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Dock entrance welcoming you to Kalebaskreek The village Kalebaskreek is a lovely riverside community along the Coppename River in Suriname. I visited there in November of 2021 to see if they would be interested in protecting parrots. This would mean ending the legal trapping of wild parrots there for the bird trade. The hope is that economic opportunities for the people through ecological and scientific tourism will supplant any loss that occurs from protecting their parrots. If they decide to go forward, everyone wins – the birds, the villagers, and the people who come to visit. The entrance to Batavia, a short distance from Kalebaskreek Village The shrines and meeting place at Batavia They already have a tourist destination close to the village called Batavia. It is a former cocoa plantation, military post, and leper colony, and has recently been redeveloped as a place of pilgrimage. It promotes not just a serene meditative atmosphere - because of the religious icons, statues, and buildings present there - but it is also a place of wonder since it is a roosting, nesting, and foraging site for parrots. I was only there for a couple of hours, and every moment was full of parrot calls and behavioral observations. Red-bellied macaws investigating a nest cavity at Batavia Blue-and-yellow macaws both roost and nest here, and also forage for food nearby I was also drawn to this location, because it is where Father Petrus Donders worked and died. He was a catholic priest who, in the mid 1800’s, served the local Indigenous people who suffered from leprosy and other ailments. He kept on striving to help others even though he had many rejections in his life. As a young man, he wanted to be a priest, but didn’t have money to go to school, so he served as a servant to seminarians instead. He was deemed unfit for military service, and was not allowed to join the Redemptionists, Jesuits, and Franciscans. Finally, a benefactor helped him attend theology school and, because of his zeal and passion, was accepted for the Dutch Suriname mission. There he served from 1842 until his death in 1889. A little less than a century later he was beatified by the Pope John Paul II. Originally buried at Batavia, Father Donders' remains were later removed to the beautiful Saint Peter and Paul Cathedral in the capital city of Paramaribo. Mural on a building at Batavia of Father Petrus Donders Saint Peter and Paul Cathedral where Father Petrus Donders is entombed When the current Covid-19 pandemic eases, I recommend that we undertake a parrot pilgrimage to Suriname, to see the church, the village, and Batavia, now graced with wild parrots. If we go, we can help support the village so that they can keep their wildlife safe. Even at this marvelous location, where so many people have been served, the parrots are still taken from the wild to be kept and/or sold as pets, both domestically and internationally. Perched on a monument at Batavia, this young injured blue-and-yellow macaw also serves as a reminder of the need to care for life. Her wing was broken when a nest was chopped down to capture macaw chicks for pets Let us journey there, if not in person, then in spirit, so that we can serve both the people and parrots of Suriname.

The authors of this paper, Hector Portillo Reyes, Gail Koelln, and LoraKim Joyner invite your comments and collaboration. Please contact us for a copy as we are protecting the location of the study because of the illegal wildlife trade targeting sites that are disclosed on the internet. Conservation is an art, created uniquely in every project. Much like a dance between local actors, and national and international interests and organizations, there may be prescribed steps, but there are also missteps and spur of the moment movements. No one preordained conservation plan will fit all regions and all species, so it is difficult not only to assure positive outcomes based on past experience, but to document which conservation actions are essential, and even, which ones are harmful. Describing conservation projects in narrative fashion might indicate possible approaches that lead to success, at least on a short-term basis. In this article, we describe the Apu Pauni Project, a coalition of communities and organizations striving to recover the macaw populations in the Miskito region of Honduras. The majority of efforts are aimed at species management and livelihood support, as the needs of both people and parrots there are urgent and deep. Offering stipends for patrols may have been the biggest contributor to our success so far, as it supports the people and also protects the nests. We highlight these actions and others we consider to have had the most impact on reducing the poaching and supporting the people, and suggest recommendations based on lessons we have learned. Perhaps the strongest advice we can give is that conservation must be an external and internal transformative process, including decolonization practices, where inter- and intra-personal skills are of paramount importance, as is the vision of a just, equitable, and compassionate society.

