by Tim

Some birdcalls are unmistakably distinct. They are like a handful of famous guitarists whose sound will never be confused with any other – Jerry Garcia, Carlos Santana, Mark Knopfler. In the bird world there are some that stand apart in this way. This piece focuses on two of them – the parakeet and the pigeon. Their calls are more like a trumpet and a clarinet, respectively, so maybe we should call them Miles Davis and, um, I can’t really speak for the clarinets.

Parakeets frequent the hills and forests around the Kathmandu Valley, and were the first birds we saw when we opened our curtains at the Bhaktapur Guesthouse that first morning. For us northern-latitude folks, the color and the call both harken to exotic climes. They remind us that we are far from home. For locals, they quickly become a nuisance, I am sure. Eating corn and fruits, making messes of things. But for now, and for us, they generously share their jabber of joy.

Pigeons call in something entirely opposite – so familiar and ubiquitous that we take it for granted. They live in every city, everywhere on the planet. Their call is so subtle and soft. An auditory massage. A bedtime song. A lullaby. Like the parakeet, their colors are outrageously resplendent; almost metallic, like a smearing of oil on pavement. How do we take this for granted? Any child, at any urban park in the world, can toss a handful of popcorn or breadcrumbs and be surrounded by this swirling of pigeon colors and lullabies, transporting them to a giddy fairyland. The temples of Bhaktapur are the favorite perches of local pigeon populations. Worship days are a favorite for the flocks, swooping in to snatch up what has been offered the gods. Does this make the pigeon close to the gods? Perhaps. Birds always draw our vision upward, toward where we often assume many of the highest gods to be. They may even have planted the very idea of transcendence in our consciousness.*

One of my greatest regrets is that I spent many years unintentionally ignoring birds. 30 years to be exact. Then I met Shannon, who shared countless gifts with me, including teaching me to notice birds. Once my field of focus began to include them, entire worlds and relationships opened that I had been ignorant of but which would have been accessible all along. Birds provide companionship wherever we travel; relationships that can be built and nurtured in the deepest forest or the deepest concrete canyon. It is hard to feel alone anywhere on earth when we begin to feel kinship with birds: musical, heavenly, transcendent. Kind of like those distinctive guitar notes. Kind of like Jerry.

* For a beautiful musing on this, check out Episode 73, Season 1 of The Emerald Podcast