Today I drove by the wooden post where I saw a Barn Owl five years ago. I looked to see if the owl was still there.
When I was a kid we’d take family vacations to a state park, and one time as we drove in, we saw a man sleeping in the roadside weeds. My dad got out to make sure he was okay. In later years, when we passed that spot, we looked for the sleeping man.
In the parking area of Chicago’s Botanic Garden I saw an Orchard Oriole in the ‘90s. I remember the tree it was in. Every time I’ve visited since, I check it out. “Orchard Oriole tree.” A landmark.
Every time I drive through the intersection where a cop stopped me for speeding because I’d been following a Pileated Woodpecker, I think about the woodpecker. The cop had laughed: “Never heard that one before,” and let me off.
There’s a bridge on a forest trail. Once, I looked over its railing and saw a coiled snake below. Now, I always look for the snake when I’m on that bridge. If I were an old-time Native American, I might’ve named the bridge “Snake bridge.”
I, myself, might’ve been named, “Talks cop out of ticket because of woodpecker.” I’ve read that such sensible naming was tribal custom.
“Honey, I’ll meet you at the rock where Slobbering Cow Woman stepped in cougar crap.”
“No, babe, let’s meet where Little Big Nose swallowed a fly.”
I can’t walk in my usual wilderness without finding that I’ve privately named places based on birds and other interesting sightings.
There’s the tree where I saw a Yellow-breasted Chat. “Stupid name tree.” There’s the log that once had a Cooper’s Hawk on it. “Cooper’s log.”
There’s a field where a coyote met my eye, staring me down. A cool moment. A cool coyote. “Defiance field.”
I once saw a Northern Yellow-shafted Flicker on the ground at the trailhead where I park my car. Now, I always look for that bird when I pull into that spot.
It doesn’t need to be there. But it defines my parking space: The Northern Yellow-shafted Flicker memorial parking space. A landmark.
Gotcha! ….this time easy to find. The blogs are great! Recent “grousing about birding” was esp. enjoyable …always look forward to them which I get automatically on my Kindle.
Marshall Claassen
Barrington, IL
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Funny and true. The American Southwest is full of names in English, Spanish and Native American tongues derived from landmarks, mostly topographical or geological: Eagle Pass, Indian Wells, Las Cruces, El Paso, Alamogordo. None, however, as colorful as your “Little Big Nose Swallowed a Fly.” Your story of copping a birdwatcher’s plea on a speeding rap because you were chasing a Pileated Woodpecker is one for the books. Once I was stopped by a State copper as I flew down a Texas straightaway at nearly a hundred. He opened the flap on his holster, always a dangerous sign, especially in Texas. I told him I didn’t know how fast I was going because there were no telephone poles along the road, so I had no visual reference to gage my speed. He said, almost as your cop said, “Ah haint nevah hud that one befoe,” laughed and gave me a pass. Hasta luego.