Requiem for a bearded reedling

Immediately, I feel something is terribly wrong. And it is the not the first time. But I dare not think about what it can be. Let alone to ask the question to the motley crew of bird lovers.

It is early in the morning. Half past six at most. After a short journey by car and a ten-minute walk, we arrive where we will stay all morning. A bird hide. The wooden construction stands about four meters above the ground. With a surface area of ​​three by five meters, it offers enough space for visitors. This morning a group of nature lovers has gathered. They have all sacrificed part of their night’s rest. To be able to observe them here. Bearded reedlings.

A few years ago, the area where the bird hide is located was still pasture. Only English ryegrass grew here. The endless fields were occasionally interrupted by a group of pollard willows, by huge careless barns and shacks. Or by a farmer who strenuously steered his cyclomixer along the edges of the shallow ditches.

Thanks to the joint lobby of local nature clubs and municipal political parties, a number of farmers were bought out at the time. An overly ambitious plan was started to turn the meadows back into old-fashioned nature. Reed beds, swamps, deciduous trees.

So instead of just English ryegrass, there is now a surprising variety of nature to admire. From reed marsh to large witchweed, from weeping willows to orange marsh grass. In the various ditches and floodplains, a wide variety of fish is swimming. Pike, bream, carp, bitterling, and eel. In addition, there are countless newts, frogs, and toads to admire in this fresh, refashioned land.

But what all ecologists and administrators are most proud of is the renewed bird population. Black-tailed godwits, lapwings, woodcocks, corncrakes, great reed warblers and bitterns. However, the presence of bearded reedling is what makes the heart of every nature researcher beat faster. Partly for that reason, a bird-watching hut has been placed in the new nature reserve.

The fact that I am also among the amateur biologists this morning, is thanks to Gabrielle. In a dark and difficult period for me, she offered me to join her on one of her bird watching trips. And after that first excursion, more followed. Until I belonged to the group that not only went on bird excursions but was also has been allowed to discuss the design of this revamped area.

Gabrielle had correctly estimated that wandering along reed beds, forest edges, hedgerows, and shallow water eddies, would unburden my head. Where I used to lie awake at night – staring at the ceiling, ruminating how I could solve the world’s problems before the sun came up – I was now dreaming of how I was trolling behind a group of naturalists in army green boots with anti-slip soles. Looking for bluethroats, marsh harriers, yellow buntings.

Gabrielle is a woman of about sixty-five. She has short spiky hair, the color of faded knitting yarn. Her head is large and oval. When she speaks (her voice is shrill like a false clarinet), she constantly waves her arms. It is not strange that someone standing near her gets a tap or a slap. Resulting in bloody noses, black eyes.

In her working life, she was director of the nursing home ‘Home with a Heart’. Now she is a volunteer at the foundation ’Save the Bird’. But she has the same fanaticism, the same enthusiasm, the same straightforwardness as when she was chairperson of the board. She does not accept no. This characteristic certainly helped to convince the municipal council of the nature plans.

To be honest, I am a little afraid of Gabrielle. It is not so much physically or mentally that she scares me off. It is her complete submission, her complete dedication that frightens me. When she participates in matters concerning nature management, it turns out that is not so much about love, pleasure, or engagement. For her, nature is a religion, an ideology a doctrine. Gabrielle is the yellow bunting. She is the bittern, the reed warbler. It is like you are dealing with sacred, exalted subjects when talking about the nests of the curlew, about the droppings of the shoveler.

But is that wrong? What else can one do? Without fanaticism and obsessiveness. Is there a sound and acceptable middle ground where you do honor nature? Without falling into indifference and apathy when it comes to the preservation of flora and fauna.

While I was thinking about this, I was handed a thermos of coffee. Then came the home-made sandwiches, the Tupperware containers with fruit and salad. The mood was exuberant. That is how a sports team of champions must feel just before the final, decisive match. So nervous, so giggly, so excited, so self-assured.

Gabrielle is the center of attention. She has binoculars around her neck. A Bynolyte Buzzard. The latest model. Although it is considered fashionable within this group of birdwatchers to make anti-capitalist jokes (“I saw that Jeff Bezos donated $25 million to help the homeless. Which I guess sounds generous, but I did the math. It turns out that $25 million is .028 percent of his net worth. Let me tell you something: donating .028 percent of my net worth is like if I went up to a homeless guy and stole a dollar”), on the other hand, the most expensive wildlife cameras, binoculars, and thermal imaging devices are purchased without scruples.

Lately, I have often wondered whether I really belong to this group. Don’t understand me wrong. I love nature. I find birds extremely fascinating. But there is something in the actions of these ecologists that bothers me. But I cannot explain it. They are all friendly, honest, and ordinary people. No chatter, no big words, no nonsense.

At the same time, it is not that I am excluded. Although people do notice that I am not one of them. My boots are too cheap, my binoculars too childish (I borrowed them from my youngest cousin), my car too polluting (BMW 2 diesel), my enthusiasm too lukewarm (I never respond to WhatsApp messages).

Is it my silent fear of being left out, which makes me join them? Do I secretly want to belong to a squad even if they are unworldly, macrobiotic nature lovers? Even if they crave for weak coffee, homemade gluten free bread, dread figs and organic walnuts.

From the moment we arrived at the bird hide and one hour later, there was hardly any talking. Everyone was staring at their mobile phones, taking turns looking through their binoculars. All of a sudden, there is a soft but inspired murmur. Like a sign has been given. The bunch is reaching out for their devices.

When I - too late, too loudly - also got to the point where I can see what is going on, my heart is pounding in my throat. It seems too good to be true. The first rays of sunshine fall loosely on the reed bed in front of the hide. And in that enticing light, a little bird is visible. Orange-brown color, long tail, striking blue-gray head with black beard stripes. It really is him. The bearded reedling.

If we had been members of a church community, this would be the moment when someone would have read a Bible text, after which we would have sung a song with tears in our eyes.

But biologists do not sing. They look at each other. They squeeze each other's arms, clench their fists, mumble to themselves ('how beautiful that is'). That is how we experience it. At this moment. On this special morning. We are blessed. We are the chosen ones.

We do not say it. But the sight of the bearded reedling is like a justification. The universe rewards us. For our vision, our decisiveness, our perseverance. Gabrielle looks at me. Her gaze is a subtle mixture of gratitude and moral superiority. We may be ordinary people. But we are ordinary people with a mission, a calling. Thanks to our efforts, our endeavor, the world becomes more beautiful, greener, more likeable, more colorful.

A wild, fierce rustling ends our contemplation. A deep, heavy shadow falls over the just awakened reed bed. At the same time, there is the intense sound of fluttering massive wings. Before we realize it, we see the bearded reedling in the beak of a sea eagle.

Immediately. Gone is the gratitude, the exalted feeling. No chosen ones. No moral superiority. And in an instant, I observe - right before my eyes - what I have been missing for the past few months. The cunning reality. The recklessness of the real world.