RECREATION & WELLNESS
BIRDING REPORT: SUMMER 2021 I never turn down dessert because of the simple fact that my time here is limited. Our impermanence can be forgotten, with the infinite to do list we force upon ourselves.
I Jury Nam Director of Climbing & Outdoor Programming 403-287-4138 jnam@glencoe.org
always feel I do not have enough time! But our impermanence is a gift, reminding us that time is extremely important, that we must carve out space to breathe, connect and hold kindness. I have lost enough to know that time is finite. It is written in the sand. When I go birding with my Glencoe group, I carve out space to never rush. I never expect what may or may not come. Time is limited. But saying you have lots of it for meaningful activities — and for other people — creates space to relax, breathe deeply, lean in fully and enjoy. The hummingbirds were a real treat this summer. Our birding group saw three types: calliope, rufous and ruby throated. We have been running this group for a little over a year. It is made up of wonderful, dedicated members who I am extremely grateful to have met. During one particularly hard week, the amount of stress I had been putting onto myself made my joints and muscles ache. No amount of Advil, mineral baths or stretching could fix it. It was telling me to slow down, take space and breathe. But I felt like I did not have time. I was rushed and putting immense pressure on myself. One Tuesday morning, I woke up so stiff, my brain cloudy with stress, that as I headed out the door, I felt like I had 100 lbs of molasses on me! Slowly and steadily, I got out the door and made it to the birding
location… just in time. My group was awaiting my arrival, conversing and laughing. I got out, mustered up a friendly “Hello everyone,” repeated to myself “you have lots of time” then leaned in and led the walk. Our day started with a belted kingfisher flying along the stillness of the turquoise pond where its reflection glimmered unaltered as it flew and rattled. He landed on a high perch and stared down at the crystal-clear waters, waiting for a small fish to swim by. We all stood watching silently as he fussed over his ruffled feathers, lining them up neatly again, to make a smooth blue silhouette. We watched young wood ducks, brand new to the world, sunning themselves on a log, enjoying the small pleasures of life. We heard warbling vireos singing like robins high in the jungle-like canopy. The chickadees were out-and-about after nesting and hiding, just as we have emerged, careful but excited, as our restrictions have been lifted. One of the members saw a flash of brilliant orange, like a glimpse of a beautiful setting sun. We guessed it was a baltimore oriole, then raced to see if our suspicions were true. Even with traffic noise in the background, everything went quiet as we focused in on a cluster of trees. And there, we saw not one, but six baltimore orioles! It was a mix of females, males and juveniles, all brightly coloured, flying around the branches, unbothered by our presence. As the birding day ebbed and flowed in infinite time, the birds came and went. The pain in my joints melted away, too. My stiff muscles felt soothed and the fog in my mind lifted. Our birding group had once again proven to be a sanctuary for me from pain, reminding me to reserve space for the things I love. Closed-toed shoes is a recommendation I usually make before all my outdoor activities. With the stress of limited time, too many to do lists and a lapse in judgement, I ran out the door one afternoon in my
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