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I have become these people. Just saying. January is all about new beginnings. When I first started birding, I remember the awkwardness of being the outsider in a group of insiders. I knew enough to show up in birding attire: khakis, a long-sleeve cotton shirt, and a broad-brimmed hat. Around my neck were binoculars that I had scavenged from the bottom of a camping bin underneath first aid supplies, water bottles, and a hot pink fanny pack. The thin strap cut into my neck. As a newbie, I was welcomed and handed a tri-fold official birding checklist with the names of 102 birds commonly found in the area. “All the brown birds confuse me,” I admitted to Annie, a talkative regular who birded at least three times a week. “LBJ's,” she said, “Little Brown Jobs.” Annie sported a harness-type strap for her binoculars, so the weight was removed from her neck. I made a mental note. New lingo. New equipment. I obviously had more to learn than just bird names. “Puffin at ten o’clock,” said a man in denim. A puffin! In Arizona? All eyes swung to the spot in the sky where he pointed. An untethered, metallic balloon floated among the clouds. Happy Graduation adorned the silver front. A puffin. Birding humor. It’s a thing.
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