birds

Story: ‘Apapane Leadership

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 3 Comments

July 21, 2024

Jeremiah 23:1-6
Mark 6:30-34, 53-56

After the eggs have hatched and the chicks have learned to fly, many of the birds of the ohi’a and koa forest will come together in mixed flocks of ‘apapane, ‘amakihi, ‘akepa, and ‘alawi. They stay together to find ohi’a and mamane trees in blossom, which would also have attracted some tasty bugs.

It was the custom of one flock on the slopes of Mauna Loa to select a leader each week to keep the flock together and organize a watch for dangerous or suspicious creatures like cats, ‘io, pueo, and, well, people. The leader would look around for trees bright with flowers and guide the hungry birds toward them, while making sure nobody got left behind. It wasn’t the easiest thing for a bird to do, but most of them handled it pretty well.

One ‘apapane had been eagerly awaiting his turn to be flock leader. He was no longer that young, having seen a few summers and winters. He was something of a silent critic of the weekly leaders, silently scoring them on his own checklist. That one didn’t spot the mamane tree in blossom as fast as he had. This other one had been slow to get the birds moving. And this other one hadn’t properly spotted the watcher birds for ‘io. They’d spotted the hawk in plenty of time anyway, but it hadn’t been right.

At last came the week when the birds in the flock chose him as their leader for the next week. He was proud. He was excited. He was also… going to do something fairly complicated for the first time, and he was absolutely convinced that he knew exactly what should happen.

The result, the next morning, was a lot of birds screeching at one another, with their purported leader screaming the most and the loudest. He screeched at the ones who were supposed to be watching when they perched on a branch other than the one he’d selected. He screeched when they were ready to head to a new set of trees, and screeched when one or two birds headed off in the wrong direction. He screeched when a bird remained behind, and nearly pecked his tail as he flew right behind him to get him to the rest of the flock. He screeched when it was time to nap. He screeched when it was time to settle down to sleep.

When he turned about, one of the older birds, an ‘apapane kupuna, was perched behind him. He opened his beak to screech at her, but shut it quickly. He knew better than to screech at her.

“What have you been doing?” she said, “and don’t screech at me.”

“I’ve been leading,” he said, “like I’m supposed to.”

“You haven’t been leading like you’re supposed to,” she said rather severely. “You’ve been driving like you’re not supposed to. You’ve had birds who know perfectly well what to do confused and upset. Some of them went hungry today. While you were chasing that one bird there were two others that set off in the wrong direction and I had to go get them.”

“They should have listened to me!” he said.

“How could they,” she asked, “when you didn’t give them a clear direction?”

He was silent for a moment.

“You’ll try it again tomorrow,” said the kupuna ‘apapane, “and tomorrow you’ll plan, and you’ll chirp softly, and you’ll listen to the birds who know what they’re doing, and you’ll keep an eye on things and let other birds know when there’s a problem that they can help you with.”

“Be wise,” she said, “and attentive, and assuring. That will keep the flock with you, and fed, and comforted, and safe.”

Oh, it took some work, I tell you. But she was nearby the next day whenever he opened his beak to screech, and only one or two screeches got out. The day after he didn’t screech at all. By the time his week as leader was over, they followed him gratefully and gladly. Because he learned from his mistakes, and he learned how to lead.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

https://www.youtu.be/M-voEs2kyHc?si=72tl1iCwuDk0JAOE&t=912

I write these stories in full and in advance, but I tell them from memory and from improvisation. What you hear in the recording is not what you read above it.

Photo of an ‘apapane by Eric Anderson.

Story: Part of the Flock

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 3 Comments

June 9, 2024

Genesis 3:8-15
Mark 3:20-35

The three nene goslings had grown from the day they’d hatched. They’d joined their parents on walks around the nest area, which had grown longer as they’d grown stronger, to find the grasses and berries that made them a good breakfast. And lunch. And supper. And any-time-of-the-day snack.

Nene don’t really have a lot of use for set times for their meals.

The three goslings had learned to fly once their feathers had grown in and their wing muscles had become strong enough. They’d flown with their mother, and they’d flown with their father, and they’d flown with them both, and a few times just the three of them alone. They’d had something of a scolding from their parents the first time, but not after that.

They thought they’d got themselves set up for living. They had family. They had food. They had flight. What more could you ask?

It turns out that there was something else. To family, food, and flight, they needed to add: flock.

“What’s that?” asked one of the goslings, who hadn’t heard the word before.

“It’s more nene, dummy,” said his slightly older sister, who had heard the word.

