this makes modest work carried out by stewards like winifred spar and the friends of roger’s wildlife refuge immensely valuable. the friends of roger’s refuge have tended to princeton, new jersey’s preserved marsh less than a mile away from the town’s pre-eminent campus for the last 55 years. they’ve built and reinforced bridges and towers, hacked away at invasive plant species and replanted natives in their place, cleaned trash, and advocated for the continued protection of roger’s wildlife refuge. 

the refuge has long been considered the premier site for birding across the state of new jersey, but these days it doubles as an active site for wildlife education to outdoor enthusiasts of all ages. as bird populations rebound in the refuge, visitors, new and old, marvel at the sights and sounds long absent in the marsh. the friends of rogers wildlife refuge’s work demonstrates that a powerful solution to otherwise intractable issues is focusing on the wild spaces closest to home and encouraging our neighbors to do the same.

when you pull into the gravel lot outside the visitor nature center, you realize that this is the last point of contact with civilization for the next 36 hours. suddenly, you’re pulling your canoe packed with all the basic survival necessities into the dark marshy waters and sending yourself off into the great unknown. the first waterway is underwhelming. it seems like many other small rivers in georgia, lined with overgrown brush and grassy banks. but as you turn the bend, the greenery on either side opens up and you are met with a view, the likes of which you have never seen. the large river is perpendicular to your boat, extending on either side for as long as the eye can see. there is a clear view of the sky, which is overcast but coats the scene in a serene gray beauty.

a steady sort of quiet hangs in the air, a settled sense of stillness that does not exist in the day-to-day life of suburban america. the water smells fresh, not dasani fresh, but rather the fresh scent that comes from the earth. your canoe paddle slices into water so dark that it acts as a mirror, reflecting the cyprus knees, slash pine, loblolly, and other trees of this place.

floating downstream, your stomach drops when you catch a glimpse of this land’s queen: the american alligator. the upper half of the intimidatingly enormous creature cuts through the water, her body elegantly moving forward. you row hard and try and keep up, and your shoulders burn as you watch her disappear into the scenery.

the sun begins arching downward, and you start to make your way toward your campsite after a long day of navigating narrow streams that wind through groves of bald cypress trees emerging out of the murky swamp. your body feels exhausted in a way that is reminiscent of the days you spent as a child playing all day in the yard with your friends, and you feel a great sense of relief when you arrive at the campsite. you bring your canoe parallel to the dock floating among the shining lily pads and gleeful golden trumpet pitchers.

once you finish setting up your tent and sleeping bag, you settle in for a snack as the day finally rests into night. the air shifts from hot and wet humidity to a misty coolness. just as you feel your eyes start to close and you drift off to sleep, you are awoken by the sight of a sparkling night sky. gazing upward, it seems as if the space is taken up more by stars than darkness. a paint splatter of stardust fills the vast dome and the water reflects it below you as well, creating an all-encompassing cocoon of magic. you wrap yourself tighter in your puffy sleeping bag to the sounds of bugs chirping and frogs humming. this melody peacefully lulls you to sleep.

there is something so wonderful and eye opening about traveling into an environment in which you are forced to immerse yourself into a different culture. in fact, i would argue that nature itself has a culture. one all but forgotten to people in overpopulated cities and even the suburbs.

when i left chicago to embark on a month-long environmental reporting trip to sanibel island, florida, the fact that it is one of the nation’s premier birding destinations wasn’t one of its many appeals. in fact, i knew it would force me to confront my only tangible fear.

it’s a textbook case of childhood trauma. when i was 10, i was sitting on the toilet at home when i felt something rustle against my leg. i looked down to find a mourning dove that had entered the house through the chimney fluttering at my feet. i screamed, slammed the toilet lid closed and jumped on top. i was trapped at the end of my parents’ long and narrow bathroom, the bird flapping in my face every time i tried to step down. after continued wailing, my dad rescued me, scooping me up and carrying me horizontally out of the bathroom like a human battering ram.

needless to say, i wasn’t the biggest fan of birds after that. 

but it seemed like most everyone else on sanibel was. on my first day there, i faced down a gauntlet of squawking parrots lining the entrance to the jerry’s foods shopping center. later, a roseate spoonbill sighting on the side of the road stopped traffic. and at the sanibel-captiva conservation foundation (sccf) and j.n. “ding” darling national wildlife refuge, the organizations whose research i was covering, surveys of bird species shed light on population trends and habitat use to inform conservation efforts. alas, it seemed i had no choice but to face my fear.

