Happy Birthday, Bill Thompson!

Three words: fun, music, love. Arrange them any way you wish, but they still sum up Bill Thompson III. Usually, they overlap.

Everything is more fun with some BT3 added.He can make little girls laugh like nobody's business. Washington County Fair, Marietta, Ohio

He enjoys helping others see more birds and have more fun.

Whipple, Ohio, with a particularly porcine Chet Baker


The Pied Piper of Birding: Bill brought a whole classroom along on the three-year journey to publishing his new book, The Young Birder's Guide to Eastern North America.

Perhaps you can pick out a beaming, proud Phoebe in the upper right corner

Comparatively few get to see Bill's musical side, but he plays every Sunday, and as often as he can with our band, The Swinging Orangutangs. Here he is with his dad, Bill Thompson Jr., an amazing jazz pianist.

Parkersburg, West Virginia

With the Swinging Orangutangs:
and shredding it up on Kremey Delight.
Photography has got him in its spell, whether he's shooting a quirky street sign or Giant Thing in Nebraska


or blasting harmlessly away at sandhill cranes in New Mexico.


He is a GREAT slow dancer. Just ask Alvaro.

Snowbird, Utah
What happens at Snowbird stays at Snowbird, unless it finds its way onto a blog somewhere...

And as a daddy, he does what needs to be done.
Up the gangplank with a drowsy child. Hog Island, Maine

Magdalena, New Mexico

I feel lucky to be along for the ride. Happy birthday and Godspeed on your travels, Bill Thompson III. We love you more than you can know.

Where Have All the Cowboys Gone?

Once at the corral, we explored it, and climbed the weathered boards to see the land that rolled off behind it. Both times we've visited this spot before, mountain bluebirds have mysteriously appeared, as if to greet us. This time they were nowhere in sight. Bill immediately set off on a mission to find some for me, because mountain bluebirds go with the magic gate, and that's that. He is a most chivalrous birding companion. Marilyn and Mary--just a couple of cowgirls, looking for the blues.

The juniper-studded hillsides seemed to go on forever--huge in scale, their size only apparent when you went to hike them. Distant specks resolved into celestial blue, like little bits of sky fallen toward earth. A flock of perhaps 40 mountain bluebirds sifted across the junipers, pausing to hover and pluck the fleshy juniper cones. One bush had twenty or more birds in it, fluttering and hovering. They were too busy to come find us, so we found them. Is there a more beautiful bird than a male mountain bluebird?Perhaps a female?How perfectly they fit into the landscape of indigo mountains and weathered wood.

Wayne Peterson surveys the flock. He's dwarfed by the scale of this country. There's nowhere in Ohio that I can think of where I could get a picture of a person looking so tiny in the vastness.Where have all the cowboys gone? I know where there's one. Having found mountain bluebirds for me, Bill of the Birds turned to Wayne, who was trying to figure out how to silence the annoying sound effects that are inexplicably produced by his Olympus C-730. This was my first digital camera, and I hated the loud Zhrooom! it emitted on being turned on, and the Kschlopp! it makes when it takes a picture. There's no reason for a camera to announce itself that loudly. So, in the middle of all this natural beauty, and over Wayne's protests, Bill took the time to wrestle the camera's menu to the ground, the ludicrousness (and perfection) of the moment completely lost on him.I just laughed, because it was such a classic Bill Thompson thing to do. I think I've mentioned that this long, tall helpful cowboy is a mighty good papa, too.
On our way back to the house, we passed this billboard along NM 107.It sent my cowgirl dreams spinnning off into the ether. Just another thing you'd never see in Ohio. I don't know if I've been granted enough years on the planet to earn enough money to buy a piece of New Mexico, but I can still dream. A little boy should know in his bones what open spaces are.

Bill of the Birds

Don’t advertise your man. Sippie Wallace wrote it, Bonnie Raitt sang it…it’s true.
Women be wise, keep your mouth shut. Don’t advertise your man.
But he’s some kind of something, so I'm going to be foolish.

A typical pre-field-trip shot. We're on our way to go see bison and prairie birds in a wooden wagon. He’s got all the gear, the spotting scope, camera, binocs, AND the granola bars, first aid kit, and Wet Wipes. He will carry loads until he drops, always looking for what needs to be done.

He looks out for the young ones, sparing no effort to get a little girl her first look at a burrowing owl. He's spraddling out the legs of his tripod to get it down to her level. See that? It’s a burrowing owl, hunkered down in his hole.I just wanted to appreciate Bill for all he does to make sure everybody else has a good time. photo by Ernie Hoffert


Happy Father's Day, B. We love you, and we know that we're lucky to have you in our lives. Our babies will only be this little for awhile longer, and we must savor every moment with them.

I'll be posting sporadically, if at all, for the next week. The pace of our summer has not let up. But there will be adventure and beautiful birds to photograph, and you can be sure I'll share. See you when I'm able. Stay casual and keep things watered!