“Don’t call your brother dummy,” said their mother.

“Yeah, don’t call him dummy, even when he is,” said the youngest of the three, a little brother who had been practicing teasing his siblings and become good at it.

“Stop teasing,” ordered their mother, “and listen.”

“We’re part of a larger flock,” said father patiently. “We’re a small family, and the other nene are the bigger family. They help us find food when it’s scarce, and they help us keep i’o away, and, well, it’s good to have them there.”

“I don’t need anybody else,” said older brother. “Food, family, and flight. And even some of my family could be better behaved.”

“Look, son,” said mother, “when I was young I didn’t think I needed a flock, either. But the world is bigger than what you’ve seen so far, even though you can fly. There’s an ocean and there are people and there are other creatures. In the flock we get some help when we’re confused. We learn things we wouldn’t otherwise know.”

“Fly with me,” said father, and the little family took off and soon landed amid a larger, but still rather small, group of nene. He introduced the three youngsters to the others.

“You need to become part of the flock,” said one of the new nene, who was actually a kupuna nene. “Fly with us.”

So they did. They took off together and did a series of circles around the place where they’d met. It wasn’t elegant – none of the young nene had been to Nene School yet, so their formation flying was pretty awful. Still, they did their best, and as they flew they realized that the air flowed over them differently when it was shaped by other birds’ wings. As they landed, they realized that the group had chosen a different place, one where the ‘ohelo was abundant.

“You are now part of the flock,” said the kupuna nene. “We are glad to have you fly with us.”

The next day, of course, they began Nene School, so they could eat better and fly better. And they were glad to fly with their new flock.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

https://www.youtu.be/qxkeonsNsgY?si=rMO0Xtbiff24FbXv&t=713

I write these stories in full (it’s what you just read), but I tell them from memory during Sunday worship. Memory and improvisation creates some differences!

Photo of nene in flight by Eric Anderson.

Story: Nest Rest

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 3 Comments

June 2, 2024

Deuteronomy 5:12-15
Mark 2:23-3:6

Among the ‘apapane, both members of a couple, both the father-to-be and the mother-to-be, work together to build their nest. They collect some twigs and some grass, but mostly they roam the forest to find mosses that will be both strong and soft to hold the eggs while they wait for them to hatch.

As you might think, first time ‘apapane parents can get rather anxious about things. It’s like anything else: if you haven’t done something before, you probably have a lot to learn. You’ll do some of that learning while you do things, of course. It’s how an ‘apapane learns what moss will be strong and soft and how another moss dries up and crumbles. Those crumbly moments, however, can make them feel pretty upset. They get really keyed up about what isn’t working, rather than realizing that they’re learning as they go.

‘Apapane and people, too, can learn a lot from things that don’t work.

One first-time father-to-be got very excited about building his first nest. He and his wife worked hard to get all the pieces together, and to poke and weave them into place. They got up early in the morning and they worked until sundown. And they made a lot of progress.

But he couldn’t see it.

At first it was just a bit of moss or two, but somewhere on the first day he found a set of mosses that just didn’t hold up in the nest, and on the third day that part was coming apart. A big portion of the nest had to be redone. He started to panic.

That night he worked an hour, and then a second hour, after sundown, when there just wasn’t enough light in the forest to show him what mosses were what. Inevitably, the next morning they had to replace some of what he’d added. He panicked some more.

“We won’t have it ready on time!” he moaned.

“Of course we will. Don’t worry so much,” said his wife, but I’m afraid he didn’t listen.

That night, and the next, he didn’t work an hour or two after sunset. He worked all night long, with only a brief nap on the second night. The results were… uneven. Some parts of the nest showed great progress. Other parts of the nest suffered from poor materials. And other parts of the nest just didn’t look right, because he’d been trying to place pieces of moss without a good idea of where they should go.

Truthfully, it was kind of a mess.

That’s when his mother showed up.

“Don’t look! Don’t look, Mom!” he called. “I know it’s not much to look at, but we’re fixing it.” (In fact, his wife was quiet fixing the things he’d got wrong in the middle of the night.)

“I’m not worried about that,” his mother said. “I’m worried that you haven’t slept. Now have you?”

“I slept a little,” he protested.

“Enough?” said his mother.

With his spouse looking on he couldn’t lie, and lying to your parents is a bad idea anyway. “Not enough,” he said.

“Night is for resting,” Mother said, “not for guess-and-place nest building. You can’t find the right materials when you’re tired, and you can’t put them where they belong, either. Go get some sleep before you go back to it again.”