In July, parrot people in Honduras and Guatemala came together to do the first b-inational count of the endangered yellow-headed parrot. The count involved boats, horses, bikes, and a lot of walking. The idea was to count in both countries at the same time, so we could rule out any birds that could have been counted twice, each in both countries. We were not able to count in all locations in Guatemala, so we cannot say for certain how many birds there are – other than to say that the density of this species is scarce and the percentage of chicks is very low in both countries, where there is tremendous habitat loss and pressure from poaching. Walking in to the counting location First afternoon of the count Second night of the count Walking out of the first count location and into the second location We also counted several other species, including the red-lored amazon, the white-fronted amazon, and the olive-throated parakeet. These species, too, experience threats from poaching and habitat loss. Boating in to the count area Counting in the swamp with mangroves Getting the boat from one swampy area to another Counting in the swamp We will continue to count the birds every year, and it may be that, as in Honduras over a couple of years, the count will continue to go down. Our hope is that with intervention we can reverse this trend. We give thanks to the Coypu Foundation, who generously awarded One Earth Conservation with a grant for this work in 2022, as well as to our partners in 2021, CONAP and Cuerpo de Conservación, in Honduras. A new day for counting, and a new year for the parrots and people

Parrots are spectacular creatures who have much to say to us if we would just listen. They aren’t just mimicking human speech, but are beautiful beings from whom we could learn much. By asking “What does the parrot say?” we can escape internal and external prisons constructed by societies based on domination and oppression. Parrots are a gateway species who can guide us to transforming the way humans perceive and treat nature, including our own species. During a recent webinar we listened to what parrots tell us and how we can take steps to heal ourselves and our earth by paying deep attention to life around us. Other species can help us do this, and in this presentation we used parrots as an example. Here are the steps outlines in the recorded webinar above. Perhaps the final step is the most important, for as we act for others, we are transformed.

In August I spent time with the vinaceous-breasted amazon (Amazona vinacea) in Paraguay. I was invited to co-facilitate a count of the species by Itaipu Binacional, a corporation formed between Brazil and Paraguay to oversee the electrical production from the Itaipu Dam on the Parana River. We centered our efforts at one of their reserves where the greatest number of this endangered amazon exists in the country, of which we thought there may only be around 100 left. Victor leading the count on day 1 More of the team counting, captaining the boat, and always ready to share snacks and stories and marvel at the bird's behavior, such as the parrots looking for nests below (photo by Dr. Andrés Álvarez) The counting team was made up of staff from One Earth Conservation, the technical team and park rangers of the Division of Protected Areas of Itaipu Binacional led by Victor Martinez, and volunteers Oscar Rodriguez of Nature Observers Club of Paraguay (CON) and Paraguay Birding & Nature Tours and Marcos Saldivar of CON. Arising some days at 1:30 a.m., 16 of us counted 9 different transects each morning and night for 5.5 days. The counting team included children from the local village (photo by Dr. Diana Pesole) We counted on land And we counted by boat We counted from before sunrise... And we counted until well after sunset We were pleasantly surprised to tabulate that the Minimum Number of Distinct Individuals (MNDI) was higher than we expected, and that the percentage of juveniles present was 10% (which means that there are successful nests producing young in this park or adjoining areas). We do not know the total number of this species in Paraguay, because we did not simultaneously count the other locations where they are seen. We covered a lot of the reserve by boat and saw many birds, and not just the vinaceous-breasted amazon (photos below by Oscar Rodriguez) We saw so many beautiful things, and hard things as well, such as this tree that died from flooding and then was poached to take parrot chicks for the illegal wildlife trade Offsetting the wonder of such a fantastic team of parrot conservationists and an incredibly precious species, was the vista of the flooded Parana River basin, which due to drought, was now at historic lows. The specter of dead trees accompanied all of our days. There was also the constant threat of crashing our boats into some of the dead trees during the dark hours when we traveled to our counting sites. Thank goodness we have such competent captains and teams. Sunrise over the reserve Wine, for which this species of parrot is named due to its wine-colored breast, was considered in Rome the drink of the gods and it was thought that consuming wine led to longevity or immortality. May the work of such a committed team lead to the longevity and flourishing of this precious species in Paraguay. Thank you team and good luck this month during the National Parrot Count in Paraguay. If you’d like to be part of this count, or other aspects of parrot conservation, please do not hesitate to contact us at info@oneearthconservation.org.

