Monthly Archives: August 2023

The Monday Book – Better Living Through Birding: Notes from a Black Man in the Natural World by Christian Cooper

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Guest review by Janelle Bailey, avid reader/ever-an-educator/lifelong learner

As soon as I saw this book cover online and the author’s name, the reference to birding in its title, I knew EXACTLY who this man is, remembered well the incident, and thought: by golly, he’s written a book. This is, however, not a book solely about that incident in Central Park’s Ramble in May of 2020; nor is it the only reason anyone should know Christian Cooper.

In fact, this book is about so much more than that, that “that” incident doesn’t really even take up a single chapter of its own; rather, one prevalent reality throughout the book circles and highlights that the direction had been given for all of the local NYC birders to behave much as Christian Cooper did “that” day: begin video recording any interaction with and then request that anyone with an unleashed animal leash it. As one can quickly learn, and as Cooper conveys in this book for non-birders or budding birders to learn: loose dogs readily mess with any/all birds enjoying their natural habitat for birders to seek/find/enjoy. And that day Christian Cooper began recording the interaction as he made that request of Amy Cooper (totally a coincidence, they are in no way related), that she leash her dog. What happened from there was far more her deal than his. And oh, what a mess it was.

What really happens in this book instead is that Christian Cooper articulates well his own coming of age and coming of birding love and skill, not blissfully blooming into his own adult life and easily finding his way but more like most of us, figuring it out day by day, year by year. He tells it all as it is, though, and yet omits “gay” from the title, when that is also very much who he is, AND it’s certainly a reality conveyed inside the front cover, inside the back cover, etc. so I gather it was an executive decision to not lead with it in the title.

I did enjoy hearing from a very honest and sincere telling, more about who Cooper is and how he came to his “now,” struggling much of his young adult into adult life to be comfortable and confident in his own skin, his own home. The book seems to convey that he is, indeed, enjoying life now and in ways that were worth earning–working and striving toward now. And I very much appreciated and enjoyed some of the finer points he makes about birds as well. That is, indeed, one premise and product achieved by the book, and I am inspired to listen and look more carefully, to follow some of his birding tips and to also consider the seven pleasures of birding he shares.

I am especially pleased to have read this book while camping at a state park, considering that scenery and those sounds and their connection to all of the learning about birding and birds and nature, ala Christian Cooper’s conveyance of his experiences. They will long be connected experiences for me.

I’m BAAAWWWWWWWWWK!

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We currently have five chickens – two big whites, one ginormous black, and two banties, one brown and one black, both with golden necks.


The banties were inherited after they showed up at my parents’ house unannounced one day and took up residence in a holly bush. Relocated to our place, the wee ones became lowest on the pecking order, chased away from treats of leftover corn cobs and cat food tins by the big ones.

The three big chickens would move in on whatever I was tossing, but when anything landed near the tiny black one (dubbed “Weeun”), they left what they had to chase her down and take it. Since only one chicken could take this dubious prize, the other two would continue to pursue the little black hen with what sounded like grunts of misplaced blame at missing out. The brown one (we call her Goldie) was clever though; she ignored her wee sister’s plight with a kind of “take her not me” vibe—and then moved in on the abandoned pieces the big girls left when they gave chase.

I’ve lived with chickens long enough to distinguish “squawk” from “SQUAWK” and from
“squuuuuuaaawwwwwk.” These translate, respectively, into 1) give with the treats, lady; 2) I will effin kill you, and 3) I have just produced the world’s most beautiful egg; come admire it.

Weeun got #2 consistently.


We became accustomed, from time to time, that Weeun would go missing, probably looking for a better life situation. Every three or four days, Jack would look out the window and say, “Weeun’s back, I see.”

We felt sorry for her, but…c’est la coop vie.

Then Goldie (the wee brown one) disappeared. Five days, she was gone, and Jack and I figured that was it…she’d been eaten by something that likes chicken more than egg.

Yesterday, I heard a loud “SQUAAAAAAAAWWWWWKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!” This was new vocabulary. It means, “Hey girls, I’m back from my vacation and let me tell you Aruba is everything they say it is.”

Goldie landed on the last exclamation point of that squawk. Chickens don’t fly unless they have to, but she came in at an architect’s dream arc over our stone bird bath to land PLOP in the inner yard.

Our chickens are supposed to stay in the outer yard. We have a gate and all that. They don’t care.

At first, I didn’t think it was Goldie. Some new chicken had arrived: bigger, brighter. On second glance, it was her, but Goldie looked tanned and well-rested, not like the hen-pecked brown thing of the week before, who ignored her sister getting picked on so the mean girls wouldn’t turn on her.

No, this Goldie gave the chicken grunt of self-empowered satisfaction (people sometimes think we have pigs on the back garden because of these noises) and began pecking at the iris bulbs. She laid an egg in the birdbath. Then she waddled toward the gate, demanding I open it and announce her presence to the other birds, who gathered to watch her strut up the path. Presumably, she opened her valise and showed them her collection of postcards plus her new hat.

Will Goldie teach Weeun these self-empowerment skills? We don’t know. Will Goldie head to Acapulco next year? Probably.