The Bold and Confiding Black-capped Chickadee (Poecile atricapillus)

     Even though Christmas comes and goes without celebration or fuss, I received an amazing Santa gift.

      Louise de Kiriline Lawrence is unique in so many ways in the storied history of Canadian ornithology, the author of many books, both for adults and children.

      This book, an anthropomorphic account told by a Black-capped Chickadee named Peet, is written for a child, but it matters not, for good literature is good literature. To the extent that it is possible I put myself in the mind of a youngster, ten or eleven years old perhaps, and marvelled at the information gained about Canadian avifauna in so delightful a manner. I would have learned without knowing it.

     In addition the book is charmingly illustrated by Thoreau MacDonald, a leading exponent of black-and-white illustrations; the artwork is simply splendid. MacDonald gravitated towards black-and-white artwork as a way of coping with colour blindness.

     So, in one volume one has the impassioned outpourings of a distinguished (and since her death, revered) Canadian ornithologist and an equally exalted Canadian illustrator who has few equals in his chosen genre.

     Such a gift!

     But the purpose of this account is not to extol the virtues of the book, but to reflect on the pleasure of communion with chickadees. It was de Kiriline's statement in the Introduction that engaged my thoughts.

"I fell in love with Peet, my Black-capped Chickadee, the moment he curled his firm little claws around my finger to get the sunflower seed I held out to him. That elfin grip was like the handclasp of friendship from another world. From out of the mysterious spheres of Nature this elusive sprite had come to me of his own free will. Without fear or hesitation, with one airy gesture, he cancelled all the inherent distrust between man and the untamed bird. It was a wonderful moment that I shall never forget."

     It struck me immediately that this reflected my own experience, expressed so eloquently by de Kiriline, for whom English was not her first language. I don't remember my exact first experience, but the sense of joy has been embedded within me since the first moment a chickadee landed on my hand.

     There is a feeling verging on metaphysical that a bird weighing a mere 10 -14 grams (half an ounce), whose life I could extinguish merely by closing my hand and crushing it, is willing to trust me and share its world with me. I know of no one who has enjoyed the experience who does not feel the same way.

     You might be surprised (or perhaps not) at the number of people who have asked me to take them to where they can feed a chickadee. People young and old, from experienced birdwatcher to absolute novice, scientist and layman, man, woman and child. Their reaction is universal. Joy, pure unalloyed joy, a wellspring of emotion from deep within, themes of connection to our own origins.

     Surely little is more sorely needed during these terrifying days of environmental destruction and the daily experience of a world that is unravelling around us, than an intimate connection, or a reconnection, with nature. Therein lies sanity, therein lies peace, therein lies the fundamental truth that we are all connected. It is not "we" and "they", it is "us."

     In his indelibly prescient and visionary book Eaarth, Bill McKibben makes it very clear that the Earth we once knew no longer exists.  We are moving into the murky land of the unknown, where soaring global temperatures and all the disturbances that will result, will change the very nature of our lives. Indeed they are already occurring. Just ask the Californian whose forests and woodlands are ravaged by wildfires year after year, fires that start earlier and burn hotter and longer. Ask the citizens of Jasper, AB or Lytton, BC whose towns were destroyed. Ask the Inupiaq of Alaska as they watch the methane bubbling up in the waters of melted permafrost, who are forced to become spectators in the termination of their traditional way of life.

     Might I hold high the hope that a chickadee will remain a connection to all that I cherish? Is it too much to ask that we should permit this fellow traveller still to commune with us? Every foolish action we take, every failed climate conference, every denial of the truth before our eyes jeopardizes all life, not only our own.

     Louise de Kiriline Lawrence waxes poetic about "the handclasp of friendship from another world." 

     May it never be offered in vain.