PERFECT PITCH
Birding Blind TURNS OUT, YOU CAN LEARN A LOT ABOUT A BIRD FROM ITS SONG
Story by Catherine Schoeffler Comeaux Photo by Paul Kieu • Illustrations by Kourtney Zimmerman
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n the final hours before suppertime, my daughter bounces around the backyard bellowing, again and again: “Who cooks for you? Who cooks for yooooou all!?” It is not a question; she knows who cooks for us all (lately, it is her dad). She is hooked on repeating the catchy mnemonic phrase for the song of the Barred Owl, while her sister plays the rhythm of the White-throated Sparrow on her flute, “Old Sam Peabody, Peabody, Peabody!” It has gotten a bit noisier around our house since we started learning to bird by ear. When my first child was born blind, all the overly protective instincts of a new parent kicked in, intensified by how little I knew about blindness. My husband and I met fellow parents of blind children who taught us to foster independence and confidence in our child. We formed the Louisiana Parents of Blind Children Southern Saturday Club and started getting our kids together for activities like art lessons, hayrides, and audio-descriptive movie nights. This spring, our small group decided to head out to Acadiana Park in Lafayette to learn about birding—a wonderful, multi-sensual experience that immersed us in the smells of the woods, the feel of fresh air on our skin, and the pleasantly noisy sound of bird songs in spring. Mud puddles and chocolate glazed donuts made the morning complete. Before our excursion, our family repeatedly listened to the Peterson Field Guide to Birding By Ear and focused on recordings of birds we could expect to hear in the woods of South Louisiana at this time of year. We crammed the night before—listening repeatedly to the buzzy trill of the Northern Parula, the “Chick-burr” of the Scarlet Tanager, and the “Purty, purty, purty” of the Northern Cardinal.
Several families— siblings and grandparents in tow—joined us that Saturday morning, despite lingering rain. On the cusp of peak migration season in South Louisiana, the trees were noisy— repeated whistles coming from high up, a buzzy trill even higher, a darting, “Chip!” nearby—layer upon layer of sounds. Our guide, expert ear-birder Robert Dobbs, immediately identified fifteen species by their song alone, “Oh, and did you just hear that Rubythroated hummer buzz by?” he asked as we all did
The Louisiana Parents of Blind Children Southern Saturday Club, composed of a small group of people of various ages, led by ear birder Robert Dobbs, walking on an elevated boardwalk surrounded by a canopy of leafy, spring-green trees and underbrush in Acadian Park.
our best to follow along with the barrage of sounds surrounding us. In his role as the Nongame Ornithologist for the Louisiana Department of Wildlife & Fisheries, Dobbs spends a lot of time in the field making official bird counts. “For expert birders and ornithologists, upwards of ninety percent of bird detections are made by ear,” he explained to the group. Birders listen for songs, calls, and non-vocal mechanical sounds to solve the intricate puzzle of identifying birds—which can also involve noting the bird’s size, length and structure of bill and legs, plumage coloration, markings and patterns, and behavior. Birders can greatly reduce the species that need to be considered when identifying a bird by considering only the birds likely to occur in a geographic locality, habitat, and season. “Songs and calls offer a completely different suite of signals that may be used to identify birds,” said Dobbs. What we hear in the springtime are mostly songs, more complex vocalizations birds use for attracting a mate or establishing—and maintaining—territory. Calls are shorter, often one note, used to announce location or a threat. Non-vocal mechanical sounds, like that of the buzzing Ruby-throated hummer, are sounds birds make with their wings, feet, beaks, and other body parts. As we walked, Dobbs would snap his fingers in the direction he wanted us to listen. It was no easy task for // J U N E 2 1
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