One of the side effects of everyone being stuck at home in the pandemic has been a surge in people taking up birdwatching as a hobby. I came to this in my own way and time. It started back in the spring when a pair of robins built a nest in the bush outside our screen porch. As we spent more time on the porch to expand the space available in the house, I listened and snuck peaks until one day the family moved on.

Later in the spring a pair of mourning doves built a nest in the corner of our front porch. I could see the nest from my desk, allowing me to check-in on progress during virtual meetings. I watched the parents take turns sitting on the eggs until two chicks hatched. I watched them make non-stop trips back and forth to keep the chicks fed. Then my whole family watched the drama as the parents tried to get the chicks out of the nest. One flew off, but the other (who we named Randy) was less sure and took a lot of coaxing. The parents would sit in the tree off the porch and chirp, then they would stand on the eaves and try to nudge Randy off. Eventually, though, Randy made it and we all cheered when we saw an empty nest one Friday morning.

I felt empty when the doves left, though. I’d gotten used to the birds and missed them so I tried to fill the void. I bought a hummingbird feeder and watched a ruby-throated hummingbird drink and defend the feeder through the late summer and fall. On a trip to the mountains I obsessed over the birds flitting through the trees behind our rental cabin. I bought binoculars, bird guides, and feeders. My youngest son and I took our first birding tour in Maine. This gave me something to do, and made me feel connected to the world outside my house.

But as my habit grew, I realized that I was one of many people who had picked up birding during quarantine. This caused a small crisis for me. I’ve sometimes had a weird reaction when I realized something I liked was also liked by others. You’d think I’d be glad to have “found my people” but I often felt anxious, either because I’d lost something that made me special or because I was afraid of being rejected by the group. I’d have these kinds of thoughts about books, music, or other hobbies. In conversations if someone indicated they liked something I did, or asked about my interests, I could have opened up and shared, but I often went into a shell and mumbled something vague that killed the conversation.

I’d grown to like birding, but was worried that I was part of a trend and somehow would be seen as fake. Was a birder that picked up birding in the pandemic like me be a “real” birder? Is this just some habit I picked up as a part of a collective subconscious? Did I need to prove myself?

I don’t know why I’ve always had these kinds of thoughts, but luckily I’ve done a better job fighting my anxiety. It’s helped that the experienced birding community is very welcoming, and I realize it can be a good thing if more people get out and enjoy nature. While the number of birders has increased this year, the number of birds has been steadily declining. Maybe having all these people involved will ultimately help the birds that I’ve gotten to enjoy.

I don’t know if this hobby will stick after the pandemic ends. I’d like to think it will but can’t say for certain. However long I stick with it, I’m glad I found birding during quarantine. I’ve learned a lot and enjoy hanging out with my feathered neighbors. There are so many reasons to want to forget 2020 that it’s nice to have something your want to remember and carry on.