Meet Nora.
Nora is a Grey Jaybird who really loves people. She meets people along the snowdrifts of her home at Mirror Lake in Oregon’s Mt. Hood National Forest. People who snowshoe and ski to Mirror Lake for winter recreation have a wonderful habit of pausing at the lake’s shore to take in the beauty and nourish themselves from the long trek up the trail. This opportunistic little bird knows most can’t resist her cuteness when she flies in to take part in their snack. Nora has heard the rumors, of course, rumors of the unflattering nickname some have given her type of bird… “Camp robbers.” According to Nora, there couldn’t be more or a misrepresentation of her kind. In her experience, the hikers are giddy with excitement when the she lands on their hand, and sharing their food seems such a small price in exchange for the close encounter with a real creature of the wild. In fact, many of the rosy-cheeked travelers risk frostbite by stripping off their gloves to pull out their phone cameras and capture forever images of this seemingly rare event. These images will invariably be shared with their flocks, with exaggerated storytelling of the grand bird who ate out of their hand. Later, if they do any research on the Grey Jay, they’ll likely learn these events are not rare in the least, but initially it’s magical. Yes, all winter long Nora looks forward to sunny winter days that provide enough warmth to entice the people to venture out for a meal next to the frozen lake. To Nora, this is the magic.
For a bird that gets on with people so well, you would think other jaybirds would be equally pleasing, but sadly, this is not the case. Please don’t misunderstand; Nora wants to get along with her fellow chicks. These are her flock, her kind. They look like her and tweet like her, and they are the birds that will be there for her when she needs them – and visa versa. For Nora, it’s not that easy. In fact, it’s downright complicated.
One sunny day last week, Nora spent many moments in her nest getting ready for morning choir. Nora really prefers to sing alone; when alone she appreciates the sound of her birdsong just fine. With others around, she realizes the tone is a little flat compared to Diane’s, one of the younger jaybirds in her flock, and her sound can be a bit screechy when compared to Suzie’s, another one of her fellow chicks. So, you see, it’s much more pleasant for Nora to sing where the others can’t hear her, even though she can’t hear them either. Despite this, Nora joined the choir because that is what jaybirds are supposed to do. At least that is what she read in the latest issue of Bird Brain – a very reputable publication among the warbler community. According to Bird Brain, Jaybirds who sing together survive longer and happier lives. On this particular morning, Nora warmed up her vocal cords with brining water to ensure to sound her best. She carefully picked all the dirt, twigs, and bugs out of her feathers, and even rubbed a little pine oil in for a fresh scent and extra shine. When Nora felt she had done all she could to look and sound her best she raised her head high and began to fly down to the choir pavilion. Unfortunately, Nora didn’t see a low hanging cone, which clipped her wing, spun her sideways and caused her glide to morph into a tumble. It was the most ungraceful flight one could imagine and even though many of the elder birds chattered sentiments of concern for Nora, and Suzie scuttled over to see if she was ok, Nora felt stupid and humiliated.
“Oh fiddlesticks!” Nora thought. Why did she ever join the choir? It was such a bother to primp and ready herself for the practice. She didn’t have to do that when singing alone. There was no Suzie. Suzie did have the most beautiful songbird tone, but she also had an annoying habit of watching herself in the mirror of the lake. There was also no Diane. Diane with the young sharp sound also insisted on incessantly chirping through the entire practice. Nora often wondered how one bird could string together so many trills and chirps with no apparent rhyme or reason. Most of all, there were no other birds to take up time and space from her own beautiful song, and no one to make it seem any less beautiful. It was decided then. This would be her last practice. Nora would quite the choir -tomorrow.
After the ungraceful landing, Nora brushed the snow from her wings and long feathered tail, and pulled a twig from the mashed feathers on her head. She took a couple of breaths: deep breaths in, and long slow exhales. Then she assessed. She was ok; a little shook-up and embarrassed, but ok none-the-less. The choir director tapped he bird claw on the rock and whistled the tuning note. This was the signal for all to be completely quiet before beginning. Once the natural pavilion was so quiet you could here a pin drop, the director raised her wing with majestic fervor – the signal to begin. All at once, they began their birdsong. The tone was perfect. Nora could not decipher her own tweets, or any bird tweets, from any other. The choir sang in unison, echoing and reverberating off the snow covered pine trees. The sound was powerful, the music was magical, and Nora’s chest began to vibrate with familial pride. Bursting forth with a newfound confidence, Nora sang louder, embracing the bold tenacity. Never before had Nora felt her voice so strong and so clear. Despite the strangeness of not being able to single her sound out from the other members of her flock, Nora knew it was grand. The practiced birdsong ended with precise guidance of the director. Nora was breathless and completely exhilarated, and even though the song took tremendous energy, Nora felt she could sing like this forever. Nora’s eyes darted around the pavilion and to her surprise, she saw the mirror image expressed on each an every one of her fellow songster birds – it was a surreal feeling, a wonderful group emotion of exuberant joy. Slowly, each of the birds floated off to their respective nests. The sun had now fully risen, and the time for food gathering was at hand. As Nora headed back to her nest, she thought; “Well maybe I’ll wait until the day after tomorrow to quit.”