It looked like it had been set up correctly, perched atop a metal stake in my mom’s backyard. Birdseed filled the front tray, while the solar panels on its roof were turning sunlight into electrons as I looked on.
I tapped the button on the white, oval-shaped transmitter; a tiny light glowed green. But it wouldn’t transmit anything; I was ready to dismantle it whole, put it back in its box and ship it back to the merchant for a refund.
“You can’t get it to work?” my mom asked.
“No,” I grumbled, more than a little frustrated with myself. But I decided to take one more look at the directions.
“Let me try this,” I said, faking a little confidence, as I knew I’d already run through almost all of the troubleshooting suggestions in the tiny-print instruction sheet.
So after deleting and re-installing the app on my mom’s phone, which I then re-paired with the transmitter, I finally got them connected — her Birdbuddy was up and running and ready to share itself with the world.
“Finally!” I said to myself, certain that after all the trouble of setting it up, I’d never want to so much as look at it again. And then I took a peek at what it was sending to my mom’s phone.
A small, grey-and-charcoal-colored bird perched on the edge of the red tray, nipping away at the birdseed beneath its feet. It looked directly into the camera, turned its head, and turned it again the other way. Then, as quickly as it had landed moments earlier, it flew away.
In the app, I noticed that you can add friends, who receive a text message every time a bird makes an appearance within camera range. So I signed myself up, and waited.
I didn’t have to wait long. Within just a few minutes — and, it seems, every ten minutes after that — my phone vibrated with a new notification. “See who’s just landed,” it said. “Check out who’s just stopped by.”
Remember, at first I was hugely annoyed by the whole idea of this. Who’d want to set up a camera in their yard to look at birds? Can’t you look at them from the window? Isn’t that enough?
But when I got a look at a house finch looking into the camera and back at me, I was hooked. (The app includes an AI you can use to recognize each bird species; so far, I’ve seen finches, eastern bluebirds, northern cardinals, chipping sparrows, tufted titmouse, and lots more.)
I couldn’t get enough. Every time I heard my phone buzz with a new notification, I raced to pick it up so I could see what new bird species had flown in for a visit.
The app’s AI can even get specific enough to “read” each bird’s face; you can give them names if you pay for the premium version. (I’m too cheap for that! But after a while, you do feel like you come to know each bird individually.)
Each successive alert only whetted my appetite for more. I found myself in a bookstore, scooping up Jennifer Ackerman’s The Genius of Birds and Amy Tan’s The Backyard Bird Deck, a companion card set to her bestselling book (which she also illustrated) on how her fascination with birds first took flight.
A few years ago, my wife and I considered bringing home some backyard chickens. We never figured out how to make that work; what do you do with them when you want to take a vacation? Still, these birds are stirring my interest in that anew.
One thing you can’t see in the photos — but I can — is that the yard just behind the bird in each snapshot is the yard where I played as a kid. This is the house I grew up in, this yard is the one I ran around in from the time I could walk.
Played countless hours, running all around back there, hiding and seeking, throwing frisbees, practicing my pitching… all the kind of kids’ play you can imagine. And then one day I stopped playing back there, because, well, that’s what you do as you grow up. We all do.
Right now, my son — I call him “little T” in these pages a lot — is halfway between his 12th and 13th birthday. My wife and I said to each other just this past week, “you know, we’re about to lose him” — not that he’s going anywhere, of course.
Rather, he’s perched on that edge between his boyhood and his teenage years. It’s hard to pinpoint where one phase ends and the other begins, but we definitely know when we’ve left childhood behind — because we don’t go back, do we?
I know, I know, I know. I did it too, and so did you, and so did all of us. It’s inevitable, and it’s healthy. Growing up means you’re growing. It’s what he is meant to do. That doesn’t make it easy, though, does it?
So for now, even though it’s only for a moment, I can go back there (at least in my imagination) thanks to my new bird buddies, who never seem to run out of interest in the camera — or appetite!
As always, keep in touch and let me know what’s new with you in your running and your life — and thanks for your patience while I’ve taken the past two and half weeks off. It’s been a restful break, but I’m so glad to be back in the groove with you.
Your friend,
— Terrell
As the eagle nudges their young out of the nest to take flight, you will successfully do the same. I call it a forever "tears of joy" moment.
Great post T. I look forward to buying this for our bird loving granddaughter but I hope it won't stop her from enjoying her walkabouts with her binoculars. 🤷♂️
Hold on tight. It goes by so fast. We want them to grow up, become their own person. Proud when they do. Both of mine live out of state. I did something right as they call a couple of times a week on their drive home from work. Summer's coming, need to plan a few trips.