Department of Environment and Conservation
nature | culture | permits | counties | assistance | air | water | waste | help

Confessions of A Bird Man
By Bob Fulcher

Tuning up late-night talk radio recently, I heard the earnest testimony of a woman, joining a discussion about telepathic connections between humans and animals, who said that, while meditating at the zoo, birds flew down to rest on her shoulders and calmly stayed until her meditation ended.

Not bad. At one time, I thought bird banders were the only people who had close encounters with wild birds, other than kids who picked up frightened fledglings or rescuers of plate-glass casualties. But the truth is that anyone can tempt wild birds to a personal, in-hand visit. Without a mist net, guru, or a reckless bird victim. There may even be a deep-seated human need to experience this sort of connection with wild creatures, in which case, the means to this end should become better known.

The visitation of wild birds, historically, has been treated as magical and miraculous. Legends are found in most every culture of birds alighting beside surprised people, bringing wisdom, luck of every variety, or super powers. Saint Francis of Assisi, arriving at the wilderness site of La Verna, where he would receive stigmatization, was greeted by a miracle recounted by generations of Franciscans.

"When they were come nigh to the foot of the very rock of La Verna, it pleased St. Francis to rest a while under the oak tree that stood by the way, and there standeth to this day; and resting beneath it St. Francis began to consider the lay of the place and of the country round about. And lo, while he was thus pondering there came a great multitude of birds from divers parts that, with singing and fluttering of their wings, showed forth great joy and gladness, and surrounded St. Francis, in such wise that some settled on his head, some on his shoulders, and some on his arms, and some on his bosom, and some around his feet. His companions beholding this, marveled greatly, and St. Francis rejoiced in spirit, and spake thus: "I do believe, dearest brothers, that it is pleasing to our Lord Jesus Christ that we abide on this solitary mountain, since our sisters and brothers, the birds, show forth such great joy at our coming." [From the Fioretti, ca. 1320.]

Among the early American naturalists there was a bit of wonderment concerning these encounters. F. Schuyler Mathews, author of a popular field guide to the birds published in 1904, admiringly noted a snapshot of a Chickadee "perched upon the hand of the good Hermit of Gloucester, a man who is on intimate terms with the birds of that region."

Likewise, Henry Thoreau, in Walden, wrote, with some esteem, about Therien, a French-Canadian woodchopper. "In the winter he had a fire by which at noon he warmed his coffee in a kettle; and as he sat on a log to eat his dinner the chickadees would sometimes come round and alight on his arm and peck at the potato in his fingers; and he said that he ‘liked to have the little fellers about him.’ "As to his own experiences, he remarked, "I once had a sparrow alight upon my shoulder for a moment while I was hoeing in a village garden, and I felt that I was more distinguished by that circumstance that I should have been by any epaulet I could have worn."

Thoreau grew more adept at Therien’s art. Frederick Willis, who, as a child, knew Thoreau, reported a wonderful incident: "He was talking to Mr. Alcott of the wild flowers in Walden woods when, suddenly stopping, he gave a low and curious whistle; immediately a woodchuck came running towards him from a nearby burrow. With varying note, yet still low and strange, a pair of gray squirrels were summoned and approached him fearlessly. With still another note several birds, in two rows, flew towards him, one of the crows nestling upon his shoulder. I remember it was the crow resting close to his head that made the most vivid impression upon me, knowing how fearful of man this bird is. He fed them all from his hand, taking food from his pocket, and petted them gently before our delighted gaze; and then dismissed them by different whistling…"

A different sort of encounter thrilled Emma Bell Miles, the author of Tennessee’s first birding guide, Our Southern Birds, published in 1919.

"One spring day I was lying on a cot out of doors, when a Titmouse came into the porch where I was and began to explore nooks and crannies. I "froze," as it is well to do when a bird comes near, and lay watching him as he poked about the rungs of a chair and the cracks of the balusters; but what was my surprise when he hopped up on my pillow and began to examine my head! I dared not move; I heard his light feet tapping all round my ears; he tweaked once or twice at my ear, chirped and then actually jumped on my head and with claws and beak went to work in earnest!

"He seemed delighted with his discovery of this source of hair; although he never carried much away, he enjoyed playing with it. Since I occupied the porch most of the time and warned others not to frighten him, he returned again and again to peck at one scalp or another, to everybody’s good pleasure."

