This post is contributed by Barnaby Porter. Read his previous post here.
In nature films and in books about birds, a great deal is made of the Herculean efforts of the parents of young nestlings to keep up with the gluttonous appetites of their ravenous offspring. Over and over, we see ospreys snatching fish out of the sea and warblers stuffing insects down their babies’ scrawny throats. Their toil is endless. So is the capacity of the gaping mouths that Mother Nature has made it their lot to feed.
Anyone who has kept a flock of chickens can vouch for the truth in this matter; a handful of day-old chicks, weighing maybe an ounce apiece, will quickly grow and devour a hundred-pound bag of starter feed in what amounts to no time at all. It’s astounding, is what it is.
I’ve kept chickens myself, as well as a number of other kinds of birds over the years – crows, pigeons, canaries and finches. I like birds. I never managed to acquire the parrot I’d always wanted though, like the one that rode around on Long John Silver’s shoulder. In any event, I found out, early on, what big eaters birds really are.
My first serious introduction to what it takes to be a parent to a young bird involved a young herring gull named “Tweedledum.” He was nothing more than a tawny, spotted ball of down perched atop of a pair of long, gangly legs with giant webbed feet at the bottom. He had a giant gull’s beak too, and it was open most of the time, begging for something to eat.
Tweedledum came into this world on Jim’s Island, not a bad place to come from, and that was where I found him one day on a picnic. I noticed right away he seemed unusually hungry, so I started him off on my tuna fish sandwich. Little did I know what I was getting into.
I made him a beautiful seagull pen with a house and a yard and even a pool, but he spent very little time in his pen. Most of the day he followed me around squeaking and squawking for attention and for food! In short order, Tweedledum made a noticeable dent in Queenie’s dog food supply, the bread supply, lunch meats and anything else he could pressure me into scrounging for him. He was insatiable! Nothing can eat more or as many different kinds of food as a baby gull. I had my work cut out for me.
Tweedledum went on every picnic with us that summer, and I was forever carrying him down to the shore to find him mussels and clams, crabs, worms, and periwinkles. I even took him fishing for mackerel. He loved those excursions of course, and we spent many hours together exploring tidal pools and just fooling around at the water’s edge. He did get tuckered out sometimes, trying to keep up with me – I was 14 and covered a lot of territory in those days – so every now and then he took a rest. The little guy used to waddle up next to me and nod off on short seagull naps. It was in such moments I do believe he actually exhibited a genuine affection for me. The feelings were mutual.
As the weeks wore on, Tweedledum got pretty big, so big in fact that people readily recognized him for what he was, and, as on the occasion of introducing him to my grandmother in her living room one afternoon, it was not always an appreciative greeting he got. His interest was mainly in finding something to eat. Everything he did had some connection to his appetite, and I guess that was what she was afraid of. He behaved himself though, lucky for me, and actually won my grandmother over. In fact, I would say that probably no other gull ever did more to reverse the sentiments of seagull detractors than did Tweedledum that summer.
But he didn’t know it; he was too busy filling his stomach. And I was so busy filling his stomach that it seemed my commitment to his upbringing was never going to end. Then one day I experienced that proud moment every seagull parent remembers. I took Tweedledum to the top of a hill. I tossed him into the air. He flapped his wings like a real bird, and he flew! He flew all the way down to the foot of that hill… and crash-landed in a little smelt brook. It was one exciting moment for me! My lord what a pile of food it had taken to get that baby gull off the ground!
After that, there was still a lot of feeding involved between all the wing-flapping calisthenics and practice flights, but the drudgery of my chores was kindly rewarded by many proud moments, and some worries too, as I began to contemplate Tweedledum’s having to fend for himself when I went back to school.
One day we went off for a last picnic in our old, lapstrake skiff. Tweedledum stood on the bow as usual. As we motored along, he spotted a large flock of some of his wild cousins gathered on a ledge about half a mile off. Without so much as a look back, he lifted into the fresh breeze and flew off to join them. I watched and watched and watched, but lost sight of him in the end.
I never saw Tweedledum again. Appropriately, we parted company in the vicinity of Hungry Island, a known happy hangout for seagulls.
Artist and author Barnaby Porter has had a varied career in marine research, aquaculture, and woodworking, among others. Most recently he partnered with his wife Susan as co-owners of the Maine Coast Book Shop & Cafe in downtown Damariscotta. In October 2021, Barnaby completed his tenure on Coastal Rivers’ Board of Trustees after six years of service.
