One of the many benefits of running on the East Bay Bike
Path, besides the smooth surface, car-free and flat, friends we see on our
daily jaunts, and watching the ships and fishing boats, is the wildlife. Springtime is the best because there are
opportunities to see babies of all kinds, from bunnies to foxes to lambs to
many varieties of bird species. I’ve
always been attracted to the bigger, showy birds like the osprey, swans, and
especially the egrets and blue herons. There’s
just something about watching an osprey dramatically swoop down, fish in beak,
to feed her babies, or a swan use her long, powerful neck to discard some brush
and choose other pieces for her nest, much like I imagine an artisan going
through an abandoned building and finding treasure among the discarded wood and
metal. I also like watching an egret or
heron stalk his fishy prey, sticking his beak in the water with precision and
force, and then swallowing the morsel whole with a triumphant gulp.
Those are the big birds—the obvious ones. But just as my
friend Lesley introduced me to the concept that even plants without flowers can
be cool, some bike path friends have helped Nels and I recognize and appreciate
the smaller, less dramatic birds. Last
fall, a woman who rides her bike regularly, always with binoculars, showed us a
night heron, which is smaller and grayer than a blue, but literally has a
ponytail. Rachel, another avid
birdwatcher, and Nels spotted a little blue heron, which are apparently
somewhat rare, or maybe just difficult to see.
And this week, another woman biker called our
The night heron, little blue heron, and Virginia Rail may
not have the size and plumage of their spectacular avian cousins, but they are
fascinating in their own right. It
reminds me that so much is hidden right in front of us unless we take the time
to look, or have a helpful and patient guide to introduce us to subtle features
of the landscape, whether in the natural world or in a specific context or
person. When I see something new in a
place that I have been through hundreds, if not a thousand times, like the bike
path, I wonder what else I’m missing in my everyday landscapes of home, the
yard, the neighborhood, my drive to work.
And what am I missing if I don’t take the time to have a real
conversation with someone, and pay attention to facial expressions and body
language, along with the obvious—the swans of communication—words.
The smaller birds also remind me of the intrinsic worth of
nature. Places in Bristol, like the Audubon
center, along with more cultivated places like Colt State Park, the town beach,
and Mt. Hope Farm, are reminders that green space, beach grass and mud, along
with open water, are refuges not only for wildlife but for us—for the heart,
the spirit, the mind.
It seems we are in an era where everyone and everything
needs to prove that it’s a means to an end, as opposed to being of value in and
of itself. Students—even those whose talents
clearly lie in the arts or humanities—are being pushed to STEM (Science,
Technology, Engineering, Math). This
movement of prioritizing “hard science” is such that a recent graduate of the
URI/RIC doctoral program received the University of Rhode Island Graduate
School Excellence in Doctoral Research Award (non-STEM). To categorize winners as STEM and non-STEM
devalues this student’s research and more importantly, his contribution to the
world through that research.
The worth of the Virginia Rail and educational research may
not be calculated in dollars, but it does not make them any less valuable. My life is enriched by new discoveries; it is
when I get caught up in the day-to-day stuff of email, administrivia, and
calculating how to deal with bureaucracy that I feel trapped. Neil Young had it right when he said, “I’m
headed for the ditch.” Who knows what
will be dancing through those high reeds?
I won’t know unless I stop to look.
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