Karasabai Village, Guyana We finished our annual count of the endangered sun parakeet that consisted of 11 days of boating, camping, hiking, motorbiking, biking, trucking, ATVing, and scratching insect bites. As each day passed, I was more and more in awe of the sun parakeets. Here is what I mused about in those long hot (or cold) bright (or completely dark) treks to and during counts... We arrive at our counting locations when it is still mostly dark, because we don't want to miss a single parakeet. You can hear these small parrots from 1 kilometer away or more. This gives one ample time to jump up and say “Here come the suns,” and scan the sky to find them. How can such a small bird, which weighs only 120 grams, call so loudly, and why, especially since they do so even though their size makes them so vulnerable to predators? Makes me think that, even though one might consider oneself small and that one doesn’t matter much, none of us should be afraid to proclaim our precious power and beauty! They fly so high. It is impossible to measure exactly how high these birds fly, but we frequently mark them at over 100 meters. When we finally spot the specs in the sky, our mouths go agape as the sun hits their orange and yellow feathers. I don’t know why they fly so high. Maybe it’s because they need altitude to move great distances. They seem to travel a long way in a day and also seem to be a migratory species. Notice how I use the word, “seem,” as not much is really known about sun parakeets. After 11 days of seeing such beauty and looking up a lot, it’s as if we soar with them and reflect that same vibrant beauty (looking up has been scientifically shown to grow your compassion and impact mental health). These birds touch the sky, and because of them, so do we. Unfortunately many parrots cannot fly high anymore, or at all, because they have been trapped for the pet trade and are often housed in cages or have clipped wings. They play as they fly over. I would think that a serious parrot, especially small ones traveling in clear view of predators, wouldn’t dally up in the air. They would instead make a straight line to reach food and protection. Instead, sun parakeets swoop and climb, mixing up their order in the flock and altitude. I am not sure this is play, some other form of communication, or social connecting exercises, but it sure looks like fun to me. Young and older sun parakeets exiting their cavity (Photo by Andrew Albert). They roost and possibly breed in family or larger social groups. As we don’t have cameras in nest cavities, we don’t know exactly what they are doing away from human eyes. We do know that different ages and groups (up to ten observed so far) might spend the night in one cavity and then split up and be in two different cavities the next night. Their high sociability and family bonds remind me of a communitarian ethic where homes of multiple generations contribute to the general welfare of all. Such is the dream of the good life. It's hard to tell where parakeets end and flowers (or us) begin! (photo by Agnes Coenen). They are like flowers in the trees. One might wonder why these small vulnerable birds are so brightly colored. And why yellow? This year, though, there were abundant different kinds of yellow flowers from shrub to tree. It was hard to spot a parakeet among all the natural camouflage. I’d be sure I was seeing a flower, but then it would move, and when I was sure it was a parakeet, well it was a flower. We are looking over great distances so it can be hard to tell one beautiful organism from another. Maybe that’s because they're all beautiful? Parakeet rangers packing up for a long hike to Corona Falls to count sun parakeets (Cain is front right). These are "Freedom Birds" who liberate us. All these characteristics point to a mighty bird that inspires our admiration, imagination, and commitment. The way they dare to survive - loudly, boldly, and despite dramatic pressure from the pet bird trade - demands our attention. We imagine that if they can fly free, so might we. The counting team celebrated our last night together and each said what the experience had meant to them. Cain said it best. I need the parakeets. I need freedom. They welcome us home. When it was my turn to share, I spoke of how the parakeet rangers of these three indigenous villages in Guyana had welcomed me as part of their conservation project, upon which I was presented with several gifts, including a carved parakeet with a sign saying, “Welcome Home.” The sun parakeet carving now welcomes all into our home in New York. These people and these parakeets do indeed welcome us to earth, empowering us to return the favor to them and to others. Here comes the sun do, do, do (do conservation) Here comes the sun And I say It's all right - The Beatles Sunrise near Rukumuto village one morning counting parakeets. Thank you so much for these gifts of being able to keep the parakeets close to my heart. Thank you village of Nebruti for this traditionally styled necklace full of nesting parakeets.

