In my growing up years, count days were sacrosanct. Only the severest of weather or illness could interfere. Come hell or high water might be a way to describe my parents desire to take part.
But what of a pandemic?
Weeks ago my mother received the email from Dan McAskill asking whether she and my father would be taking part in the Hillsborough Christmas Bird Count this year.
At the time it seemed there were so many potential obstacles, both personal and communal, that mom was hesitant in responding yes. With a little encouragement she did and the fates aligned such that we were able to get out as a small group of two households, each in our own vehicle.
Memories of recent count years of being crammed into one stuffy vehicle with my dear uncle Gerald, my Seattle sister Janice, a birding friend Jean Watts, mom, dad, my son Lucas and myself seemed altogether surreal under the restrictions of today's count.
In an effort to connect, today we used walkie talkies I borrowed from my brother so my mom and son could communicate while my dad and I each did the driving. It helped to bridge the physical gap COVID-19 has wedged between my parents and my family.
Breaker breaker ten four gets a little tiresome as you are trying to remember to push the button when you need to confirm details of a sighting but Lucas and my mom were great sports about it all. Glancing over at my passenger I could see Lucas' lap covered with his big camera and lens, his binoculars, his pen and notebook, phone and walkie talkie. His pile was a little cumbersome but he managed it all with good humour.
The slow unfolding of a lifetime of birding the eastern end of PEI is so evident in how the Count progresses with my parents.
It's been around 40 years that my parents have been taking part in the Christmas Bird Counts. Dad knows the roads like the back of his hand and has a fondness for certain fields and properties which he enthusiastically shares with us each time. He knows exactly which farm house appeals to my sensibilities and appreciates the architecture of certain windows and the slope of specific fields. He and mom recall what bird was historically seen where.
Their participation always rounded out Christmas week for me as a kid. So many different characters would gather for potlucks to share sightings and good Christmas cheer. Two years ago my parents hosted for the Hillsborough Count and their welcoming home was filled with the warmth and camaraderie of shared count lists and tastiness.
Due to circumstances, some personal and others communal, it was the last count my sweet Seattle sister was home on PEI for.
Sadly, the pandemic did put a quash on the more celebratory and communal components of the count. My uncle made it to the East Point count last weekend just as the circuit breaker was lifted but not my son as he would usually head up for an overnight visit and then go birding with Gerald at the crack of dawn and the pandemic took care of that fun time for them.
Another birding friend did not attend today as the burden of driving alone and trying to do the sighting and communicate with other drivers was not worth it for them. I am glad that we got out just the same. It felt like we honoured a long held tradition as best we could and made some important memories along the way.
Some thoughts and images from today:
Seeing a clear-cut swath of former woods cut to the bone and hearing songbirds still clinging to the fringe of woods remaining felt so sad to Lucas and I. When and where will the development and destruction stop? How can biodiversity compete with humans' insatiable desire to dominate and reconstruct the natural landscape?
The dawning of thousands of crows against a brightening sky as they moved from their nighttime roost to their daytime one helped me remember to hold space for brighter tomorrows while acknowledging the vastness of this day.
The glory of a field of 7 majestic Bald Eagles was spectacular but still diminished in my heart by the misery of the tiny beasts evidently being eaten by them. That life can be cruel beyond measure seems to be built right into things. Softening this fact with frequent kindnesses helps tip the balance towards goodness.
The rise and crash of the sun-split, earth-reddened waves in Earnscliffe were vivid reminders of the wild, mild, wind and rain storm that blew through yesterday and that no matter the storm, it too shall pass.
The early wash of light across the flimsy skim of ice on a marshy inlet, moved with a swift moodiness that only a winter morning can offer and reminded me that moments of beauty are fleeting and best held with care.
Standing waterside as the wild aliveness of the frigid morning air rattled any remaining sleep out of us, Lucas shivering, counted 40 plus seals before we ran back across the Cherry Valley churchyard to our car because sometimes you must dash into life with boldness and then rest and catch your breath as needed.
The humble banality and sheer beauty of myriad black ducks, starlings, crows shows there is beauty everywhere if only we have hearts to see it.
The blood licked bones of that poor, winged creature in Village Green whose feathers were numerous, sizable and well scattered, reminded me that winter is a lengthy season of leanness and we must take our goodness when we can.
Our own small group of four divided into two household vehicles by COVID-19 restrictions, its own stark reminder that we ultimately escape none of the harsh realities of this flesh born world.
We are no more or less than all of this.
Still, the fleeing into wonder of the gorgeous natural world and the embrace of connection and tradition with my parents this Hillsborough Count day granted us --was so very worth the extra effort and was captured in the pausing riverside for mid- morning refreshments of tea, gingerale, consomme and sherry, crackers and cheese, potato chips and my mother's excellent Christmas sweets with the gleam of the sun-drenched waves at Vernon Bridge almost blinding us.
Despite it all and because of it all, our little divided team of three generations of nature lovers raised our cups to the gift of still being here.
Wishing you well,
Jill
Thank you for describing the count for me so vividly. It won't be long before we will be together again, counting birds and hugging each other's faces off... 💖