The Stuff of Dreams

I dreamed about Brown Pelicans last night. I've always wanted dreams to mean something, but they always seem to confound me when they come around.

Most of my experience with pelicans came in the form of Disney animations before I became a birder. But they are truly fascinating birds, nothing like the quirky idiots of Hollywood. On my first trip to the Gulf Coast, I realized that the official names for birds rarely do them justice--and sometimes, they actually make very little sense. Get a good look at a Brown Pelican and you can see that he is much more than brown. Watch him work and appreciate his skills as a master fisherman.

Though I have no uncertainty about my election as a birder, I still believe in different callings of the elect. For some, lists are primary; it is tempting for every birder to go with checklist in hand and use binoculars merely to confirm identification. Others pursue the rare, the earth-shaking, the spectacular; they are the ones who bring green dots to the Sibley. I fall into yet another category: I love to look at the birds. I stand on my porch for a half-hour watching the bobbing Mourning Doves, listening to the mockingbirds, observing the House Sparrows' ceaseless wandering within the world of human edifice. The Father feeds them; am I not worth more than many sparrows?

With this birding style, my list will probably stay at 170 for a long time. But I will dream of Brown Pelicans, and that is good enough for me.