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I went to Kenya with a friend to see the Great Wildebeest Migration, and the Big Five, of course! Right away, I started seeing brilliant little birds called Cape Starlings. I asked to stop and take a photo. My guide laughed at me, since they are very common there. But then, on a branch, I saw this wondrous array of color.

One day I was running in the middle of a park in Michigan. It was it was towards the end of winter, probably just the beginning of spring. I remember a blue spot following me along the trail. And then he happened to perch and I realized that it was a bluebird. And ever since that bluebird represented something very important to me, because although I was kind of sad at that moment, it really sparked my interest not only on birds, but it just made me very happy.

I’ve been looking for the Atlantic Puffin for nearly 40 years. Finally, a puffin trip was offered and I saw them in Maine. It was joy to watch these little guys. I had no idea how fast they can fly. They were so tiny that I want to go back again and hope to see a few more.

I was in Rio Blanco Natural Reserve in Colombia, part of a birding to preview birding locations in the Central Andres. My companions were two experienced birders, Nate Swick and Dorian Anderson, and they were excited to have the chance to see the endemic species. The local guide took us to a feeding area in the dense forest. We waiting patiently for what seemed like an eon.

It was about 5 p.m. and I was thinking about making dinner when I went into my front room to close the venetian blinds. Through the horizontal slats I saw a large, white shape atop the condo building opposite and I could hardly believe my eyes - a Snowy Owl was staring back at me! I was thrilled to see this Life Bird I had chased for hours earlier that day.

We had the standard yard birds in southern CT, a short list of robins, blue jays, catbirds and starlings are all I remember. But one day my father suddenly pointed out a spectacular raspberry-colored bird and announced excitedly that it was a Purple Finch. I was amazed that there were 'new' birds we could find. that was the beginning of my bird watching.

I was out in the front yard of my family's home on Monroe Street on the edge of town. It was Thanksgiving break from school and we were raking leaves in the front yard, under the giant oak trees. I seem to remember a slight dusting of snow on the ground. A flash of movement caught my eye and I looked up into the heavy, spreading branches of one of the old oaks to see a large white bird swooping to a landing.

Simultaneously I couldn’t believe anything could be that YELLOW, anything that yellow could blend in with anything other than a banana stand, and that I had struggled so much to see it. I was entranced. The entrancement led to stuffing every moment of free time in the coming summer with looking at birds, reading about birds, or thinking about birds.

When I was eight years old my father bought me the "Golden Guide" to birds, one of the classic series developed for children. I had a general interest in nature at the time and was fascinated by seashells, wildflowers, and reptiles... as well as birds. One day I saw two "new" birds on a branch, facing each other and doing a "dance".

My mother was a lifelong friend and teacher in so many ways. It was not long after she passed when a female cardinal started hanging around our back window. I felt the bird wanted to show me something. And then the male cardinal appeared and the two were dancing on the porch railing, seemingly playing a game. To me they were my parents, my mom now reuniting with my dad, having fun as they often did.

The bird was a robin in Concord, seen through the eyes of my poet brother, Alec. His words brought the robin to our house one night in the fifties, and I've loved robins ever since.

The first bird I remember being able to reliably identify (besides feeder birds) was the bufflehead. My brothers and I called them "bubbleheads" which seemed to make sense to us because the male's head looks like it has a white bubble on top.

I was in Rio Blanco Natural Reserve in Colombia, part of a birding to preview birding locations in the Central Andres. My companions were two experienced birders, Nate Swick and Dorian Anderson, and they were excited to have the chance to see the endemic species. The local guide took us to a feeding area in the dense forest. We waiting patiently for what seemed like an eon.

As a kid, I watched birds out the kitchen window at our little wooden feeder. Since we didn't have a "bird book" and knew almost nothing about birds, we made up our own names: wild canaries, red birds, rain crows, striped-headed spatzies, and that mysterious leaky-faucet bird. Gradually, after Mom bought a Golden guide, we put accurate names to birds, but we still knew nothing of phenomena like migration.

As a kid, I watched birds out the kitchen window at our little wooden feeder. Since we didn't have a "bird book" and knew almost nothing about birds, we made up our own names: wild canaries, red birds, rain crows, striped-headed spatzies, and that mysterious leaky-faucet bird. Gradually, after Mom bought a Golden guide, we put accurate names to birds, but we still knew nothing of phenomena like migration.

I experienced my spark bird roughly 10 years ago in northern New Hampshire. We were at my in-laws’ cottage on a little lake for a summer visit, and I heard an eerie wail, echoing across the water. “What is that!?” I asked. I’d never heard such a thing, growing up in Ohio.