The scarlet macaws swirled around their nest tree, calling loudly but to no avail. Their newly laid eggs were gone, the human culprits only leaving the tracks of their climbing spikes gouging the pine tree. The chicks from these eggs, if they ever hatched, were on their way illegally to Nicaragua and then to international destinations all over the world. We lost so many young parrots lives this year in our parrot conservation project, more than the year before. The poaching rate had increased from 10% to 15% of all nests, with the majority of this increase coming from the illegal extraction of eggs. Some macaw parrots can re-lay within the same season, and this is what nest #16 did. “Double clutching” is not easy for these birds, but the parents managed to not only have the new clutch of eggs hatch, but also feed them well enough so that the chicks could grow and one day fly free. Except that didn’t happen. Poachers came once again to this tree, and chopped it down with a machete. We don’t know if the chicks survived, and if they did, how many broken bones they had. Regardless, the parents had twice lost the future they hoped to share with their fledged chicks, who often stay with their parents for many months and with whom they have a lifetime relationship. I told this story to a group of women and children gathered in the village of Rus Rus in October. Caren Lacuth, a project coordinator (photo below), and I were visiting to meet with the women that were part of the “Women Saving the Endangered Scarlet Macaw Project” administered by INCEBIO, our partners in La Moskitia, Honduras. We wanted to listen to their experience as rangers in this new project. They had a lot to say about how much they appreciated the project, and also how they were upset over the increased poaching, especially as it might have been perpetrated by men they knew or who were even in their families. This meeting had a lot of energy in it, perhaps because the women were more invested in the project than before, for now they were direct income earners and project participants. As I listened to their plans and ideas, and as always, the ever-present complaints and conflict, I thought I was seeing direct evidence of what studies have shown: When not just men, but also women participate in conservation, outcomes improve and family health increases for humans as well as for the wildlife with whom they live. Moved by their commitment, I wanted to return the gift, so I ended the meeting with this… “The mother in nest #16 wants to live well, as do you. She wants a healthy and happy future for her young, just as you do. All beings want to avoid loss and have enough for their families. You feel it in your heart, as do I, the cries of the that scarlet macaw mother crying for her children, for you too have known loss. You share not just loss with the parrots you protect, but power and desire. The macaw parents sacrifice much for their chicks and flock, as you do for your families and community. What a powerful combination, you, the women of these villages and these, the parrots of the savanna and forest. There is such strength here in this room and flying over us, and maybe, just maybe, we can build the world we want our children to live in.” They applauded, and then went back to fussing with one another, just as the macaws so often do. They raise their feet and lunge at each other, in play perhaps, because this is their way of asking each other to recommit to a peaceful relationship. We are more like the parrots, and stronger, than we think we are, especially when we come together, parrot and human families united.

Boat trip up the Coppename River with Conservation International and Kalabascreek colleagues Swinging in a hammock, I chatted with my Surinamese colleague, Steve Oldenstam (a.k.a. Steveo), who guides people on nature encounters (you may contact him here: steveosuriname@gmail.com). We were with Conservation International on a short trip to the village of Kalabascreek to see if they would be interested in working with us on parrot conservation and tourism projects. Steveo turning towards the jungle of the Peruvia Reserve I asked Steveo what conservation means to him, and how it might be a spiritual practice. He told me that it was to “turn towards the jungle.” He continued, “For too long our people have turned their backs on nature, and instead they have gone after money. I was raised to think like that, and I don’t want to live that way anymore. So, I empty my mind of all stories and turn towards the jungle. There is the truth and there is everything you need to know.” Steveo in the Jungle As he said this he acted it out, first turning his back on the jungle to one side of our open shelter, and then turning back with arms outstretched to the forest patch. I say patch because this area has long been farmed and we were surrounded by secondary growth, and because I have so many stories about the worth of various levels of wildness and wilderness. So as he turned back and forth I attempted to empty my