for my first bird outing, i joined audrey albrecht, the shorebird biologist at sccf, and shorebird intern elsa wilson as they monitored the nesting activity of sanibel’s five pairs of snowy plovers. in addition to checking on the nests, they hoped to gain insight into the island’s role in sustaining the population of this state-threatened species. fortunately, these fluffy white birds roughly the size of a golf ball are no more scary than, well, a fluffy golf ball. 

at the beach, albrecht and wilson counted the eggs the plovers had laid and made sure the enclosures that protect the nests from people and dogs were still intact. flushing (or chasing away) the adult birds leaves the eggs vulnerable to overheating and being seized or eaten by crows, gulls and ghost crabs. the pair also picked up trash that can attract predators and fishing line that can entangle the birds. beachgoers should “remember that they’re a guest in the home of all the coastal wildlife that lives and nests on the beach,” albrecht said.

as we walked along the beach, albrecht encountered a double-crested cormorant that didn’t fly away as she approached. she was concerned it might be affected by red tide, a harmful algal bloom of the phytoplankton karenia brevis that produces a neurotoxic compound. this species, which fishes all over the region, serves as a canary (or, rather, cormorant) in the coalmine for red tide, albrecht explained. 

as she inspected the cormorant, it flew away, and with it the dilemma of whether to capture the bird and bring it to sanibel’s clinic for the rehabilitation of wildlife (crow) for treatment. when i spoke with breanna frankel, the wildlife rehabilitation manager at crow, in mid-april, she had seen about 112 patients with red tide symptoms so far this year, and all of them were shorebirds. these birds suffer a host of health impacts ranging from loss of function in their legs to tremors and twitching to total disorientation. “it could go either way for every single patient,” she said. “they walk through the door, and they maybe have a 50% chance of survival.”

we were all relieved the cormorant seemed to evade this fate. i was especially relieved to not be anywhere near a large bird being wrestled into a carrier.

as we piled back in the truck after a blissfully uneventful morning, i confessed my fear. “we won’t take you to see the terns,” albrecht replied. “they will dive bomb you.” 

with that very firm boundary established, i continued to join the team as they surveyed less… social… species. one day, i tagged along for a 3.6-mile leg of a monthly shorebird survey of the entire sanibel-captiva coastline and a breeding bird survey for the florida shorebird alliance to better understand declining shorebird populations. as she tallied a cluster of birds dancing in and out of the lapping water, albrecht pointed out the banded sanderling po3. i was immediately drawn to this bird because my french-canadian husband, pierre-olivier, often goes by po. when she told me po3 migrates to sanibel every winter from canada, i couldn’t believe it. 

“i think that birds connects us,” albrecht said. “people come here and they say ‘i’m from michigan,’ and i’m like, ‘okay, well, this little piping plover over here is banded, and it came from michigan, too.’ or our red knots connect us to people in central and south america because the same birds that are visiting our beach are going there. they connect us globally.”

as someone who had just migrated to the island myself, eating dinner alone every night unless my neighbor stopped by to chat through my screened-in porch, it was a comforting sentiment.  

we continued walking along the stretch of sand, which grew increasingly narrow until it gave way to a mangrove forest. “there used to be a beach here,” albrecht said. sea level rise and shoreline erosion are depleting shorebird habitat, and the construction of sea walls to protect infrastructure further restricts their nesting area, she explained.

we had just emerged from the forest when wilson pointed and exclaimed, “a rail!” without another word, she and albrecht took off, crouch-running in the direction of the bird. the clapper rail, i learned upon their return, is a secretive marsh bird that is often heard but rarely seen. “sorry, our bird nerd just came out,” wilson said. she told me she became interested in birding during the pandemic, describing the hobby as “kind of like pokémon go in real life.”

for someone who had actively avoided birds for much of my life, i was unintentionally making decent progress toward “catching ‘em all.” i added many species to my collection when i joined biological science technician avery renshaw for a wading bird survey at the j.n. “ding” darling national wildlife refuge. i could barely keep up with recording the identifications she rattled off as she scanned the landscape with her viewing scope, the far-off blur of feathers crystallizing as tens of distinct birds. as wading birds are an important indicator of the health and function of the estuary, the (hastily scrawled) data can be correlated with water quality measurements to help assess the impact of water management practices on the greater ecosystem, renshaw explained.  

as we strolled through the refuge after the survey, i recognized a lone bird perched on a branch, its wings half-outstretched like a glamorous celebrity being guided down a staircase by two dapper men on either side. in providing directions to her office for a meeting earlier in my stay, a “ding” darling staff member had said the door had an anhinga on it. i’d had to google it, expecting some sort of architectural feature, but instead seeing this bird with its striking stance.

i hesitantly asked renshaw if the bird was an anhinga. when she confirmed, i found myself eliciting a small fist pump. 