“I can’t leave her to do this all alone!” he protested, and mother-in-law and daughter-in-law looked at one another, then back at him.

“You won’t be helpful until you’ve slept. Go do that. I’ll fill in for you today. Tomorrow you can do it again, and do it right.”

So he did, and the next day he came back, and sure enough: well-rested and together, he and his spouse did it right.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I write these stories in advance, then tell them from memory in worship – which means that the version you just read and the version you might see in the recording will not be the same.

Photo of an ‘apapane in flight by Eric Anderson.

Story: Soar Loser

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 1 Comment

May 19, 2024

Acts 2:1-21
John 15:26-27, 16:4b-15

The koa’e kea is a distinctive bird, with its bright white wings and body set off with deep black feathers, and that amazing long trailing tail. It’s distinctive, but it’s not unique to Hawai’i Island or to the Hawaiian Islands. You’ll find white-tailed tropicbirds (to use their English name) flying above and feeding in the warm waters of both the Pacific Ocean, the Indian Ocean, and even the Atlantic Ocean. Although they fish for food in the sea, some of them like to nest on the cliffs of Kilauea. Quite a few of them like to relax by soaring on thermals. That’s the warm air that rises from the black rock of the volcano summit.

One day a visitor to the islands who was knowledgeable about birds was standing at the crater rim and saw the koa’e kea soaring on the thermals. “Look at that,” he said to someone standing nearby. “Those are white-tailed tropicbirds, and they’re quite a ways inland. How odd for a seabird.”

“And it’s even stranger,” said his equally knowledgeable companion. “They’re soaring. White-tailed tropicbirds don’t soar.”

“It’s very odd indeed,” agreed that man and that woman, and they went on to talk about something else.

I’m sure such conversations happen often at those overlooks, but I suspect that more often nobody comments on these things at all. And it is true that koa’e kea don’t soar very much in other places in the world. They’re strong, agile fliers, to be sure, but most white-tailed tropicbirds don’t live where there are steady, reliable rising thermals.

So this wouldn’t have mattered if a koa’e kea hadn’t overheard, and become very concerned, that by soaring on thermals she was doing The Wrong Thing.

So she stopped.

Oh, she’d still fly around the summit craters, and she wasn’t so silly as to leave her nice spot on the cliffside. But when she flew she beat her wings quickly and steadily, the way she flew in all the other places she went.

Since she’d stopped soaring, I guess you’d have to call her a soar loser.

And nobody noticed.

I suppose it wasn’t that big of a difference to spot, but her family didn’t, her husband didn’t, her friends didn’t. Maybe they thought she had somewhere urgent to go. I don’t know.

It was a really young koa’e kea, one who’d been flying for less than a month, who said something.

“Why don’t you soar?” she asked one warm afternoon after they’d returned from successful fishing in the ocean.

“White-tailed tropicbirds don’t,” she said in reply, beating her wings in steady time.

They flew side-by-side over the summit for a while, and the younger one looked at other koa’e kea soaring nearby.

“It looks to me like they soar,” she said.

“They don’t soar in other places in the world,” said the older one, maintaining her wingbeats. “I heard some people discussing it, and people would know.”

“OK,” said the youngster. “But those birds are there. We’re here. I think we can do things differently here.”

The older one said nothing. She just flew along. Until, in a minute or two, her wingbeats stopped, and she held them out straight and firm.

Side by side, the young bird and the older bird soared.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

https://www.youtu.be/a7BvSat0YWk?si=KdHHjQhZW70ZMphG&t=913

I write these stories in advance, in full. In worship I tell them from memory, with a little improvisation added. So what you read here and what you see in the video will not be the same thing.

Photo of a koa’e kea (white-tailed tropicbird) soaring over one of the Kilauea craters by Eric Anderson.

Story: Attempt to Deceive

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 5 Comments

May 12, 2024

Acts 1:15-17, 21-26
John 17:6-19

As I’ve said before, the ‘amakihi likes to eat lots of different things. I think it’s fair to say that the ‘amakihi likes to eat, and fortunately for the ‘amakihi, it has a wide range to its taste. Nectar is always good, and so are bugs and spiders, caterpillars, tree sap, fruits and berries. It will even eat pollen sometimes, which people with pollen allergies will find truly mysterious and a little uncomfortable.

But there was one ‘amakihi who didn’t eat nectar from ohi’a trees.

