Adventures of a Louisiana Birder by Marybeth Lima

Author:Marybeth Lima
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: LSU Press
Published: 2019-09-04T16:00:00+00:00

5

THE QUEST FOR THREE HUNDRED

THE MARATHON

The first and second halves of a marathon can be very different experiences; there are “bad miles” during the second half, those that I have to slog through to make it. They’ve come to me in almost every one of the marathons I’ve run, as early as mile thirteen and as late as mile twenty-four. I’m physically exhausted and I have to push through the urge to stop; getting through is a mental and spiritual game that I play with myself. During a bad mile, I think of a person I love and conjure up poignant memories involving that person. When I reach the next mile marker I change to another loved one, and continue to do so until I work my way through the bad miles.

Birding in the dead of summer in Louisiana reminds me a little of the bad miles during a marathon. South Louisiana typically experiences heat indexes that reach 100 degrees or higher. Even when birding inside the truck with the AC running full blast, it’s hot. Although we had already seen most birds possible for the season, there were still about a dozen we could chase.

Mary was stable and enjoying time with us and with Hurricane, so we walked the tightrope between chasing birds and being home as much as possible. For the summer season, I planned four trips: (1) to the west central part of Louisiana for the Greater Roadrunner; (2) to Shreveport for the Bell’s Vireo and Willow Flycatcher; (3) to Peveto in late August for migrating flycatchers; and (4) out into the Gulf of Mexico for whatever pelagic goodies might be there.

We also planned short chase trips for needed birds. For example, when Janine Robin posted about baby screech-owls she was observing daily in a Wood Duck nest box in her backyard, I contacted her immediately to see if we could yard crash.1 She assented, and on June 1 we rode over to the tiny village of Folsom after Lynn got out of work. Janine came out to greet us as we pulled in her driveway and took us to her backyard, which consisted of three acres of birding paradise. Feeders were everywhere, with lots of colorful gardens, open expanses of grass, and a tall tree line that surrounded the back of her property. Janine led us to where the ground level dipped toward a swampy low area that didn’t quite look like a ditch but could become one during a good rain. The nest box was located in this low area and close to a small pond. Janine positioned us at the edge of high land, just before the dip and about thirty feet away from the nest box opening.

“Let’s just watch the hole,” Janine said, “they show themselves every so often. I haven’t seen them yet today, but it’s getting toward evening and this is a good time to see them.”

We stood together scrutinizing the hole. Although there was no action, the birds in the

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