I recently drove up a hill here in Yamhill county to a farm pond in a
pasture at the end of a dead end road. There is a brushy area on one side
or the road and a gate into a vineyard at the dead end. If you watch out
for poison oak and peek through a strip of bushes you can check the margins
of the pond. There's a dam at the far side. I've checked it several times.
I have yet to come up with anything fantastic, but such ponds are scarce in
the county.
The hill offers some great views and there are 3-4 nice houses along the
climb to the top. As I was driving up I met a guy on a four-wheeler; I
waved and went on. I parked off the road, got out, and began looking at the
pond.
The guy on the four-wheeler returned.
"Did you just buy the _______ tract? He asked.
"No," I said.
"Are you my new neighbor?"
"No."
He shut off his engine so he could hear me better.
"What are you doin' here?"
"I'm looking at birds. Sometimes there are interesting birds down around
this pond."
"Looking at birds."
"Yeah."
"A birdwatcher. That explains it." He started his engine, turned around,
and left.
I saw half a dozen Killdeer and a couple Grater Yellowlegs.
Now suppose this same scenario happened, that I was a fat old guy with a
white beard, but my skin was black or brown. Or I was from Asia or India.
Would the scene have played out differently? What if I was an eager grad
student from OSU who was Black, brown or Asian?
What if I found a Lapwing at the pond and reported it. I'm sure that white
males, white females in groups, and even people of color accompanying white
folks could flock to the scene to see the bird. But what if you were a
woman or a BIPOC person and you came alone? What if this happened in the
deep South?
That's not political. It's birding in human reality. The playing field
isn't level.
Paul Sullivan
P.S. The road is called Sunset Knoll Rd, out of Cove Orchard.