mind of the stories of loss, of parrot decimation due to the international demand for these species, and of how I might heal this fragile world that echoes my own vulnerability. Steveo turning towards the jungle in Batavia (a pilgrimage and parrot site near Kalabascreek) Then I experienced the power and possibility of this moment, and even then I attempted to let that relief fade away. In its place came a smile that shines through both the beauty all around us, and the ever present tragedy. Steveo turning towards his fellow species to translate ideas of parrot conservation I don’t know if I can call upon this equanimity whenever I want, but I will remember my guide swaying me towards peace more than even my beloved hammock, and I will also remember to turn, turn. Steveo turning to another species, the scarlet macaw, as he demonstrates the great turning we all need to do Christine Fry also urges us to turn in her poem, “The Great Turning.” You’ve asked me to tell you of the Great Turning Of how we saved the world from disaster. The answer is both simple and complex. We turned. For hundreds of years we had turned away as life on earth grew more precarious We turned away from the homeless men on the streets, the stench from the river, The children orphaned in Iraq, the mothers dying of AIDS in Africa We turned away because that was what we had been taught. To turn away, from our pain, from the hurt in another’s eyes, From the drunken father, from the friend betrayed. Always we were told, in actions louder than words, to turn away, turn away. And so we became a lonely people caught up in a world Moving too quickly, too mindlessly toward its own demise. Until it seemed as if there was no safe space to turn. No place, inside or out, that did not remind us of fear or terror, despair and loss, anger and grief. Yet, on one of those days, someone did turn. Turned to face the pain. Turned to face the stranger. Turned to look at the smouldering world and the hatred seething in too many eyes. Turned to face himself, herself. And then another turned. And another. And another. And as they wept, they took each other’s hands. Until whole groups of people were turning. Young and old, gay and straight. People of all colours, all nations, all religions. Turning not only to the pain and hurt but to beauty, gratitude and love. Turning to one another with forgiveness and a longing for peace in their hearts. At first, the turning made people dizzy, even silly. There were people standing to the side, gawking, criticizing, trying to knock the turners down. But the people turning kept getting up, kept helping one another to their feet. Their laughter and kindness brought others into the turning circle Until even the nay-sayers began to smile and sway. As the people turned, they began to spin Reweaving the web of life, mending the shocking tears, Knitting it back together with the colours of the earth, Sewing on tiny mirrors so the beauty of each person, each creature, each plant, each life Might be seen and respected. And as the people turned, as they spun like the earth through the universe, The web wrapped around them like a soft baby blanket Making it clear all were loved, nothing separate. As this love reached into every crack and crevice, the people began to wake and wonder, To breathe and give thanks, To celebrate together. And so the world was saved, but only as long as you, too, sweet one, remember to turn.

"...that's the real core, that if you are going to an area where parrots are in trouble, the people are in trouble too." - LoraKim Joyner A member of Biometepe, one of our conservation partners on Ometepe Island in Nicaragua, climbing a tree to monitor parrot nests LoraKim was recently interviewed for an episode of the podcast Outside In, created by Joel Krieger and Pavani Yalla. Outside In has a unique focus on "experience design for change." Below is what Joel and Pavani wrote about their interview with LoraKim: "Deep in the jungles of Latin America, front-line wildlife conservation is often met with violent opposition from the extraction economy. Here, hundreds of thousands of parrots are illegally taken by poachers every year. LoraKim Joyner, a wildlife veterinarian, avian conservationist, and Unitarian Universalist minister stands in solidarity and resistance with the people. In a highly adaptive form of culture design, she combines science and spirituality to transform marginalized communities—building their capacity to transform poachers into protectors." The result is a fascinating exploration of how conservation and experience design intersect. You can listen to the podcast on multiple platforms, listed below. We'd love to receive your feedback - what did you think of the interview? Did it change the way you think about parrot conservation or conservation in general? Send us an email at info@oneearthconservation.org and let us know! Listen on Apple Listen on Spotify Listen on Amazon Episode webpage with key takeaways and resources Banner at our conservation project in Guyana.

