alongside the water’s edge of this disused gravel pit. He watched as the Kestrel killed three young plovers in a very short space of time. Always, after the adults had given the 'all clear' and the immature birds started walking around again.

He slammed into them, each time the adults gave the call clear. The result was none of the young survived the Kestrels onslaught. It seems the Kestrel was able to convince the adults that he presented no threat to their young?

The Death of a California Quail

I am cooking dinner one night, when I hear the intense alarms of the California Quail, and I look outside the kitchen window to see one of our cats stalking across the driveway. A male quail is sitting on top of the gate alarming loudly, and a female is cornered against the fencing. Instinctively I scream and run like a banshee out the front door, just as the cat pounces and grabs the female quail.

Feathers explode into the air, and the cat scrambles into the drainage ditch, bird in mouth, and I jump after her, scaring her into dropping her catch, and the wounded quail escapes and flies into the plum, oak and bramble patch. The male quail flies after her, alarming frantically.I snatch the cat and lock her indoors, and then rush back to see the damage. Feathers are everywhere. Too many. Some are clumped with blood and there are tail and wing primaries. It doesn’t look good. I feel terrible.

At this point, most of the birds in the neighbourhood have come to rubberneck. The local raven family (2 adults and their 2 juveniles) swoop in from nowhere, cawing like crazy and flying in big excited circles right over my head. The Scrub Jay family arrives too, making an unbelievable racket. They seem upset but also interested in a possible easy quail meal.

I chase all of them away, flailing my arms and yelling: ”go away! there’s nothing to see here!” I’m the policeman at the scene of a bird crime. I’m glad they obey. I’m too upset to take any corvid nonsense.

I can hear the California Quail in the bushes. I reach out with my heart and mind, and speak softly to them, telling them how sorry I am that my cat did this. They are both alarmed and I don’t want to disturb them anymore, and so I offer my apology, and then stand still in silence, and listen.

And then I hear them. They stop alarming, and begin calling softly to each other, in the sweetest, quietest, most loving way. They are calling “chi-ca-go!” gently, back and forth. It is intimate and private. It touches me deeply. I can’t explain this, but somehow I know what they are saying, and as plain as day I hear them “don’t leave me” “I’m going now” “please stay” “I have to go” “I need you” “I’ll miss you”… They are saying goodbye to each other, and it is the saddest thing in the world. Gradually their calls slip into silence. I know that she’s gone, and my heart aches for the loss of life.

Six days later, I look outside the window, and see the male California Quail sitting where his mate was killed. I watch him out the window for a long time. He is perfectly still, his head held low. There are no other quails around. No other birds. Tufts of feathers from his mate are circled around him. He is sitting in the exact spot on the driveway where she is most present. I can’t explain this, but I know that he is grieving. It breaks my heart, but I also feel honoured to witness one bird’s connection to his mate, and to know that this is real. That birds remember. That birds have feelings. That birds know grief. That the truth is birds are not so different from ourselves.

Raven

The Dark and the Light held them.

The torch is but a distraction from being in the moment. It allows us to move into our heads, unable to see beyond the light in our eyes, causing us to stay in the tunnel that is the beam, this place of false security, which prevents us from venturing outside of the artificial light and into another world long forgotten.

The Dark and the Light command us to pay attention to our sense of place through our awareness of all things, from the rustle of the spider moving through the undergrowth to the blinking of an owl’s eye hidden in the foliage of the tree nearby. We need these things in order to help us understand our sense of community with Mother Earth.

"Do we need torches"? She asked one night as we were about to take the children up into the woods to build a fire under the cover of darkness. I answered "no, if we give them torches they will be off into the woods and we will have trouble keeping them together, the best way is to allow nature do the work for us, with their help".

So, off we set into the darkness, they followed each other in single file, some holding onto the person in front because they did not want to be separated from each other in the dark and in the woods. Once we reached the place we were going too, they set about building a fire in the darkness from the wood that had been collected earlier that day, there was about eight of them and the fire was built in no time. They had practised many times before in day light.

Out came the fire steel, it was struck several times, the char cloth caught the ember and held it ready to be transferred to the tinder bundle, blowing it into a reassuring flame it was transferred to the pile of wood that looked like a tepee, this was to be their fire. Up she roared, giant flames leaping two to three times the height of their heads, embers looking like firefly’s drifting off into the night air of the surrounding wood. Then out they came, the marshmallows, and as we sat warming them over the embers, the story telling began.

The fire had done its job; holding the children together while it listened to their tales and their laughter, keeping them safe and warm. Just as the darkness had done its job in keeping them together until they reach the safety of the camp fire.

Who needs torches when you have the Dark and the Light?