A Mythical Event

With the right combination of anticipation, waiting, and surprise, some life events channel a magic so powerful that they become instantly and forever mythic.

Last weekend my favorite bird, the cedar waxwing, made one such event happen. It was something I had always hoped to see but wasn't looking for at the time.

My affinity for cedar waxwings goes well beyond my general liking of birds. We click. Social but free-spirited, subtle but with a unique style, peculiar but charismatic, these birds make their own rules and plumb a special joie de vivre. Anyone who pays attention can see them do amazing things.

Two cedar waxwings share a berry.

I've had plenty of opportunities to witness their behavior, and many of those occasions turned into cherished memories. I remember the day I first identified them as they fluttered through some Indian plum bushes in search of fruit; I remember sitting on the bank watching them hawk insects over a creek; I remember their whistles and trills by heart to the point that I instinctively respond to them with a smile and a look to see where the birds are. Usually, they're gobbling down fruits or berries, lounging cheerily together in a tree with their crests carelessly falling back over their heads, or flying off in effervescent earfuls to look for more berries.

For all my various encounters with them, before last Saturday, I had never seen them execute one of their most quintessential behaviors. Cedar waxwings will sit in groups or pairs and pass food, including berries, insects, and flower petals back and forth with their beaks until one of them decides to eat it. Sometimes, they do it as part of a mating ritual, and other times, they appear to do it just for fun. Whatever the reason, it helps define their nature as unique, social, and joyous birds.

Eager to see this sharing of food and long disappointed, I began to think I might not have the chance. It turned into something like the sasquatch (well, more like the auroras actually--some storied thing I knew existed but had never been in the right place at the right time to view in person). After a while, the reality of not seeing it pushed the hope of seeing it to the background. Then, last Saturday, I saw two waxwings in a bush along a walking path. As I started taking pictures, they leaned toward each other. Although blocked from the point of exchange, I knew exactly what I had just seen through the camera lens. The surprise and happiness of at last witnessing the pass of a berry from one bird to another locked the moment into my memory hard and in a way more clear than the picture I ended up taking. All the waiting and dashed hopes came together for an epic scene time can never take from me.

The stories of waxwings sharing berries are myths for me no longer, but my own experience with it sure seems mythical.