Keynote Speech at the Foster Parrots Remembering and Rebuilding Fall Fundraiser Memorial It has been a tough time recently. Of course there is the pandemic, the ongoing loss of biodiversity and decreasing wildlife numbers, ravaging climate change induced storms and wildfires, and the suffering experienced by people and their communities the world over. The list of hardships is long, and it cuts straight through to our hearts, for it also includes the devastating fire last April at Foster Parrots where so many animal lives perished. Do you sometimes find yourself on the point of despair? It’s natural. I get there sometimes myself. It’s a hard place. It hurts. You want to get out of that mood as soon as you can, don’t you? It’s not comfortable, and also we want to be productive, and be present to others and this beautiful life. We can regret times when we sink away from our lives and from others. The character Legolas did so in the movie, “Lord of the Rings.” The coming day the enemy hordes would be upon them, and the heroes faced a battle they could not win. Legolas took his anxiety and fear out on Aragorn, blaming his leadership for taking the innocent into certain death. But sometime during the night he experienced a reckoning and apologized to Aragorn the next day by saying, “It was wrong of me to despair.” I want to say to Legolas, and to you, it is not wrong to despair. We have to mourn, and mourn together. But perhaps the invitation is not to stay in that space, but to wrestle with discomfort and find the glory. To stay there is to give false witness to reality, to be persuaded that the hard parts of life are everything. It is a perversion of existence to dwell only on one aspect of reality. But we can get sucked into overwhelming and faltering perspectives, because the loss can be so very painful. Let us return to Lord of the Rings where Gandalf the Wizard has just fallen into the abyss, and died. His bereft companions barely escape, and the hobbits fall to the ground sobbing and withdrawing. The violent enemies seeking to destroy them are close, and Aragorn commands them to get up. Another points to the hobbits and says, “How can you ask them to move when they have lost hope?” Aragorn replies, “Then we shall just have to move on without hope.” Yikes, that is hard news indeed, and so true. In conservation and earth stewardship we go on without hope. However, there is a corollary to this truth: though there might not be hope, we always go on with beauty all around us and the ever present possibility of love and connection. We go on refusing to see only what a mirror shows us, which is human hubris and the projections of our internal, culturally constructed, and constricted world view. The earth is not a mirror, just as parrots do not just mimic human speech. If we would just listen we could hear what life is really saying to us. Let us take a deep breath and listen for a moment here. Feel your heart beat, listen to your breath and the shuffling of those around you. The human body is a flowing miracle, a community of billions upon billions of species living together as cells who are cooperating and who have given their DNA to bring your unique nexus into being. Look outward now and ponder the miracle of the universe. We are so unique here on this planet and so minuscule. There is more than can ever be seen, felt, loved, be in awe of, and to be sad over. Wonder is infinite. Our work as conservationists and animal caretakers is to expand our awareness of the interconnecting beauty and tragedy inherent in existence so that we can be present, be engaged, and be in love. This task lends an understanding of conservation as being a mindfulness practice. Even though there is loss, and there is a lot of that in our calling, there is also beauty and love. Other mindfulness practices emphasize how to be present to the tragedy and the hard parts of life and difficult feelings so that we can respond to what life asks of us. This means coming to terms with death as part of life. In this way conservation contains opportunities to practice the letting go of outcomes and to live fully in the present moment. With all the uncertainties and challenges in preserving the splendor of this planet, our work then is like a death chant, preparing the way for acceptance of what seems like senseless loss of what is precious and beautiful. In this case our death chant is not repeating, “how shall we go on with no hope?” but instead we ask different questions, as does singer/songwriter Gene Keller in his song, “Parrot Girl:" How much love do you need? How much love can you see? How much love will set you free? How much love can you be? People began to ask these kinds of questions during the pandemic and turned to birds for the answers. Birdwatching has soared! We turn to them for beauty, for hope, and out of love. But bird watching is not about always feeling good, for if we really observed birds, we would see that their lives tell us of suffering. I know I’m preaching to the choir here – you know how much we can learn from birds. They tell us that there is not such a big difference between humans and other species, and between individuals. Birds too have pandemics and they too mourn. During the West Nile virus 15 years ago some areas in North America lost over two-thirds of the crows. The remaining crows mourned. They changed. They experienced social and individual trauma. These are the conclusions that scientists came to after studying them during this time. Females didn’t disperse as much from their biological families and territories shrunk. Birds were reluctant to try new things. Crows normally move as small family groups, but these were torn asunder. They forged new families, such as adults taking care of chicks from another pair. Does this response to the pandemic, or loss in your life, sound familiar? Birds offer us a chance to choose to share the deep ache within us and look squarely at death. Conservation and avian care is at times an onerous spiritual practice, but it can connect us to an ever greater sense of wonder and beauty. I am not saying that if you just work hard enough all will be well, for I don’t know how much choice we might actually have. I don’t think any of us have this figured out, such as the hero in the movie “The Thin Red Line.” He was a soldier in the Pacific during World War II and was walking along a hillside that was being bombed. One bomb felled a tree in which there was a parrot nest, spilling the chicks to the ground. As he watched the final struggle of the parrot, he mused: One man looks at a dying bird and thinks there's nothing but unanswered pain, that death's got the final word, it's laughing at him. Another man sees that same bird, feels the glory, feels something smiling through it. By being with birds we can see our fragility, and yet an enduring connection to the reality that pain and loss cannot be avoided, and neither can love. In that reckoning of both tragedy and beauty, lies the path to freedom. It is a difficult journey but it is graced with one love, on heart, and one earth. Bob Marely’s song "One Love," says, "Let’s get together and it’ll be all right." Getting together is right. Thank you for being here and helping us all fly free. If you would like to help Foster Parrots rebuild, go here.

