I grew up along Lake Ontario in the United States where seagulls were plentiful and a common sight when my family would visit areas along the coast. I learned to think of them as pests always squawking and dive bombing unsuspecting beachgoers. The closest I came to relating to them was to hold out a potato chip high above my head and wait for one to dive down and pluck it from my fingers. I can still remember being both terrified and fascinated to come into contact with a wild bird.
After emigrating to Bergen, Norway last August, I was reacquainted with gulls. They are everywhere here. My attitude has changed over the years. I became a bird lover a long time ago and enjoy getting to know the birds in my neighborhood. There are many varieties of seagulls here and I enjoy noticing the differences in plumage, bills, and feet. I also enjoy noticing the nuances in the sounds they make. Their squawking is just as important to them as my conversations with my friends and family.
I’ve taken to lip syncing what I think they are saying to each other while walking with my wife in the park or at the harbor. Invariably, what I come up with is comical because it is difficult to imagine what goes on in the mind of a seagull. Here in Norway kittiwake seagulls nest along the coast high upon the cliffs that look out over the sea. They can also be found on rocky islands and coastal marshes. The larger herring gull can be found nesting on the ground protected by rocky terrain, on shingle beaches, or coastal skerries. I learned this about them after my wife (who had been observing them on the rooftops) called me to the window to show me what appeared to be a nest peaking out from behind a chimney. Sure enough, four stories (52ft./16meters) above the ground, lay a seagull nest.
At first glance, it seemed like an odd place to put your chicks. Are these parents aware of the dangers of living a top the ridge of a rooftop? I not only lip sync but also mind sync what I think they are thinking about. Then I add what I’m thinking about them and we can have a dialogue all about our parenting choices. Here I was in a foreign land taking up in a one bedroom apartment surrounded by university students. What was I thinking? We left the biodiverse Delaware river where birds a plenty nested on and around our home all the time. At last we had made contact with wild birds in the most unsuspecting place., but what did we know about seagulls?
According to the internet, it is not unusual for seagulls to nest on rooftops. The lack of food in non-residential areas and the development of residential areas has made this a common occurrence. I also learned that seagulls are nidifugous birds, which means they leave the nest only a few days after hatching. They are quick to explore and walk about. Sure enough, we were surprised one day to find a fuzzy seagull chick carefully walking between the wave-like teglstein takstein shingles. Before long our parental instincts kicked in and nervous conjecture erupted about the obvious question, how is the chick going to get back in the nest?
Back to the internet we raced to understand what we were observing. As it turns out, seagull chicks will explore eventually making their way to the ground where their parents will continue to protect them and feed them until they can fly. It is also not uncommon that chicks will not survive the journey down to the ground. Sure enough, we watched the chick leave and return to the nest over the course of a few days. It ventured further down the roof and even to a lower level. At times it would slip on the flashing at the edge of a roof and our hearts would skip a beat or two. One day, just as we read, our baby chick was on the ground, safe and sound. Its parent keeping a close watch and dive bombing of our bedroom window as we looked on.
Suddenly, their family planning didn’t seem so peculiar at all. The chick was safely within the walls of a courtyard that lay completely surrounded by apartment buildings. Better yet, it had long since been abandoned as a hang out for tenants. In the nine months we had been living there, we hadn’t seen anyone out there. Bergen is cold by human standards in May and June, at least for this spot where the sun struggles to reach the ground. We wondered if these seagull parents had done this before. Even without language they imagine where to live just as we do. Here I was a first time immigrant taking a chance to build a nest across the Atlantic hoping things work out as I planned. A first generation immigrant back in the U.S., but now I was a full fledged immigrant. I too was hoping I’d picked a safe place to get a new life off the ground.
Being an immigrant is a vulnerable thing to be. I learned that I had to start out at the bottom of the ladder with just about everything. Like the nidifugous seagulls, you hit the ground running. Whatever you did back home, especially if the language is different in your host country, is not guaranteed to grant you a position here. In my case, I needed to learn a new language, rely on my wife’s European Union citizenship and therefore, her income, to keep us going while we waited for our immigration to be processed. While we waited, I was unable to work and have access to any social welfare or healthcare benefits. I was at the mercy of the local SUA (service center for foreign workers) office in Bergen as well as the Skatteetaten (tax office) and UDI (immigration directorate).
These feelings of vulnerability had suddenly connected me to fellow immigrants, refugees, and anyone whose ever been displaced by tragedy or choice. What was more revealing to me was the sudden connection to this seagull family making their way in between the rooftop and the courtyard. Just as the celebration over the chick’s success ended another chick appeared on the roof! A brood of two. I was quick to project its siblings victory on to it, but this one wouldn’t make it down to the ground without injury. At some point we could see both chicks below and one was walking oddly, bracing itself with its wings unlike the other. For days we watched the parents protect and care for them both.
We returned to the internet to gain more insight into whether or not to call for aviary assistance, intervene ourselves, or just monitor the situation. We decided we could keep the parents well fed and of course any food we gave them would be shared with the chicks. A bag of frozen smelt became our contribution to the effort and after several days of dive bombing the hand that was feeding them, they began to let us place a dish of smelt out on the fire escape without a fuss. Eventually one of the one we took as the father, would arrive on the fire escape just before we routinely put the fish out. Before long, both parents would wait for the fish and take turns dropping down from the railing to the platform to gulp down a couple of fish.
After a while we wondered why we would only spot one chick walking about at a time. It seemed the parents had made another nest on the ground and they were eating well. Before long it seemed obvious that chick #2 didn’t make it. It was a heartbreaking development and we felt sad and helpless. Nonetheless, there was another chick to raise and the birds were not missing a beat. So, we continued to feed and observe and watch #1 grow into a real fledgling gull. The parents had grown accustomed to watching and observing us and the care for the chick really became a community effort.
The seagull’s lack of language didn’t hinder their ability to connect with us and a lot of what we needed to do could be considered privately in the minds of the two species involved. A dash of body language and a whole lot of feeling. Where we needed information we relied on technology to provide the assist. In the end it the glue that held us all together was a shared sense of vulnerability. My wife and I have since moved on to a new apartment just as many of the fledgling seagulls in Bergen could be seen on the sidewalks avoiding traffic and on flat rooftops getting in some flying practice. One day after a heavy rain a fledgling became trapped in the lake at Festplassen. It’s wings were too heavy with rain to fly the two feet out of the water over the concrete edge of the human made lake. I approached the gull with no hesitation to help and was relieved of duty as a the father in a family passing by jumped right to it and quickly snatched it out on to dry land.
It’s been quite some time since I’ve seen any life form as a pest or nuisance and technology as a way to combat them. In my own lifetime I’ve come to find an orientation toward power, dominance, and disconnection leads me to ultimately disconnect from all life life including my own. Whereas the more fleshy, stinky, and painful orientation around vulnerability binds life forms together. The death of that chick was equally discouraging and inspiring to me. After the loss I didn’t look the same way at the seagulls making their way out there. I knew we were on the same path in many ways. Rather than use technology as a power over life that could bury the pain, it became a tool that supported our efforts in supporting the one that did have a chance. So often using technology to make life easy is a red herring at least and a tool of biophobia at it’s worst. So, go gull! You’ve got this!
To see the music video click here.
