Shrugging off the Listlessness of Summer

It’s been a slow few months on the bird front—summer is like that. The migrants are off making babies, and those that stick around tend towards languidity. 

I’ve also experienced a certain amount of listlessness when it comes to bird watching. It’s an odd feeling to lack the motivation to participate in what is normally a joyful hobby. This feeling typically coincides with the slow months, when most of the birds are expected, and the chance to see new or rare birds is typically not worth the effort.  

I have written a lot about loving the small moments of joy, about appreciating nature even on the Quiet Days—ideas that I firmly believe. But sometimes, it’s just plain hard to do that, even with things we love and are passionate about. 

That’s where a spark helps. 

I’ve been out three times trying to see the Marsh Wren that folks keep posting on eBird about. I’ve tried Clyde Shepherd twice, and now I’m at Legacy Park. According to their reports, it’s in a fairly small area and has just popped into sight for them. I haven’t seen as much as a glimpse of a tail feather, and I’m starting to get frustrated, especially after walking the same 25-yard stretch of trail five times. 

It’s time to leave. 

But, another birder did mention he’d spotted a Least Flycatcher in the orchard. I’m walking through there to get back to my car, so I decide to spend a bit more time seeing what I can see. It’s Phoebes. That’s about it. And sure, they are a flycatcher, but I see them all the time. I’m doing my best to enjoy how cute and fluffy they are, to find joy in the play of sun and shade. But also, this sucks. 

I’m done. I mentally check out from birding, and my mind is already on the next errand, the next thing I need to get done at work. Right at the mouth of the short trail leading back to my car, I’m surprised by a small bird that flits from the underbrush and perches on a limb not 10 feet in front of me. It’s that damn Least Flycatcher. It hops from branch to branch, it poses, it finally flies away. 

And that’s my spark. That’s the thing that revives my motivation. I leave Legacy and head to Clyde Shepherd on the off chance the Marsh Wren is also in a posing mood. 

It’s a Quiet Day at Clyde Shepherd. Just shy of lunchtime, I wonder if I’ve missed my chance. But here’s the thing—I don’t care. That earlier spark has not just brought back my motivation, it’s enabled me to again approach birding in a thoughtful manner. It’s reminded me that the world isn’t here for me and that I’m a lucky participant. 

I lean on the viewing platform overlooking the shallow wetland. I listen to the Robins, Phoebes, and Carolina Wrens. 

Guess what happens next? Two brown flashes catch my eye as they dive into the tall grass just below me. The stalks shiver at their movement, but the birds remain hidden. Finally, one of the Marsh Wrens pops out, hops along a log, then dives back into the overgrowth. 

There is so much more of this world when we release it of our expectations.