Rev. Dr. LoraKim Joyner sharing stories of bird death during a Birding for Life Walk in Central Park, New York City in September 2021 We just finished a series of Birding for Life walks and on the last one, as I was leading some children along a trail, a six-year-old noticed an explosion of feathers on the ground. “Someone died here,” I shared as I picked up some of the feathers. “Who do you think it was?” I asked as I showed the feathers to them and other children slowly catching up to the first who had come across the reddish-brown feathers. “Probably some hawk or falcon hunted this female or juvenile Northern Cardinal and she died,” I explained to help them out. Several children started picking up the feathers as well and carried them along the trail until we came to a wide space well suited for a conversation. I knew we needed to process the death of the cardinal, for birding is not always about beauty and the sense of freedom that birds can bring. Mindful birding means listening to all that the birds have to say to us, which is that life is fragile and a web of tragedy and beauty. So, I asked if there were any questions or if anyone wanted to share what they were feeling. Some raised their hands and said they felt sad. One adult said that we needed to pause and honor the bird’s life. So, we were quiet for a while. Then another child said, “Yes, it’s sad, but it is life. She died so that the falcon could live. Her death brought new life.” Later this same wise youngster wrote a letter to the cardinal while we paused to draw and study trees and birds: I nodded my head, for what more wisdom could I add to her words? If the participants had been adults, I might have added how birding helps us embrace reality and be embraced by it. Birding isn’t always pleasurable, for to really look at a bird, we see and feel deeply into their pain and suffering (as well as their joy), and hence our own. They connect us to our own vulnerability, for they too mourn like us and even experience pandemics. I also would have gone on to explain to them how the West Nile Virus of the early 2000’s wiped out up to two-thirds of American crows in some areas. Scientists who studied them showed how the crows became less adventurous, and reduced the sizes of their territories. Young female crows didn’t disperse as they normally do, but remained close to their families. Birds merged with new families outside of their normal territories and helped raise widowed birds’ chicks. Rev. Dr. Joyner sharing with others what it is we make of death, loss, and birds If I was with adults, I might have referred to an article by Ben Craig in the New York Times, “The Birds on My Balcony Have Taught Me a Lot About the Pandemic He wrote, “Rather than looking to wild animals as symbols of hope or freedom, maybe we can recognize them simply as fellow creatures with only the cruel hand of natural selection to balance the benefits of community and cooperation against the risks of disease. Documenting the sickness of animals can lead us to the sources of their beauty. The faces of suffering and splendor are not always as different as they seem.” If I was lecturing or preaching, I might have referred to another article in the New York times by David Brooks on September 17th, “Is Self-awareness a Mirage?” He researched how humans make up stories about why they feel what they do and why they did what they did, “One of the most unsettling findings of modern psychology is that we often don’t know why we do what we do. You can ask somebody: Why’d you choose that house? Or why’d you marry that person? Or why’d you go to graduate school? People will concoct some plausible story, but often they really have no idea why they chose what they did” He concluded, “Maybe we can’t know ourselves through the process we call introspection. But we can gain pretty good self-awareness by extrospection, by closely observing behavior. We can attain true wisdom and pretty good self-awareness by looking at behavior and reality in the face to create more accurate narratives. In telling ever more accurate stories about ourselves, we send different beliefs, values and expectations down into the complex nether reaches of our minds, and — in ways we may never understand — that leads to better desires, better decision-making and more gracious living.” But I was with a group of children mixed in with their teachers and parents. I didn’t need to say anything. Slowing down and sharing the life and death of birds, together, had brought us closer to each other and to reality, as well as to the cardinal and all of her kind. We had come into a welcoming space, which in turn, I pray, helps us become more welcoming to life on this earth. For this is their home as well, and not just our own constructed of human hubris and fabricated stories. It is a home fraught with peril and pandemics, and through that reckoning, may lay actual freedom.

