On Evening Grosbeak
It’s not often that I remember my dreams. I suppose I
haven’t spent much time cultivating that skill. In fact, I would say I have
spent exactly no time attempting to cultivate that skill. Still, on rare
occasion, I find myself waking up in a fog, attempting to piece together some
incredible adventure that happened in dream world. I remember once being in a
room with a closed door and an unhappy wolverine (are they ever happy, really?)
waiting just outside. I opened the door, the wolverine rushed in, then I rushed
out and quickly closed the door behind me. Perfect exchange and I was none the
worse for the wear. Sometimes, I wake up with a racing heart after having had
one of those crazy “I’m being chased” dreams. You know the type.
More often than not, my dreams revolve around birds though.
This ought not be a surprise as I spend an inordinate amount of time with birds
on the brain during my waking hours. I’ll not characterize it as excessive as I
tend to think I spend just the right amount of time thinking about birds on a
daily basis, whereas the average person spends far too little, in my opinion.
But that is the topic of another piece.
Quite often, no actual birds (or as actual as a dream bird
can be) appear in these bird-related dreams I have. For the most part, these
dreams are situational. I’m someplace (often a forest or jungle) usually with
people (the people I regularly bird with most often) and we are experiencing
some typical birding-related phenomenon – searching for a bird, talking about a
bird, silently scanning and listening, or something of the like. Fairly
innocuous dreams they are, but comforting and sometimes funny, as are our
adventures.
On rare occasion however, a bird makes an appearance in one
of my birding dreams. And that is the manner in which I met my first Evening
Grosbeak.
I presume I’m not unique, particularly among those of my
generation and younger, in having had a bird guide before ever having seen an
Evening Grosbeak. For we no longer live in a world where Evening Grosbeaks flourish
in the manner and with the numbers they once had. Like many birders, I’ve spent
hours poring over field guides of regions both here and yon, with wide-eyed
enthusiasm over the possibility of someday setting eyes and glass on a few of
the creatures described therein. The Evening Grosbeak was high on the list of
birds I hoped to see from the moment I spied it in my first Peterson.
In my dream, I saw a brilliant male. Time and daylight has
faded the fine details of my memory – those details that concern where I was
and what the bird was doing, are lost. The Grosbeak however, was as perfect and
crystal clear as any photograph I have seen before or since. Those details
remain etched into my memory and accessible with a mere shut of the eyes. I’ve
spent some time trying to explain how something could appear so perfect in a
dream, something even that I’ve never actually seen, but I suppose any
explanation may be inadequate. Besides, I think perhaps it needs no
explanation. I expect perhaps it is part of the human condition to know and
understand this sentiment.
When I awoke I was smiling. I had just gotten my lifer
Evening Grosbeak. I had seen it with my own eyes in such glorious and
mouthwatering detail that it didn’t really matter to me that it wasn’t “real.” I
had experienced a moment with that bird. My heart beat fast and I tried to
close my eyes and force myself back to that beautiful moment, but alas, it had
flown out of my life forever.
Sometimes I get to wondering though. Might there be an
Evening Grosbeak out there who dreamed he was seeing a human at that very
instant? Could that magical dream-world we wander in and out of on a nightly
basis be not a mere venue of hallucination? Might it instead be a place where
energetic connections are made between both the animate and inanimate? Perhaps
this is a foolish notion. Perhaps I, as a scientist, should not admit to having
such seemingly irrational thoughts. Then again, perhaps irrational thoughts sometimes
help push the boundaries of science and facilitate the expansion of our
thoughts. Perhaps, somewhere out there, an unhappy wolverine awaits his
revenge.
I have since gotten my lifer Evening Grosbeak in the
awake-world. In fact, over the years I’ve had a good number of fantastic
experiences and moments with flocks and pairs alike. From watching mid-summer
fledglings to seeing spring migrants at my study site, counting groups for
Christmas Bird Counts and everything in between. I can say with deep conviction
that I adore that bird. It has a very special place in my heart. Perhaps it was
the manner in which I got my lifer, or the detail with which I can recall that
bird. Or maybe, it’s because it is the Evening Grosbeak.