If that seems weird to you, it seems weird to me, too. There are a lot of ohi’a trees on the mountain slopes, and they have a lot of flowers. It’s a great food source for ‘amakihi and ‘apapane and ‘akepa and lots of birds up there. They’d happily perch near those flower clusters and merrily feed on the nectar while this one ‘amakihi watched.

He watched, and he felt sorry for them.

“Poor birds,” he told himself, “to be so desperately hungry that they’ll feed on ohi’a. I feel really sorry for them.”

Why, you ask, did he feel sorry for them, eating ohi’a nectar? Well, I’m afraid it’s because one day when he was young, and before he’d actually sampled any ohi’a nectar, he perched near an i’iwi. I’iwi can be kind of mean sometimes, and they will chase ‘amakihi away from a tree they want to feed at. This i’iwi, however, was feeling rather full and didn’t want to get up off his perch and chase this young ‘amakihi away. He decided to try words instead.

“Planning to feed at this tree?” he asked the young ‘amakihi.

“Oh, yes, uncle,” said the ‘amakihi. I’m afraid the i’iwi wasn’t happy to be called “uncle” by an ‘amakihi.

“You should search somewhere else if you want something good,” said the i’iwi. “This is a bad tree.”

“Ohi’a is bad?” said the young ‘amakihi.

“I’m afraid so,” said the i’iwi. “The nectar is sour, except when it’s bitter. When it gets old, it’s really bad. It will keep a bird going, of course, but nobody eats ohi’a nectar until they’re desperate.”

“Really?” said the ‘amakihi.

“Really,” said the i’iwi. “You can trust me. Go find something else you’ll like better. I’m sure it will be better for you, too.”

Misled by the i’iwi, the ‘amakihi avoided ohi’a from that day on. Eventually his mother noticed, and he told her the story.

“So one i’iwi told you this story, and you never checked it with anyone else, or tried ohi’a yourself?” she asked him in surprise, “even when so many other birds eat its nectar every day without signs of complaint?” Put that way, it did sound a little odd.

“Come along, son,” said Mother firmly. “You need to try what you’ve been avoiding, and see what you think yourself.”

Of course he found it delicious, which was a good thing to learn. But he also learned that some birds, and some people out there, will lie to you when it serves them, and sometimes you need to test their stories with the ones who love you and with your own experience, to learn the truth.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I write these stories ahead of time, then tell them from memory – well, lack of memory plus improvisation. The video does not match the text you’ve just read.

Photo of an ‘amakihi in the midst of ohi’a blossoms by Eric Anderson.

Story: Sometimes It’s Simple; Sometimes It’s Not

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 3 Comments

April 28, 2024

Acts 8:26-40
1 John 4:7-21

The i’iwi eats nectar. Human beings tend to complain about a diet that is mostly liquid, but we might complain less if it was mostly nectar. I’iwi don’t complain about it. Their long curved bill works really well for getting nectar from flowers that other birds like the ‘apapane can’t reach.

I’iwi have a neat trick for feeding from some flowers which open down. One will hang below the flower and poke its beak up into the nectar reservoir. There are other birds on the island that do this, but the i’iwi do it most often.

One young i’iwi came to believe that, because this was a hard-won skill, she had to use it all the time. On every flower. Whether they opened downward or upward.

Believe it or not, it sort of worked. It worked very well on those downward flowers, of course. That’s why i’iwi developed that technique.

It worked on sideways facing flowers, though it was more of a strain to get her neck into the right position. She kept at it, though. If she was going to do something, she’d do it right. And as with many things, constant practice meant that she did, indeed, get better and better.

It was more of a struggle, though, with flowers that opened upward. A lot of ohi’a blossoms, for example, open upward, and i’iwi sip a lot of ohi’a nectar. Still, ohi’a is a pretty open flower, without a lot of petals to get in the way. She managed.

Then there were the flowers with upward petals and, well, those didn’t go well at all.

Her mother came for a visit one day as she was flitting about from tree to tree. She didn’t say anything when she hung upside down for downward facing flowers. She didn’t say anything when she reached up for sideways flowers. She opened her beak but didn’t say anything about the ohi’a flowers she sipped from beneath.

But when she tried to get at a big hibiscus blossom from underneath, she said, “What are you doing?”

“I’m eating,” said her daughter.

“No you’re not. You can’t get at the nectar in that flower from down there.”

“Sure I can. It’s just a matter of technique.”

Mother watched daughter struggle to get her curved beak around the petals and to the nectar at the flower’s center. Eventually the younger bird, with a glance at her mother, perched just above and to the side and took a good long sip.

