How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Birds

You know what they say: You never forget your first one. 

Nicole and I first got into the process of bird identification, or "birding" about three years ago. We were in Wickham Park in Manchester when I couldn't help but notice a very unusual blackbird. He had something different about him: Little striped accents adorned his coat by his shoulders when he perched. When he spread his wings to fly, the stripes revealed themselves to be red dots, akin to decorations on a World War II fighter plane.

"What is that?" I asked. 

"It's a red-winged blackbird," said Nicole casually. It was the first "exotic" bird that she had ever committed to memory, way back when she was in elementary school.

Since then, we've purchased a bird identification book. Along with our new SLR camera, we've really had some fun, and birding is a new hobby of ours. Often, the birds do not cooperate when they see Nicole or me with a camera. However, on a recent trip to Albany, one of our red-winged friends was kind enough to put on a show for me.

With his brilliant coloring on full display, aerodynamics that would make Lockheed-Martin jealous, and amazing grace that has fascinated mankind for centuries, I felt very lucky.

Goodbye!

"You're Making us nervous."

What can I say about Jones Beach on the ides of July? First of all, I haven't had this much fun in water since I was body surfing out in Waimea Bay. Nicole is not much of a fan getting tossed around by giant waves, so she documented some of my boyish behavior on camera while bird watching. After seeing her great wildlife shots, I would say she had just as much fun as I did--maybe more.

Who got the most out of the experience? I'll let you be the judge!

Nicole was very lucky to see these fantastic birds in flight. The Common Tern has a habitat that ranges from northern Canada in the summer to Southern Argentina in the Winter. Rarely are they seen anywhere in between. I saw one them fly about six inches over my head while I was splashing around in the surf.

I was wondering why, with the exception of the Common Terns flying over my head, I was in solitude. All of a sudden, the head lifeguard on duty drove by on his dune buggy and blew his whistle. It quickly got my attention, and I swam out of the water. "What's up?" I asked.

"You're swimming in the middle of a rip current," said the lifeguard. "We can see you clearly know what you're doing, but you're making us nervous out there."

Sorry! I offered my sincere apologies, and Nicole and I repositioned ourselves so that I could help the staff at Jones Beach breath a little easier.

Chillin' in the Bronx

Bronx youths escape the summer heat by any means possible in New York City's only freshwater river.

Take a break

From the summer sun:

The riverbank in the shade,

is a welcome respite for everyone.

The water is clear and cool

but this ain't no swimming pool.

If you must take a dip,

bear in mind this simple tip:

The water is toxic no longer,

but bacteria of all kinds still linger.

I don't wish to sound mean and dour,

but if you touch that water, take a shower!