While out for a stroll, my husband and I wander into a garden shop in Georgetown. The person behind the counter is in her 20s, pale-skinned, nose ring, blue jean overalls.
“Can I help you find something?” she asks.
“We’re looking for a tablecloth,” I tell her. She points to a stack of Indian block spreads near the front bay window.
Meanwhile, my husband, dressed in blue Bermuda shorts, fresh off the golf course, picks up a black bronzed crow, placing it on the counter. It’s something between a doorstop and paper weight. Or maybe a small piece of sculpture.
“Oh, honey, we don’t need that,” I tell him.
“My wife has gotten really into birds,” he tells the shopkeeper.
“Oh, me too,” she exclaims. “I’m obsessed.”
“Yeah, I’m a novice bird-watcher, he’s right,” I say, then whispering to my husband that we don’t need the paper weight.
Next thing you know, the three of us are trading information about the best bird apps like old friends catching up. I tell her how my friend introduced me to Merlin, a bird version of Shazam. It’s opened up a whole new world. Half of these birds I’d never heard of. Great tit, anyone?
“Yes, I love that, but have you tried iNaturalist?” she asks.
John and I type the name into our phones so we can download it later.
Then she tells us about another nature-loving app that can tell you about birds, leaves, trees—the works. We compare notes about which birds we hear the most: robins, sparrows, wrens, doves, cardinals. All the bird talk invigorates us, connects us. It’s a subject where there’s always more to learn and to share.
It’s the opposite of what had happened the night before, when a dinner conversation among friends turned controversial—and a little ugly. Rather than connecting us like the birds, the argument highlighted how disconnected we were. It was a back and forth tennis match of “Did you hear about this? Did you hear about that?” It didn’t need to escalate that way, but with wine flowing and fingers pointing, what started as a pleasant supper al fresco turned into fire and pitchforks. Or at least it felt like that.
And it was a reminder of how much healthier it is to listen to tweets than to read them.
I don’t know the number of Merlin app users, but every time I turn around, it seems more and more people are using bird apps and buying bird books. Birders abound ’round nearly every corner. Maybe we all are yearning for what brings us together rather than what tears us apart. Rather than listen to talking heads chattering and squawking on late-night TV, I’d rather listen to birds chirping. It’s a much more pleasant—and healing—melody.
Now, when my husband and I need to remind ourselves to stop and listen, we have that mysterious bird paperweight/doorstop perched atop some books in our den, a visual cue for us both to be better listeners.
Featured illustration by Josie Norton/This article originally appeared in the April 2025 issue.
