My love for birds began with a chickenhawk although I was schooled to be a devil ray.
I can still remember the magnificent creature swooping down, his reddish-brown feathers raised, talons drawn and landing on the narrow street in front of the trailer in Frydenhoj where my life began.
Like many newly arriving Caribbean immigrants to the Virgin Islands, my father Joseph Bailey settled in the yet undeveloped East End of St. Thomas in the Country, far from Town. Back then, Red Hook wasn’t the bustling entertainment distort and gleaming port it is today, and Nazareth wasn’t its gleaming suburbs on the hill. Frydenhoj was a bridge between worlds, the last predominantly poor to working-class community on the border of what would eventually become St. Thomas’ affluent hotel district and gateway to St. John and British Virgin Islands.
Nestled amid two hills, my trailer was worlds apart from Charlotte Amalie where the lawmakers who governed my existence convened and the tourists who crowded Main Street.
A few blocks away from the Waterfront, Charlotte Amalie High School and the girls who attended there were the main attraction for me and other boys attending Ivanna Eudora Kean High. Our high school carried a rebel mystique while their school’s reputation was more highbrow. Their mascot was a chickenhawk and ours was the devil ray, leading to an intense yet friendly rivalry that has lasted to this day.
It’s why the chickenhawk held me spellbound that morning, so much so that I forgot to protect the hens who lived in the chicken coop we built underneath our trailer. In a matter of seconds, the hawk snatched a young fowl with its talons then disappeared atop the hill and beyond the horizon. I stood there in awe, but more so envy, leading me to conclude that birds must be the most advanced of all species, hence God’s favorite.
They can escape.
Frydenhoj might as well have been a prison to me, some no man’s land cut off from my dreams, which even at childhood tugged at me.
In the 1980s’ crack had already besieged urban America and the disease started to ravage St. Thomas, leading to violence on my narrow street and in other marginalized neighborhoods on the island.
The fact that this hawk could go to wherever he wanted and soar beyond the confusion on a whim, lit a fire in me.
Freedom.
Nevertheless, it was the hummingbird who nested in a brush outside my trailer door who won me over. Instead of abandoning her eggs, she would let me pat her head while nesting. Since then, I’ve always taken time to observe our feathered friends, thus becoming an avid birder. It’s a pastime that requires silence and patience while leading to introspection, which I find therapeutic and good for inspiring creativity.
Furthermore, doctors say birdwatching is good for your peace of mind. A study from the University of Exeter found that people living in neighborhoods with more birds are less likely to have depression, anxiety and stress.
We have more than 160 species of birds who live year round or partially here in the Virgin Islands who a close encounter with is sure to help address the myriad of mental health issues rampant in our island nation.
I’m happy to see the bananaquit aka yellow breast – our Virgin Islands national bird – making a comeback after their numbers dwindled in recent years. They’re more pleasant neighbors than the noisy and obnoxious pearly-eyed thrashers aka thrusies who wreak havoc invading many a beach picnic tables, pillaging at will.
Their harsh chaotic calls remind me of the blue jays I observe stateside, but eagles and other raptors are my favorite birds given my chance encounter with the chickenhawk, the name given to the Cooper’s hawk, red-tailed hawk and sharp-shinned hawk. Furthermore, they primarily hunt rodents, rabbits and other mammals – not chickens. Historically, farmers coined the term “chickenhawk” to label them a pest to justify their slaughter.
Ironically, I’m indebted to the chicken thief from that memorable morning as he made me imagine what’s beyond the hill.
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