MemChurch Daily
February 23, 2021
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PRACTICING HOPE
The daily newsletter of the Memorial Church
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Dear friends,
Welcome to "Practicing Hope," the daily newsletter of the Memorial Church. Today, we share a reflection by Annelisa KL '22, who writes about lessons of discovery and love found in the story of a small brown-and-white shorebird found only in New Zealand.
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The Memorial Church of Harvard University
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REFLECTION
Annelisa KL '22
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By Annelisa KL '22
The dotterel (tūturiwhatu) is a small brown-and-white shorebird found only in New Zealand. It’s compact and round  and supports itself on unbelievably tiny legs. There are about two thousand of the once-widespread North Island dotterel left in the world, thanks to forty years of careful effort. Their South Island siblings are critically endangered – at one point the total population was only 18 breeding pairs.
On my weekend trips to the beach, several signs announce that dogs are prohibited and warn me to keep my distance from the pentagonal fencing around the dotterel nest. Local communities have banded together around the dotterel. Their volunteer work means that the dotterels can warm their eggs without having to defend their territory from intruders. These eggs hatch faster and are, of course, at less risk of being trampled or eaten by dogs.
I notice all this in part because of Helen Macdonald, a British naturalist and writer who I’ve been reading lately. She loves nature, and to her loving it is synonymous with knowing it, and unfortunately – in this era – with grieving it. In her essays in Vesper Flights, Macdonald demonstrates an instinctive curiosity and an easy knowledge about the flora and fauna that surrounds her: a bird flying above her is never just a bird, but a common tern or song thrush or peregrine falcon.
I don’t think I can name a single bird species native to Cambridge (pigeons?). My family in New Zealand all share a vague familiarity with the birds around them: the oystercatcher with its long carrot-colored beak, the tui with its white beard, the eye-popping blue of the kingfisher, and the bobbing head of the pūkeko. This month, walking around the neighborhood, I used up half my data streaming bird call recordings, learning to pick one bird at a time out of the symphony of the river.
This year, I’ve realized the value of time - time to walk down to the river and listen to birdsong, time to squat on the sand of winter beaches and stare at the dotterels, time to squint at the tip of the iceberg and wonder at what lies beneath. I’m fortunate, too, to have time to read more about the science of climate change, and to look around at what we might be losing. The human suffering of climate change is almost unimaginable: droughts, famines, storms, geopolitical and economic and migration crises…wonder and leisure are hard to justify. But wonder, leisure, community, and love are what make life worth living. In this bizarre year, which has exposed so many inequalities and structural vulnerabilities, I’m thinking more than ever about our collective obligation to work so that everyone can enjoy the luxury of leisure time, of access to nature, of the central spiritual emotions of awe and love.
Annelisa KL is a junior in Leverett studying Environmental Science and Public Policy and East Asian Studies. She is a member of the Student Advisory Board at the Memorial Church.
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