I recently read What the Robin Knows by Jon Young and this book made a surprisingly substantial impression on me. Like most nature lovers, I’m always looking for ways to not just expand my knowledge of flora and fauna but also to interact with nature more deeply and skillfully. Field guides are usually more helpful regarding this former, but Jon Young’s expert analysis and practical instruction in interpreting bird behavior should definitely supercharge the latter.
I recommend What the Robin Knows to naturalists of every level of ability. But that’s not the point of this post!
In his book, the author shared a striking quote from a San Bushman, one that resonated with me for what should be obvious reasons…
If one day I see a small bird and recognize it, a thin thread will form between me and that bird. If I just see it but don’t recognize it, there is no thin thread. If I go out tomorrow and see and really recognize that same individual bird again, the thread will thicken and strengthen just a little. Every time I see and recognize that bird, the thread strengthens. Eventually it will grow into a string, then a cord, and finally a rope. This is what it means to be a Bushman. We make ropes with all aspects of the creation in this way.
Very few of our readers reside in the Kalahari or live a subsistence lifestyle, but we all share something rather profound. What it means to be a Bushman sounds an awful lot like what it means to be a birder, doesn’t it?
What a cool quote! If only all people could live with that philosophy in mind.
Reminds me a bit of Avatar …
This is not only nature sustaining, but spirit-sustaining as well. The older I get, the more I want to have this connection to the world around me (but I’m not sure I can swing a move to Kalahari anytime soon). Maybe I could work a Bushman into a future Bob White Birder Murder Mystery?
Few of the readers, but you made no mention of beat writers. I used to reside at the edge of the Kalahari, the backbone of the World, as Livinstone called it. Still remember the scents wind used to bring at sunsets… Will the Black Eagles of the Kgale Hill look out for me?