Cardinals, Bluejays, and "Honeybirds"

A bird is more than just a bird, although it certainly didn't start out that way. And our backyard is a veritable aviary of feathered delights which we are fortunate enough to witness each day. At least that's how I think of it now. Several weeks ago, it was just my backyard, full of lifeless, barren trees, still recovering from the frigid winter. And the birds were just birds, slowly returning from their Florida vacations to build nests in our quiet, mid-Michigan neighborhood. But somehow, our two-year-old son, Keith, spurred me to see it all quite differently, as children tend to do when we let them.

Every time Keith spots one of our feathered friends, he runs to the back window, (which, incidentally, spans the entire length and height of our living room wall) his forefinger bobbing up and down, pointing at the sight to behold. "Bird!" he shouts. One day, when we were all sitting in the living room and this happened, my husband, Ryan, pushed his glasses up on his nose, looked up from his Newsweek article, and squinted at the window. "Actually, Keith, that's a cardinal. See its red color? That means it's a cardinal. A special kind of bird." Keith is pretty quick, so, in no time at all, he replaces his generic word with the ever-more-specific "cardinal." Suddenly, a bird isn't just a bird anymore. And the world grows a little bit.

After this incident, I tilt my head and see the cardinal pecking at the fallen sunflower seeds below the feeder. A couple of steps behind him is his less colorful partner. I smile. "Do you think she complains that she's never the one who gets to leave the nest to look for seeds by herself?" My husband smirks, preparing his come-back. "No, she is grateful that her husband works so hard to bring home the seeds. She's happy to sit on the nest at home and can't wait to get back to it. Oh, and she keeps it clean, by the way, too!" We both start laughing. Keith's insights are not only amusing, they're also instructive; they help us to re-discover our senses of humor and teach us to see each other--and the world--a little differently. Who knew a two-year-old could do that?

As if understanding this, Keith starts jumping up and down, wagging his pointer finger at the cardinal outside. "Cardinal! Cardinal!" he shouts. "Mama! Papa! Cardinal!" He continues to repeat this mantra until we acknowledge the miracle before us. "Wow! Is that cardinal eating sunflower seeds from the birdhouse?" I ask, hoping to spur some more insights from our little guy. "Cardinal hair!" Keith exclaims, pointing to the bird's red-crested head. "Keith hair!" he pats his own colicked crest, thrilled to make a connection between him and his backyard discovery. And so it goes.

This past week, Keith has learned that bluejays, perched on a branch of the towering maple tree shading our yard, are also making regular visits to our feeders. "Blue Cardinal!" he surmises, clapping, obviously proud of himself. "No, that's a bluejay, buddy." Papa instructs in his professor voice. "See his blue-crested head? And his wings? Well, they do have some white and black on them, too." "Bluejay!" Keith replies. The jay, almost as if it senses the toddler's presence, quickly leaves its perch to escape the scrutiny bestowed upon it. "C'mon bluejay!" Keith motions toward himself with his hand, beckoning the jay's return. After several minutes have passed with no bluejay in view, Keith shrugs his miniature shoulders and nods. "Bluejay home house!" he states, matter-of-factly. I smile. "That's right, buds, the bluejay went home to his nest to feed his baby birds." "Uh huh." he sighs, pleased with his keen observation.

The following day, Keith presses his nose against the window and summons the bluejay again. Quite fortuitously, and much to our surprise, a bluejay lands next to the oak tree and pecks some seeds in the grass. "Bluejay!" Keith cheers, believing that his call has magically produced his bird friend. Ryan grabs our copy of Birds of North America and points out the bluejay and cardinal that are making homes in our backyard. "More! Papa! More!" Keith pleads. "Well, here's a chickadee... and here's a hummingbird." Keith wags his pointer finger at the picture of the hummingbird. "Seeds!" he shouts. Papa continues. "Well, hummingbirds don't actually eat seeds. They eat nectar or sugar water...kind of like juice." Keith squeals, "Honeybird!" followed by "Apple juice! Keith apple juice, too!" Both of us look at the two-year-old in front of us in utter amazement and then at each other. "God, I love that little boy," Ryan says. "Me too" is all I can manage back.

And so the world becomes a bigger place as cardinals, bluejays, and "honeybirds" begin to fill it. More complex, sure, but simpler, too. We take a few moments to enjoy the beauty of the life beyond our window, and begin viewing our backyard a bit differently. A bird is more than just a bird.