Three Years Later: From Accidental Birder to Backyard Naturalist

May 26th, 2025 marks the third anniversary of my journey from accidental birder to backyard naturalist—an unexpected passion that has deeply connected me to the world outside my door. Although I had noticed a few striking species before—it wasn’t until May 26th, 2022 that I officially began birding and keeping track. Three years later, I’ve recorded 106 species and, in the process, discovered a deeper connection to the world around me.

The Spark: How It All Began

Note: The excerpt below was originally published on my other blog, TraceySawatzky.com on January 15, 2023 under the title “Accidental Birder.” It has been edited for clarity and length in this post.

I’ve always been drawn to birds. Growing up near a provincial park filled with over 230 species, I often watched them from our yard, but I didn’t consider myself a birder—until May 2022.

That spring, we set out for a morning hike, expecting fresh air and maybe a few photos. But from the moment we stepped out of the Jeep, we were surrounded by birdsong and movement—like something out of a Disney movie. I spotted species I hadn’t seen before, photographed them closer than ever (thanks to my telephoto lens), and even met a local birder who shared tips and trail suggestions that we still love today.

That morning changed everything. I downloaded the eBird app, picked up Birds of Alberta, and upgraded my lens. I started seeking out birding hotspots and paying closer attention—by sight, sound, and season.

What began as a casual interest became something deeper. I didn’t mean to become a birder. But somewhere along the way, I did.

Back then, I didn’t know what a “lifer” was, couldn’t name most of the birds or ducks that I saw, and had no idea migration season was something to get excited about. I was simply out for a walk, unaware that I was about to fall in love with birding.

Since then, I’ve welcomed birds into my life—and into my yard—with intention. In May 2023, I challenged myself to go birding every day, and spent many mornings and evenings at a nearby pond, slowly learning to recognize the ducks and birds that call it home. Later that year, I bought a house and began shaping the yard into a wildlife habitat—planting native species, building a pond, and creating places for shelter, food, and water. Bit by bit, I have been turning this little patch of land into a haven—not just for birds, but for myself too.

Birding has quietly woven itself into the rhythm of my life—shifting with the seasons, deepening with time. What began as a curious spark on a spring hike has become something I carry with me daily. It hasn’t always looked the same. Some years were full of discovery and movement; others were more rooted, slower, quieter. But no matter what life looked like, the birds were always there. 

Each year of birding has unfolded a little bit differently;

2022 Was The Spark

This year was full of wonder and wide eyes. I didn’t own binoculars (I still don’t), and I couldn’t tell you which bird made which call—but each one felt like a tiny miracle. I had no idea what I was doing, but I knew I wanted more.

2023 Was About Connection

I created a personal challenge to go birding every day in May and spend hours at a local pond getting to know the ducks and birds who lived there, slowly learning the seasonal rhythms—who arrived when, who stayed, and who just passed through. In the autumn, I bought a house and saw the opportunity to make a real difference in a little patch of land. 

2024 Was A Quieter Birding Year, But A Big One For Habitat

Most of my energy went into transforming the yard—removing garden beds, gravel, and stepping stones that took up most of the backyard to building a pond, and planting native plants. I wasn’t out birding, but the birds kept coming to me. Even when I was knee-deep in soil, they were overhead or nearby, reminding me why I was doing this.

2025 Has Brought It All Home

With our backyard wildlife pond now in place (for the most part – we still have to landscape around the edges), spring migration has felt more magical than ever. I’ve spent countless hours near the window with my camera close by, and many peaceful moments sitting outside by the pond itself—listening to the soft ripples and watching birds splash in the water. It’s been slower, quieter, and more rooted—but just as full of wonder.

Through the Lens: Seeing More Deeply

Before I accidentally became a birder, I carried a camera. Photography came first—my way of paying attention, of slowing down enough to notice the subtle shifts in light, the texture of leaves, the quiet beauty tucked into ordinary moments. My camera taught me how to look. How to frame stillness. How to feel at home in a quiet patch of trees, or beside a body of water at dusk.

Long before I knew the call of a Merlin or the flash of a Flicker’s wing, the camera was already teaching me how to be still, how to observe without expectation.

So when birding found me—accidentally, unexpectedly—it didn’t feel like something entirely new. It felt like the next frame in a story I had already begun. The camera was already in my hand. I was already watching. Birding gave me a clearer way to understand what I had briefly noticed before—the quiet lives, the stories, and the rhythms that unfold beneath the surface of a single moment.

And now, years later, photography and birding are inseparable. The camera lives near the window, always ready. I sit quietly by the pond, waiting not just to capture the moment—but to be full in it.

Whether it’s a drip of water from a robin’s wing, the puffed-up silhouette of a chickadee in the cold, or the flash of a hummingbird darting between blooms—these moments don’t feel like images to collect. They feel like glimpses of wildness I’ve been lucky enough to witness.

What the Birds Have Taught Me

It’s hard to put into words how birding has changed me.