Vinaceous amazon parrot in an Atlantic Forest remnant in Paraguay during our monitoring in August 2021 (photo by Dr. Andres Alvarez) It’s a good thing that mirrors are scarce during field work in parrot conservation. I mean, I don’t really want to know what my face looks like after getting up at 1:30 a.m. to begin a day of parrot counting and observation. On some days we get to sleep in until 4:30 a.m. during our two weeks of nest monitoring and population in two ecosystems in Paraguay – the Atlantic Forest and the Cerrado. There may not be mirrors but there are brutal selfies in the cold pre-sunrise light But perhaps looking at parrots is like looking into a mirror, for aren’t they really the expression of this earth’s beauty and characteristics molded into DNA, just as we are? (We share 65% of our DNA with birds, and about that much as well with bananas and slugs!). What made them also made us, and what is unmaking them is also humanity’s undoing – extraction economies, inequality, consumerism, and climate change, to start. Underneath all of this is a false sense of separation from nature and other beings that gives permission for fickle and plastic cultural sculpting of human individuals and societies who treat others as having less worth and dignity. How do we address this “othering” that causes us to think that those different from us are not as deserving of our concern or rightful sharing of earth’s bounty, and hence causes great harm to species, from humans to corals? One cure is to encourage more empathy. By looking deep into the lives of others, by really seeing and listening to them, we can understand and even feel with our bodies the plight and perfection of life around us. Our inspection camera for looking into nests in Paraguay (thanks to Henry Krauer, pictured above, who builds our parrot monitoring equipment) Using the camera - on a cloudy day you might only need two people On a sunny day - it takes three! Here's what we hope to find - a parrot chick! (a 2 week old red-and-green macaw in this case) Sometimes it only takes one person, such as above where Dr. Andres Alvarez is preparing the inspection camera to look in a termateria where a peach-fronted parakeet might be nesting (photo below by Dr. Alvarez) Watching birds, such as in parrot conservation, for long periods of time, changes one. I remember a prominent avian veterinarian once remarking on how I had gone rogue, leaving caring for captive parrots behind, unless strictly for conservation efforts. He said that all those hours of looking at wild parrots had turned me into one! Watching birds begins well before sunrise, and also well after, on most days Conservation also means watching not just yourself, but also helping others to see (Guarani children in Paraguay accompanying a parrot count- Photo by Dr. Diana Pesole) Perhaps he was right, except that I didn’t turn into one, I had always been one. The veil has been slowly dropped away over the years so that I don’t know where feathers end and hair begins. Without a doubt, parrots are different species than humans, and individuals within each species are distinct. I cannot equivalate my experience or cultural shaping to theirs, or expect to speak for them. We not only watch and see, but we listen. What do the parrots say to you? (Dr. Diana Pesole listening for parrot chicks in the nest) Still, the long hours watching nests and seeing their behavior means that they have spoken to me abundantly. And what they have said is, “Look into our being as if into a mirror and drop your childish ways. And remember the greatest of ways forward is love." What does the turquoise-fronted parrot say to you? (This is a female that heard us and popped out of her nest cavity, and then flew away with her mate - photo by Dr, Andres Alvarez) Please join us and others for a Birding for Life Walk this weekend in Central Park, NY. We will listen to what the birds there, and each other, have to say.