One Little Brown Bird at a Time

Stepping away from the spotting scope, I returned to the vastness of unmagnified perspective: rocky peaks, their flanks dark with conifers, cupped a broad, dry valley of sagebrush. In that valley, a dozen Vermonters gathered around scopes and binoculars in rapt observation of a four-inch bird. I checked that each member of our group was getting a good look at the Sage Thrasher — all set — then glanced back wider again. A problem was developing. As our NBNC group excitedly crowded spotting scopes to watch the thrasher sing, dozens of cars had slowed to a crawl as passengers and drivers craned their necks to puzzle out the object of our interest. Here in Yellowstone’s famed Lamar Valley, wolf-jams and grizzly-jams are everyday occurrences. But there I was, watching the world’s first Sage-Thrasher-jam as cars backed up for half a mile. I’ve solved many a small problem in my work as a naturalist. Canopy too high to sample leaves? Launch a chainsaw chain skyward with the help of a crossbow. Spiders too camouflaged? Search by flashlight for their reflective eyes. Small drab bird causing a traffic jam? This was a new problem for me.

In the background of solving small daily problems, my career has been motivated by the larger, global problem. My degree is in conservation biology, a field that studies and confronts biodiversity loss in the same way that medicine addresses disease. The global project of protecting biodiversity is both huge and complex, necessitating simultaneous progress in distinct spheres. In science, we need to document what species are here and how their populations are responding to threats. In government, we need coordinated, strong conservation plans. Throughout, we need to build connections to develop political will for conservation. I’ve worked to contribute to each of these efforts, from surveying rare birds, to calling my representatives, to teaching kindergarteners to love the insects that need clear, cold water. Still, for every halted public land sale, protected lupine, or successful monarch, another threat looms.

Amid these simultaneous crises it is all too easy to feel paralyzed in the search for just the right action to take. Here I find two lessons helpful. First: ecological niches. Every squirrel has its acorn, every sedge its seepy meadow, and every person a unique constellation of skills and resources to impact change. Second: remember to count our conservation wins. A useful story is the Bald Eagle’s extraordinary recovery from the brink of extinction over the last 60 years.

When Rachel Carson published Silent Spring in 1962, Bald Eagles and many other bird species were in perilous decline due to environmental contamination from the pesticide DDT. Her work brought the issue to public consciousness, and the public demanded action to protect the Bald Eagles that are such a beloved national symbol. With that tremendous public pressure, Congress passed a bipartisan bill banning DDT. That was no small feat — at the time, DDT was a major product for powerful chemical
companies. That action had real consequences. In the decades since, many affected raptor species have made remarkable recoveries. Today if you want to see a Bald Eagle, I can recommend a handful of places  within a short drive of downtown Montpelier where I’m confident that you could turn up an eagle. Still, I often pick up the phone at NBNC to hear a thrilled report that there’s an eagle just up the road at Wrightsville Reservoir — “just thought you all should know!” The cultural memory of eagles on the brink persists, and I take every opportunity to celebrate this conservation victory. “That’s amazing! Thanks for letting us know!”

Today though, many species remain at risk, and few of those share the immense public relations boon of gracing the back of a quarter. To conserve bats and Black-footed Ferrets, drab birds and tiny plants, people first have to connect with them. In Yellowstone, once I mimed that our spotting scopes were “just” pointed at a small bird, the wildlife jam dissolved, taillights of wolf-watchers hurrying out of view. Our group remained enthralled, watching that little brown bird belt out its song. Far from home, we were doing exactly what we meant to. Here at NBNC, we’re not trying to build an academic understanding of biodiversity. We’re after the gardener’s dirt-underthe-fingernails determination to protect their cherished
tomatoes from a marauding woodchuck. Nature connection builds relationship, and relationship animates action, not just for the wolves and bears of faraway parks, but for the milkweed we plant and the pollinators that visit it in our gardens at home. When we work to solve the small problems, we also chip away at the big one, bit by bit, one little brown bird at a time.