It’s taught me patience—to wait quietly, to observe closely, and to appreciate the small moments that often go unnoticed. It pulled me outside on days when I didn’t realize how much I needed fresh air and a break from the noise inside my head. It’s given me a reason to slow down, to be present, and to find joy in the rhythms of nature. Even in the depths of winter, when the world feels cold and still, the cheerful Black-billed Magpies and Black-capped Chickadees bring life and hope, reminding me that there’s always something to look forward to, something alive and thriving just beyond my door. Birding has become more than a hobby—it’s a source of comfort, connection, and renewal. 

Birding isn’t always dramatic.
Most of the time it’s slow, quiet and deeply rooted in observation. But over time, it changes how you see the world. You start to notice the smallest details: a rustle in the bushes, a shadow overhead, a song you’ve never heard before. You begin to recognize return visitors and mark the rhythm of the year by their arrivals and departures.

It becomes less about the chase and more about learning how to pay attention. With time, your awareness shifts. You move through the world differently—listening for subtle calls, scanning treetops without realizing it, noticing how the air feels just before the American Robins return. The familiar becomes fascinating. A branch flickers, and you pause. A single note in the air makes you turn your head. You begin to anticipate the season by birdsong, not calendars. What once went unnoticed now feels significant. Birding trains you to live with curiosity, to remain open, and to find the richness in the quiet moments most would walk right past.

Birding has opened my eyes to countless unforgettable scenes:

• Watching fuzzy yellow goslings grow into bold, full-sized Canada geese, waddling confidently across the pond’s edge. 
• Seeing American Robins tirelessly feed their wide-mouthed young with unwavering dedication.
• Witnessing a Common Raven erupting into flight, clutching a squirrel tightly in its talons.
• Watching a pair of Red-necked Grebes staking their claim on a pond, carefully tending their nest hidden among the reeds, fiercely guarding their territory and chasing off anyone who got close.
• Seeing a Merlin carry a Rock Pigeon in its talons, landing in a nearby tree to feast on its hard-won catch.
• Spotting a majestic Bald Eagle soaring above, the king of the skies surveying its domain. 

These moments—wild, raw, and full of life—serve as a powerful reminder that nature’s unfolding stories are never far from our daily lives, quietly waiting for us to pause and witness them.

And now, three years in, I can say this with certainty:
Birding is one of the most unexpectedly transformative things that I have ever welcomed into my life.

A Love Letter to the Birds

To the birds, and to all they’ve brought into my life — thank you.
For the quiet mornings made meaningful by the flutter of wings.
For the lessons in patience, presence, and paying attention.
For the moments of wonder that break through even the hardest days. 
For showing me how vibrant, how raw, how alive the world really is — if only we take the time to look.

I’m crafting this place for you.
Planting native trees, shrubs, and wildflowers so you’ll have food and shelter.
Reclaiming the lawn to make room for life to flourish.
Tending your pond, keeping it clear and cool, a safe haven to drink and bathe.
Refusing chemicals and noisy machines, so the air remains pure and the earth unharmed.

This is my promise to you: to do everything I can to create a home for you—one that’s peaceful, wild, and full of welcome.

To Another Year of Wildness

Here’s to another year of discovery.
Another year of familiar faces returning and new ones arriving
Another year of watching, listening, learning, and letting the wildness in.
Here’s to another year of wonder—of feathers in motion, breaking the stillness with grace and power, the quiet magic of morning light, and the wild joy that keeps us looking up.

See the Full Backyard Bird List

Explore the full list here — A running record of every bird species spotted in or from our little patch of land—along with photos that capture the life they bring to the yard. Updated regularly as the seasons shift and new visitors arrive. As of May 26, 2025, 58 species have been recorded right from our backyard.

A Note to New Birders

If you’ve been thinking about starting—or if you’re just beginning—let this be your sign. You don’t need fancy gear or expert knowledge. You don’t need to know the names of every bird or understand their calls. All you need is a little curiosity and the willingness to slow down.

Start where you are. Hang a feeder on a balcony or near a window. Step outside with your morning coffee and listen. Sit quietly for a while and just look up. Notice the flicker of movement in a tree, the silhouette of a bird against the sky, the song that rises above the noise. Let yourself wonder.

You don’t have to chase rare sightings or fill a checklist. The magic is in noticing—in learning how to pay attention, how to be still, how to find awe in the everyday. Because once you begin, you’ll start to see that the wild world is closer than you ever realized. It’s been there all along, waiting for you to notice.

Tell Me About Your Birding Journey

Have you celebrated a birding milestone of your own? I’d love to hear your story—leave a comment below! Whether you’re a seasoned birder or just spotted your very first feathered visitor, every moment of noticing is a gift worth sharing.

If this post sparked an idea or made you pause to notice the beauty in your own space, I would be so grateful if you shared it with a friend, on your social media, or saved it for later. Every share helps this little patch of land inspire more backyard birders, native plant gardeners, and nature-lovers.

Thanks for reading! Until next time,
Tracey

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