“i successfully identified a bird today! what is happening,” i texted my family group chat.

“maybe you’re going to be their friend,” my mom replied.

“next year, the big year!” my dad chimed in.

let’s not get carried away, dad.

i felt another twinge of excitement when albrecht told me the first snowy plover chicks had hatched. the next morning, i accompanied wilson to check on the chicks, whose miniscule size and camouflage against the white sand made them barely visible to the naked eye. many beachgoers were either entirely oblivious or overly eager about the new arrivals, both of which can lead to disturbances during their precarious first weeks of life.

one woman (who i’m fairly certain had come straight from the tipsy turtle bar) stumbled from the dunes at the back of the beach toward the water, threatening to plow through the chicks until wilson diverted her. while the sccf shorebird team erects enclosures around frequented foraging grounds, it’s impossible to rope off everywhere the chicks might go, wilson said. 

moments later, another beachgoer stomped over to the chicks, ogling as she hovered inches away. “ma’am, do you want to look through the binoculars so you don’t have to get so close?” wilson asked artfully. after admiring the newborn snowy plovers through the lenses and talking with wilson, the woman continued on her way, scanning the sand for any chicks that might follow as she walked, her footsteps cautious.

while they’re no match for humans, snowy plovers have the same instinct to protect their offspring. one pair that tried to encroach on another’s nest was promptly shooed away in an adorable little scuffle. “plover drama!” wilson sang, and i couldn’t help but feel a surge of fondness for this feisty, fun-sized bird. 

for my final bird activity, i joined “ding” darling staff members to monitor the nesting efforts of colonial nesting birds on the rookery islands that dot pine island sound. nests on these rookery islands face many of the same threats as those on the beach, as fishermen and recreational boats that get too close can flush the adults, leaving the eggs and chicks susceptible to predators and heat stress. 

at one island, the crew discovered a long trail of fishing line caught in the branches of the mangrove trees. fearing they would discover a bird ensnared by the line during the next survey, they removed it, trying to keep as much distance as possible. one bird started to flap its wings, though, and i immediately cowered.

i wasn’t entirely cured, apparently, and will probably always be afraid of birds flying within my personal bubble. but i made significant progress through this informal exposure therapy, appreciating the unique behaviors, personalities and stories of individual birds — from a distance. 

back in chicago, i descended the stairs into the l station, still giving the flock of pigeons at the entrance a wide berth. i perused twitter as i waited for the train, stopping on a tweet i would have scrolled right past before my time on sanibel. it announced the sudden death of monty, chicago’s beloved piping plover, which has since been attributed to a respiratory infection. 

i learned that monty returned to chicago the week before i did. i thought of all the people who knew this particular bird, who eagerly awaited his arrival at his wintering and breeding grounds, who were connected by his migratory journey. 

i considered the many threats monty faced — exposure to toxic algae fed by nutrient runoff, ingestion of plastic pollutants, shifts in the availability of food in migratory stopover locations due to climate change — and wondered if any might have contributed to his death. 

and i realized that, between the two of us, birds have far more reasons to be afraid.

each night as the sun sinks, thousands of crows descend on sunnyvale, california. the birds overwhelm the downtown, raising a ruckus as they alight in tree tops to roost for the night. though welcomed by some, the daily spectacle has become a source of frustration for many of the city’s business owners and locals. 

