"See that yellow bird?"

New York, NY | September / October 2025

New Yorkers ignore most everything on city streets. Rats, funky smells, Daniel Radcliffe.¹ But a quiet group with binoculars staring at nothing? That’ll stop a few.

I was a nothing-starer twice this week, once in Madison Square Park, and once near Bryant Park.

Verison Plaza on the left (next to Bryant Park), and Madison Square Park on the right

A rare bird in a well-traveled New York City park presents a special opportunity, not just for birders to easily appreciate a locally uncommon species, but for non-birders to see birding up close, to be part of the action.

Before I go on, I should say that as much as I love New York City’s resident birds,² they’re not as likely to spark a non-birder’s interest as a Connecticut warbler or yellow-breasted chat—two of Manhattan’s migratory celebrities this week.

resident birds (n.) – species that live in a given area year-round

The non-birders who end up joining us tend to follow a similar sequence of steps:

1. They notice our seemingly out-of-place group as they’re passing.

2. They slow down just a little and casually rubberneck.

3. If they can’t figure out what we’re watching, they stop.

4. They spot me with the group, but looking at them. (Note: Watching non-birders’ bewilderment is quite amusing; it sometimes pulls me away from the bird itself.)

5. With some skepticism, they approach me and ask: “What are you all looking at?”

This question is a chance to harness their curiosity and possibly turn it into care. Yes, that’s a tall order, but I’ve learned that a rare yellow bird may do the trick.

My okay-ish photos of the Connecticut warbler (left) and yellow-breasted chat (right)

6. “See that yellow bird?” I answer, pointing it out as best I can. “There’s a section of that bush moving a little. It’s under there,” or “It’s perched at the very top of this tree. You have to look straight up.”

Sometimes, this is the end of our conversation. Some get impatient because they can’t see the bird; some spot the bird but don’t get what’s so special; some are ornithophobes.³ But sometimes . . .

7. They gasp, eyes wide.“Wow! I do!” This is followed by a sampling of: “What’s it called again?” and “Why is it rare?” and, the most interesting, “Why is it . . . here?”

I think that last question really means: Why is this bird where I am?

The presence of a yellow bird can challenge their carefully constructed concept of where they live—of who and what their city is for. This might make them wonder: Why is this the first time I’ve seen anything like this here? Is this part of their home?

8. “It’s fall migration, and the city’s along their flight south. We get some fun birds this time of year,” I say. “This one’s rare around here. That’s why there are so many birders out.”

9. They nod along and snap a picture.

I struggle with the next step, because I wonder: Should I, in this moment, try to get them to care more? Tell them about the over one billion birds that die from window collisions every year in the US?⁴ That many once-abundant species are disappearing at frightening rates, and the negative effect this has on our climate and ecosystems?⁵

I usually don’t. To make someone care, you first need to speak to what interests them.

10. We watch the bird together for a moment, they ask a couple more questions, and they thank me for my time.

Last week, I said, “See that yellow bird?” 12 times. (Yes, I counted.) As long as there’s a small chance of making someone care, I’ll gladly say it 1,000 more. In the meantime, you can find me staring at nothing.

Lifers

273: Connecticut warbler

274: Yellow-breasted chat

1. Ok, that last one was just me a couple weeks ago, and it was very, very difficult to keep cool.

2. Show me a Northern cardinal and I’ll stare at it all day.

3. I’m good friends with an ornithophobe. Hi Lana!

4. NYC Bird Alliance

5. American Bird Conservancy