I’ve only just started really listening to the songs of birds.
Since the alarming news that the H5 bird flu virus – or HPAI, high pathogenicity avian influenza – was confirmed in Australia, I contemplated the reality that our wildlife could be devastated in the same way as it has been in other continents. I imagined whole populations of our birds decimated. Like our black swan.
Native to Australia, it is the only black-coloured swan in the world. Black swans lack the immune genes that combat viral infections found in other species of water birds, which could mean being wiped out entirely. Ironically the black swan could experience a ‘black swan event’. A metaphor that describes an event that comes as a surprise, has a major effect, and is often inappropriately rationalised after the fact without the benefit of hindsight. This is usually a term used in the financial market. But our populations of beautiful elegant swans could be decimated. Western Australia could be left without an emblem.
I’ve tried to imagine a life without birds.
Without song. This choir of tweets and warbles, calls and shrieks, the whip, the lilt, soft twittering elation, to mournful throbbing sobs. I don’t know what that bird is. But it sounds so sad. I can’t believe this song is here every morning, but I often don’t hear it. Because I don’t truly listen. But when I listen, and I mean really listen, I hear them. I can’t believe how dramatic they are. How they seem to call to each other, the trill of response. The chirp of disagreement.
So I’ve started noticing them.
This morning I heard the kookaburra. I love the raucous laugh, which I know is not a laugh at all, but a raucous chorus to tell other birds, potential invaders and property developers: ‘I live here. This is my territory.’ I love that their call comes at dawn and dusk. They are nature’s alarm clock.
They are the gentle sound of morning. The sound of nature. Of resilience. They are the song of Country. A reminder of a life that existed before us. A life that exists in spite of us. But what if that’s it? Would we even notice the morning chorus if it lost its key contributors? Imagine a world without birdsong! I recently read Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring. It was the book that truly launched our modern environmental movement. For a book written mid-last century, I was amazed how prophetic her analysis was. And how little we have learnt.
Her book is about a poisoned world. Our birds, and susceptible wildlife, are facing a potentially catastrophic virus. A world without bird song is bleak.
Bird flu is a notifiable disease. So it’s time we noticed, not just bird song, but birds or other animals that may have this very contagious animal virus. While it has low contagion to humans, it’s recommended not to touch an animal suspected of having H5. If you spot sick or dead birds or other animals, you should report it to the Emergency Animal Disease Hotline on 1800 675 888. Record the location, what you see, and take a video or photo from a safe distance.
Infected wild birds can’t walk or stand, or fly properly, they seem droopy or puffed up.
Noticing bird song starts with noticing birds.
Mandy Nolan’s column has appeared in The Echo for almost 25 years. She is a writer, comedian and artist, is the preselected Greens candidate for Ballina and was the Greens candidate at the past two federal elections.
For four decades The Echo has printed the stories some people loved, some people hated, and some pretended not to read. If you want us to keep telling the truth, the real truth, not the sugar-coated version. We’ll need your support to keep the presses rolling. 
