Bird's Eye View

A segment on bird watching on National Public Radio reported that birds are among the animals with which humans have most successfully shared space. My guess is squirrels and rabbits and bees place a close second. Possums might come in third, and there is a really big racoon that lives right across the highway that runs in front of my home in the city. In the Southwest, the list might also include geckos and armadillos.
Rats and ants and wasps don't count because, although we often share space with them, our intent is hostile. We hope to exterminate them.
Cats and dogs and tropical fish don't count because they don't actually share space with us so much as they submit to our built space.
But some birds seem to see humans as a mere distraction, temporary obstacles in spaces they claimed as a species millennia ago. Right now, Chicago parks are filled with the honking of flocks of Canadian geese taking a breather from their long migrations south, stopping at some of the same locations their ancestors must have stopped at in the days before Chicago was even imagined. Robins still cock their heads to one side to listen for worms wherever there is still enough green space to support worms. Urban skyscrapers are no biggy for pigeons, which simply think of these concrete and glass cliffs as roosting sites. Seagulls see Lake Michigan as THEIR lake, undaunted by the megalopolis sprawling out beyond the beaches. That invasive species, the incessantly chirping English Sparrow, actually seems to relish the dusty streets of our city. (The English Sparrow is the most widely distributed wild bird species in the world, and along with pigeons and starlings, is one of only three birds not protected by law in the U.S. and Canada.)
This is not to say that cities are good for birds. They aren't. Cities destroy habitat. City lights distract migrating birds, and many birds break their necks flying into mirrored windows.
But humans do accept the independent presence of birds in our yards and on our telephone wires in a way that we wouldn't casually accept a wolf or a moose sauntering down the midway. This is what gives the Daphne du Maurier novellette and the Hitchcock movie "The Birds" their wonderful creepiness.
What can we learn from a habitat shared with feathered friends? In the classic T. H. White historical fantasy "The Once and Future King", the wizard Merlin magically transforms the young king-to-be Arthur (affectionately called "Wart") into a snow goose. What does Wart learn from experiencing a bird's eye view of the landscape? That national borders are imaginary.
When I am troubled by the lack of imagination in our education systems, by the disrespect for the arts and by the contemptuous treatment of teachers, of artists, and of young people we encounter over and over again in our work, I try to not get distracted by the petty uproars of the day: the silly battles between arts integration vs. direct instruction, standards vs. inquiry, new technologies vs. old technologies, high art vs. low art, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. The Executive Director of the organization I work for, Amy Rasmussen, always calms me down by reminding me to take the long view. This too shall pass. Even our own best current positions will morph into something more inclusive and interesting over time. This is the attitude I hope (and think) our new president will advocate for in our divided country. I try to imagine myself as a migrating bird, surveying a landscape without boundaries.

Arnold Aprill
Founding and Creative Director
Chicago Arts Partnerships in Education
www.capeweb.org