It's 8:00 AM and I am meeting the birdwatching group at the marsh for a very full morning of scoping, peering, discussing and identifying. I'm a newbie and don't know anyone at all. I have never birdwatched with others, but I am here to learn. And experience some sort of fellowship with people with common interests. Fellowship is a loaded word for me. Raised Southern Baptist, in conjures up inedible devilled egg and casserole spreads on Wednesday evenings after church, medium-sized gatherings at which I had to wear uncomfortable clothes and be paraded around politely and touched and spoken to by strange adults with strange smells. Church women smelled like too much perfume and had giant scary breasts that hugged into you. Church men smelled like tobacco and their hands were fiercely hard and they spoke in mysterious and mocking tones, as if my innocence could only be met with derision. These evenings were terrible to me and somehow, meeting this group of birders here, amongst dawn cattails and the territorial display of the Red-Winged Blackbird, reminds me of them. Not in a rational way, mind you; these are nice people. But in some primordial sense, I live a waking nightmare, fearing strangers with experience and authority.
To counter this phobia, I generously spike my coffee thermos with Irish whiskey in the parking lot. I am always astonished how many people are just sitting in their cars in early morning parking lots. I have noticed this phenomenon a lot recently, people just sitting alone in cars wherever you go. It makes you wonder. Anyway, I can see the birders gathering in my rearview. They look so perfect in their outfits and binoculars hanging. My palms are sweaty. I want to sink into the floorboards, but I don't. I take my first shot of courage and join the group, introducing myself as a novice and finding myself gently taken under wing.
An hour-and-a-half into the trip and I have added eight new birds to my life list. The guidance, as well as the extra eyes, is extremely helpful. I have learned to id hawks based on tail plumage, a trick I had not been able to gather from the literature. Unfortunately, about that time is when my vices begin to take over my decision-making processes.
First off, I am drunk, though coherent - maybe a little louder than I need to be. Plus, I have to pee so bad it hurts. I try to slink into the woods and relieve myself, but am too self-conscious. I can't do it. My bladder is killing me, making me cranky, leading me to sit on a stump and cross my legs tightly and light a cigarette - a big no-no with the birding crowd. I can't help it. My brain hurts. I light another. I should have left an hour ago. I should have stayed in bed. At least I'm not slurring, I hope. My blood sugar is either too high or too low. can't tell. Oh God in heaven -you can never be judged by people you've never met.
Why do I do it? People need to find community. Being alone is satisfactory on a minute-to-minute basis, but you get scared of it when you map it out long-term. A feeling of belonging, of being involved some way, feels like a good impulse. Let me reiterate, these are nice people. Sadly, I've never assimilated well with the nicer crowd. I am a wolfman, a maniac. I am so chronically inappropriate.
As a matter of fact, with what crowd exactly have I assimilated well? I drive home drunker than I should on a midday Saturday and feel terrible, despite the osprey I saw carrying a huge fish just over the surface of the Potomac. That was magnificent.