“the crows are very noisy, and their droppings and feathers have created quite a mess,” says jennifer garnett, sunnyvale’s communications officer. “our council members have received many complaints from residents and businesses. we also have had to increase our frequency of pressure washing both areas.” 

most of the birds gather at sunnyvale’s plaza de sol, an open area bordered by trees and mixed-use buildings at the heart of the city. the 1.6-acre urban oasis boasts an amphitheater for summer outdoor concerts and sits adjacent to historic murphy avenue—a tree-lined street that hosts many restaurants and businesses. the plaza has always attracted crows, but the pandemic-fueled increase in outdoor dining—and the food scraps that comes with it—led to record numbers, garnett says. 

in an unsuccessful attempt to deter the birds, the town first tried hazing them with trained hawks and falcons. reflectors meant to confuse the flocks have also seen limited success. so, last month, sunnyvale turned to a $20 tool found at any office: a laser pointer. every weeknight for three weeks, beginning in later january, a trained city employee wielded a handheld green laser purchased on amazon. for 30 minutes at dusk, the staff person would shine the laser pointer into the plaza treeline where crows are beginning to settle in for the evening. the goal was to startle them each night until they eventually scatter for good. 

so far, sunnyvale is seeing success. “the laser pointer does seem to be working, “ garnett says. “however, we know that the crows are very smart and are likely to return when the deterrent goes away.” sunnyvale ceased the pilot program the week of february 14 and has not said whether it will resume the initiative if the birds return. 

sunnyvale is not alone in its corvid conundrum. urban populations of crows have been increasing in recent decades, and as a result, more cities and towns have tried to discourage them and other prolific species like canada geese using a variety of methods, including lasers. green has been found to be most effective laser color for evening hours—the light scatters in the atmosphere and produces a stronger beam that is more visible in the sky. the beams are also considered to be a safe deterrent. a 2002 study conducted by the u.s. department of agriculture’s national wildlife research center found that low-to-moderate power, long wavelength lasers can disperse birds in low-light conditions while presenting “no threat to the animal or the environment.” 

green lasers create “flashing movements” that are foreign to crows’ natural environment, says kevin mcgowan, instructor and crow expert at the cornell lab of ornithology. “there’s nothing magic about lasers, just that the small tool has an effect across a great distance.” lasers also aren’t a one-and-done solution, mcgowan says, noting that the approach isn’t foolproof and works best in combination with other hazing methods.

timing can be important for success, experts say. 

as an example, he points to several cities in new york that have had varying success with lasers. in 2005, auburn spent $14,000 on a hazing program spearheaded by the united states department of agriculture’s wildlife services. at the time, auburn’s crow population of roughly 64,000 birds outnumbered humans more than two-to-one. a mixed-use approach of lasers, pyrotechnics, and speakers blasting recordings of calls from distressed crows drove almost half of the population out of the city in just one week. yet, many simply relocated to nearby cortland or geneva. and 17 years later, auburn’s crow problem persists to enough of a degree that local artists recently embraced the city’s divisive mascot with fluorescent mosaics.

timing can be important for success, experts say. lasers are most effective at the beginning of the winter season, within a few days of the crows’ establishment, says john griffin, senior director, urban wildlife programs at the humane society of the united states. crows are intelligent creatures, and griffin notes that it gets “harder [to drive them away] the longer they’re there.” by the time spring rolls around, the birds will migrate elsewhere—but many return to the same city blocks winter after winter, only growing in numbers.

even if cities like sunnyvale manage to temporarily drive out downtown roosts, the crows will likely return unless they can find another suitable habitat. for this reason, matthew dodder, executive director of the santa clara valley audubon society, thinks that the best solution in sunnyvale is to learn to live with the birds. “from my point of view, it seems like not much can be done to change the situation,” he says. “so we should adapt to accept it, and appreciate it, and work around it.” dodder offers up ideas like covering dining areas and being better about trash management to help mitigate the impacts of the birds around the plaza. 

bigger picture, dodder hopes to see more changes in the development of urban and suburban spaces that would contribute to a more harmonious coexistence between bird and man. “if we can create new green spaces, that might just work,” he says. mcgowan agrees, recalling that he and his colleagues considered creating a designated “crow oasis” for the auburn flocks decades ago. but the city stuck to its ongoing hazing strategy instead.

another solution is cultural—teaching people to appreciate crows and other urban birds. instead of finding large flocks creepy or annoying, mcgowan says, we should see them as fascinating examples of species adaptation in an age where even the most common species are disappearing. “they’ve been doing this for thousands of years,” he says. “it’s actually a spectacle.” 

