How I started relating to the birds in my yard
(A mini guide to building relationships with other species)
Of all the bird songs I have come to identify, the orange headed thrush sings my favourite tunes. It’s a layered song with several stanzas and the melody is accented with other birdy vocalisations (buzzes, chirps, warbles).
When I first started paying attention to bird calls and songs a year ago, it was a cacophony, with a couple unmistakable jarring sounds here and there. The shrill calls (looking at you Brahminy Kite) were the only ones I could identify at first. Then I heard what the Cornell Lab’s library describes as, “beautiful song is (sic) composed of well-spaced strophes of warbling and buzzy notes.”
It took me a few days to find the bird. The thrush was holding a perfect elocution posture to get his song heard far and wide. His little belly was protruded and his chest proud. With that song quality, he had every right to be proud. I showed him off to anyone who would agree to follow me into the backyard.
It took me another few days to capture him with my camera. I was as excited as a child is when they finally receive a long coveted toy. I hope birds don’t have beliefs or mythology around photographs because a picture is more than enough for me to fulfil the base human desire to own everything they like.
I still can’t identify all the songs I hear every day. But now I can tell when the white throated kingfisher is looking for a mate, why the Coppersmith Barbet is named so and when the Oriental Magpie Robin is wondering if we’ll put the dog food out for it to steal from. I know it’s the hawk-cuckoo screaming ‘brain fever’ every evening and when to run out to look for the Orange Headed Thrush singing proudly high up in the teak trees.
