Moth-A-Ra's Wrath And A Little Bug Porn

Although I have a deep seeded respect and admiration for all living creatures, I fear most things that have the ability to fly. My first reaction when I see a moth larger than the top of my thumb is to screech, run away and wave my hands in the air repeatedly. While this tangent is happening, in the back of my head I'm thinking, "Please don't injure yourself while trying to escape Moth-A-Ra's wrath." You'd think my fear would be confined to insects. However, I'm petrified of any living species that can fly. This holds true for birds. Yes. Birds.

If I had to pinpoint when this fear developed, I would say it began in mid-childhood. We grew up by the lake and not too far from the ocean. We visited quite frequently. On the weekends, or when my parents were on vacation, we'd spend the day by a body of water with a picnic lunch and snacks in tow.

That's how we did it back in the day (30+ years ago). Our generation didn't wait in mile-long lines for a $5 fried Twinkie or a pail of overpriced french fries. Lunch consisted of soggy sandwiches, grapes and homemade cookies from a cooler.

Without a doubt, where there's food, birds with be only a few feet away. Lots of them. Whether it was food from people's coolers or the concession stands that lined the boardwalks, it attracted pesky birds that would swoop down for a morsel of left-behind food. They'd hover above. It was like something out of a Stephen King movie. And, there was always a group of overzealous, city-slicker tourists a few feet away who undoubtedly had never seen a bird eat.

"Look Frank! That seagull just ate the french fry I threw on the ground. Frank. Did you see that? Are you looking. Watch. I'll do it again."


As I got older, and my trips to beach were more frequent, I became a magnet for bird shit. It wasn't just the beach. If I was walking from point A to point B and there was a bird overhead, forget it. It never failed. In fact, it became a standing joke. I would warn folks who accompanied me to the beach or any location with a copious amount of birds lingering overhead.

I moved out of state shortly after turning 30.  A trip to the lake involved at least a one hour drive. There was no seacoast. I no longer had to contend with beach birds with excessive bowel movements. Instead, I had a backyard that slightly resembled a bird sanctuary. There were species I had never seen before. I was intrigued. Often times, I'd sit out on the back porch and marvel at the growing population of yellow finches. There was a safe distance between us.

My first summer there, I visited a city zoo. This particular zoo had a rather large bird building. I was determined to overcome my fear. Some say going face to face with your fears is the only way to conquer them once and for all.

Before walking through door number one of the big bird building, you had the option to purchase tiny cups of bird nectar to feed the birds. I'm guessing this is when my brave disposition started crumbling and the mild panic attack transpired.

We could feed the birds? Was this an indicator that these flying creatures weren't going to be separated from us by some sort of barrier? 

I was determined to conquer my fear and purchased not just one, but TWO cups of nectar. After walking through the first set of doors, we were greeted by one of the zoo's bird masters. This woman could have easily passed as an NFL quarterback. When she spoke, everyone stopped talking. A few, like myself, held their breath.

Instructions were simple. We were about to walk into the world of birds. It was their world...not ours. This was their home. We were the guests. There was a good possibility that birds would perch on our head or shoulders especially those who had cups of nectar. There was to be no yelling, running or loud outbursts of panic if a bird, or several, used any part of our body as a perch. If we wanted a bird removed from our bodies, there was a procedure. Gently catch the attention of Ms. Quarterback, motion for her to come over without frightening the bird and she'd take care of it.

I could feel the fear induced sweat rolling down my back and slowly drenching my clothing. 

I braved it and walked through the second set of doors. Ms. Quarterback wasn't joking when she said there were several hundred birds in that one building. I don't remember much except walking very slowly up the designated path, a cup of nectar in each hand and sweating profusely. By this time, I was in full panic mode. My breathing became shallow. Fear was taking its ugly toll on my ability to control my bladder. Then, the most unthinkable thing happened...

A bird landed on my arm. My arm!

I didn't see Ms. Quarterback. I coughed loudly. Then again. I doled out my best fake hiccup...one that made my upper body shake a little. The bird flew off. I placed the cups of nectar on the railing that bordered the path and broke into a slow jog towards the exit doors. I may have jumped over a few children and pushed my way through some people blocking my path from point A to point B. After making my way outside, I found refuge on a bench.

The entire concept of "conquer fear head on" turned out to be a load of crap.

Despite my experience, I was still determined to make peace with birds. A month or so later I opted for a less in-your-face approach. I put a bird feeder on the back porch. Then another. And another. I would stand at the door for lengthy periods of time observing the birds. My fear manifested into fascination. I started taking photographs of the birds.

I ignored the disruption amid my tranquil bird oasis when they'd attack the feeders when the seed ran out. At times, the feeders would dislodge from the hanger during their hungry rage and I'd have to replace them. Birds would line the railing and glare at me. I feared that I'd be ganged up on by a flock of angry malnourished birds.

I even ignored the bird crap graffiti covering the porch and railings. 

What mattered was that I was slowly getting over my fear. Capturing their habits, form, and beauty trumped my fear. Standing behind the lens offered a sense of security. A distraction. I wasn't thinking about a swarm of birds pecking my eyes out. There were other things to focus on...like getting a photo that would land the pages of National Geographic.

A girl can dream, right?

Between then and now, in baby step increments, I've learned to find solace in cohabiting with the bird population. I've have fallen head over heels for hummingbirds. In fact, adorning our front porch, during the spring and summer months, are 5 hummingbird feeders and hummingbird friendly flowers. The challenge of photographing them has triggered a new hobby.

Over the past few years, I started taking photos of various larger birds that reside around small bodies of water nearby. We've got a huge population of red tailed hawks that are absolutely stunning, swans and a few blue herons. On the flip side, I'm still not a fan of seagulls. Or turkey vultures.

I've also come to terms with my fear of flying insects. Well, most. Gigantic moths in the dead of night still send me running. And wasps with their ugly dangling legs. Over the summer, my determination to get away from one of these beasts almost sent me tumbling down the porch stairs.

Overcoming my fear of living things that fly has been a work in progress. Some days are better than others. I've come a long way. I have hundreds of photos. Some are quite remarkable. Some are just "eh." During one session behind the lens while out in the elements, I managed to capture this.

Bug porn. 

Yes, bug porn.