do the chirps of birds wake you up every morning? that’s the case in our house and after long enough, we decided to listen to what they were saying. due to urbanization, many birds may not have had a choice in moving in; but with the help of research we discover the power of change homeowners yield in refurnishing their yard. ornithologists (bird scientists!) have been conducting case studies since the early 2000s and we took to some citizen science while studying our own neighborhood. 

we found it especially interesting how bird species native to the area may be at a disadvantage when competing with birds that have adapted to the man-made conditions of cities. to improve the wellbeing of native species, consider planting native fauna in your yard or nearby parks, providing supplemental feeders, and advocating for proactive change in conversations with your municipality.

all material is that of paula milenkova and maya thompson.

vacuolar myelinopathy is a neurological disease most commonly seen in bird species such as eagles and coots. the brains of the infected organisms develop lesions in the white matter of the nervous system, causing a loss of motor function. mortuary circles call this “swiss cheese brain.”

from its first recorded instance near degray lake in arkansas during the winter of 1994-1995, researchers, including aquatic scientist susan wilde, conducted field and laboratory studies to determine how species contract this disease. through laboratory and field experimentation, wilde and her team have recently concluded that a toxin produced by cyanobacteria is growing on invasive plant species within water bodies in the southeastern united states.

wilde, an associate professor at the university of georgia, worked with an international team from various scientific backgrounds. their findings, published in science, discovered the epiphytic cyanobacteria (aetokthonos hydrillicola) grow on hydrilla verticillata, a non-native plant species found in bodies of water. wildlife, such as fish, birds, and amphibians, eat these plants and consume the neurotoxin that leads to vacuolar myelinopathy.

vacuolar myelinopathy is not limited to the waterfowl that feed on these plants, explained anton j. reiner, a professor of anatomy and neurobiology at the university of tennessee health science center.

“it’s not a uniquely avian brain disease. it winds up looking like a uniquely avian brain disease because you have to consume a lot of it,” said reiner.

vacuolar myelinopathy also affects fish and amphibians that end up eating these cyanobacteria-infected invasive plants. fish, amphibians and waterfowl that feed on hydrilla become infected with vacuolar myelinopathy. higher-level predators such as coots and eagles consume the smaller animals, thus continuing the spread of the disease throughout the entire food web.

“so-called ‘apex predators’ like eagles, for example, wind up being especially susceptible to [vacuolar myelinopathy] because of their diet,”reiner said.

the disease manifests approximately five days after exposure when clinical signs of loss of motor control function become visible in avian species like eagles and coots. infected coots will float on the surface of the water on their backs and spin in circles, making them easy prey for eagles and other large avian predators. infected eagles will sit on tree branches with their wings drooping downward. according to reiner, there are instances of eagles flying into the sides of mountains while infected with vacuolar myelinopathy.

“every eagle i’ve ever seen with symptoms [of vacuolar myelinopathy] has died,” said william bowerman, professor and chair of the department of environmental science & technology at the university of maryland.

bowerman is a long-time collaborator of wilde’s on vacuolar myelinopathy, and his current research revolves around eagles as indicators of climate change and contaminants around the great lakes. he explained that birds are quality gauges of how the environment responds to various stressors, so the conservation of avian species from vacuolar myelinopathy impacts everyone.

“[vacuolar myelinopathy] killed tens of thousands of waterfowl and over 100 bald eagles. so, it’s a new, emerging disease, and it could be linked to pollution and also may be somewhat of an indicator of climate change,” said bowerman.

wilde and her team discuss spreading awareness and advocacy as a means to combat vacuolar myelinopathy in their recently published research. early in the paper, they state that the shift from the previous name of the neurological disease, “avian vacuolar myelinopathy,” to its current title “vacuolar myelinopathy” is necessary as it is not only limited to avian species. wilde and her team state that they are not yet sure of the potential impact vacuolar myelinopathy has on humans and recommend that further research be conducted.

“we want people to know the lakes where this disease has been documented and to use caution in consuming birds and fish from these lakes,” wilde told the american association for the advancement of science.

while there is still plenty of research to be done on vacuolar myelinopathy, wilde and her team’s discovery of the link between the cyanobacterial toxins and the lethal neurological disorder helps lie to rest the source of the perplexing avian deaths. bowerman hopes that wilde’s work will serve as a reminder of the importance of conserving a clean environment.

“it’s just important to understand that our organisms in the environment tell us what’s going on,” bowerman said. “if the birds and the mammals are healthy, then people are healthy.”

music by juliush from pixabay