“You don’t always need to come at things from underneath,” said mother.

“Isn’t that the i’iwi way?” asked her daughter.

“The i’iwi way is to fly, eat, deal with the neighbors, get a good sleep each night, and be the most stylish birds on the mountain,” said her mother. “Nothing says you have to do something the hard way all the time.

“Sometimes things are simple. Sometimes they’re not. Doing simple things in a complicated way doesn’t get you fed, or flying, or sleeping. Doing complicated things in a simple way doesn’t get any of those things done either.

“When it’s simple, do it simply, daughter. Save the complicated techniques for when it’s hard.”

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

I write these stories ahead of time, and tell them from memory – which means that I improvise at the same time.

Image of an i’iwi feeding upside down by Bettina Arrigoni – Iiwi | Hakalau NWR | HI|2018-12-02|13-43-26-2, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=75174870.

Story: Perfectly Picky

/ Rev. Eric Anderson / 3 Comments

April 14, 2024

1 John 3:1-7
Luke 24:36-48

I believe I mentioned a few weeks ago that if there’s something edible up in the ohi’a and koa forests – bugs, berries, fruit, sap, nectar, caterpillars, and so on – there’s an ‘amakihi eating it. They’re not picky eaters. They’re enthusiastic eaters.

Except for one young ‘amakihi. She was perfectly picky.

I don’t know how it got started, but I do know that early on she’d only eat bugs that she’d seen fly. I guess that meant they were fresher, somehow? Which meant that she would no longer eat the crawling bugs or the caterpillars, and there would be no spiders in her diet.

I know. You’re thinking, good choice. Along with you, I am pretty happy not to eat bugs at all. We are people, though, and not ‘amakihi.

Then she wouldn’t eat tree sap that came from cracks in the bark. I know – again, it sounds like a good choice for a human. But if you’re not going to eat tree sap that comes from cracks in the bark, how are you going to get to it at all? An ‘amakihi beak isn’t a good shape for making holes in bark. She’d removed another entry from her diet.

Then she decided not to eat fruit or berries unless it was perfectly ripe. That cut out a whole lot of fruit that was almost ripe, and it cut out a lot of fruit that was just past ripe, all of which feed other ‘amakihi perfectly well.

Her family started to notice that she was maybe getting a little thinner.

When she decided that the only nectar she’d sip would be from perfectly formed ohi’a flowers, that really did it. Go up to the ohi’a forests and you’ll find plenty of flowers on the trees. But are they perfectly formed into red puffballs? Not exactly. Some flowers show just a few scarlet tendrils. Some form ovals or just plain look squashed.

She wouldn’t eat from them. She wouldn’t even eat the flying bugs that landed on them.

She was hunting through an ohi’a tree that was bright red with blossoms – but very few of them perfect blossoms – when the branch jumped with another bird landing. She looked up and saw her grandmother watching her. Grandmother watched her pick over a big bunch of lehua, sip from none of them, and hop over to another, and sip from none of them.

“What are you doing, granddaughter?” asked grandmother.

“Eating,” said the picky ‘amakihi. “I’m hungry.”

“Eating what?” asked grandmother, who hadn’t actually seen her granddaughter eat anything.

“Nectar,” said granddaughter.

“Where?” asked grandmother.

“From the good ones,” said her granddaughter. “I only eat from the perfect flowers, Tutu.”

Grandmother looked at the tree full of blossoms and didn’t see many perfect ones. “You won’t find many perfect ones, granddaughter,” she said. “Not here, and not anywhere.”

She watched the picky ‘amakihi skip perfectly good (if imperfectly formed) ohi’a flowers for a little longer and said, “I think you should eat from some of the imperfect ones, young one.”

Granddaughter, who was annoyed, poked her beak toward a flower that basically had two red tendrils and no visible nectar, and said, “You mean like that one?”

“No, child,” said grandmother. “Not like that one. There’s nothing there. But the question isn’t whether a flower is perfect or not. The question is whether it feeds you.”

The picky ‘amakihi thought about this a while. And she really was hungry. With a glance at her grandmother, she put her beak into a bright red ohi’a flower which, to be honest, wasn’t perfect, and fed.

by Eric Anderson

Watch the Recorded Story

https://www.youtu.be/fXrF5VaSqfA?si=D8ET95fi9dpISZb5&t=837

I write these stories ahead of time, then tell them in worship without notes. As a result, they change in the telling.

Photo of an ‘amakihi feeding at imperfect ohi’a flowers by Eric Anderson.