Many eminent naturalists never measured the weight of a free, wild and healthy bird in their own hand. They left it to the specialists, like bombastic-but-savvy Richard Laimbeer, a turn-of-the-20th-Century Long Islander, who published, in 1923, proof of "the extreme confidence and friendliness" of his birds in his book, Birds I Have Known.

It was my custom to occupy each morning, except when the weather was especially inclement, a chair placed under a big oak tree..., and it was here that my neighbors from the woods joined me. ...I looked upon the gathering as my morning class with the birds as my pupils, though in this case the pupil imparted the instruction instead of the teacher.

Laimbeer managed to hand-feed Towhees, Brown Thrashers, and Chipping Sparrows, all for the camera. He dedicated the book to a Towhee that had resided with him three consecutive summers, calling each morning at the window for corn bread crumbs, and delighting weekend guests.

There weren’t a lot of hints for hand feeding in Laimbeer’s book, but a crusty, old, Maine eccentric, Alfred Martin, put out the gospel, Hand-Taming Wild Birds at the Feeder in 1963. Ornery and straight-talking, Martin lived alone, and abided only human visitors who strictly followed his rules. Any predator that threatened his hand-tamed birds risked getting blown away. His technique involved days, or even weeks, of tortured patience, each day approaching nearer to a feeder with a hand bearing food, then resting the hand on the feeder, and, finally emptying the feeder, while leaving a bit of food in a still hand for the bird to take. He strongly suggested his devotees follow his advice, including:

Never approach a wild bird without speaking to it all the time.

Always move slowly around birds.

Never hold out your hand to a bird unless it contains food that he likes.

Never swallow while a bird is on your hand watching you.

If you see signs of fear when a wild bird first comes to your hand, hold your breath as long as you can and keep absolutely motionless.

Never overload your feeder, a bird must be hungry before he will take a chance on your hand.

Never allow even your best friends near your birds unless you are with them. A well-meaning friend can ruin months of work for you and may even drive your birds off for good.

Old Al Martin was spectacularly successful. With sunflower seeds he "tamed" Black Capped Chickadees, Pine and Evening Grosbeaks. With raisins and currents, he took Catbirds and Robins in hand. White-breasted Nuthatches and Hairy Woodpeckers learned to come to him for suet. He even got Ruby-throated Hummingbirds to follow him for a sip of nectar. Martin’s style was demanding, but individual birds learned that he was a safe source of food, and would come to him wherever he appeared on their territory.

Years ago, I stumbled across a magazine article by someone who had discovered, through his own intuition, that birds could be hand fed. The writer first built a window feeder, and was delighted by the close up views. He then had the idea of laying a fake arm through the window and into the feeder. When he put his own hand out of the window, birds went right to it. Why not, he reasoned, place a full-sized dummy outside, covered with birdseed, and then pull a switcheroo? It worked.

So, I, too, have spent some time as "Bird Man." Instead of days, the "scarecrow" method brought birds to my shoulder and hands in a few minutes, on a chilly, hunger-enhancing afternoon. They were not a bit tamed by the process, considering me a mere feeding platform. My first visit was from a pair of Purple Finches. Chickadees and Tufted Titmice proved even more courageous, and became the most dependable guests. A Red-bellied Woodpecker was a regular visitor to the top of my head, in search of sunflower seeds.

When a Knoxville newspaper sent a reporter to witness this remarkable show, I shamefully used my 15 minutes of fame, creating bogus rules and assertions to further my own desire to imitate pop-artist Bob Dylan. "Always wear shades, the birds don’t like staring," for instance. I claimed the idea had come in a dream, and that I’d had an obsession with birds since childhood. A few years later a photographer came by to get the story for a national supermarket tabloid, and a local author included the whole thing in her compilation of the history of East Tennessee. Wasps built a nest inside my bird-feeding dummy, eventually, and stung some visitors, an incident which would have pleased Al Martin.

While fame has been fleeting, I still occasionally don the garb, and, among the battling clash of bird wings, meditate at my own pace. Am I a feeding station, or do these birds feel "good" about me now? Could mere curiosity drive a Tufted Titmouse into the dangerous hands of man? How does boldness and inquisitiveness serve the individual or the flock with some survival value? What is braver than the heart of a Chickadee?

(Bob Fulcher is a regional interpretive specialist for Tennessee State Parks.)

Updated November 5, 1999; Send comments to Department of Environment and Conservation.