BIRDING HALLOWED GROUND

I place the note on an empty seat at the table. She’ll find it when she and my husband sit down to eat breakfast. The message is part of the ritual for any long birding day I take and requires two specific components: hugs and kisses. So, after brushing my teeth, I put on bright red lipstick and press my lips to the paper, evenly distributing the impressions. In the note, I leave instructions for them: “Hug each other from me.” My guilt. My love. All neatly translated and sealed for my 6-year-old.

It’s 2 a.m. when I slip past the dogs. The front door creaks but neither stir, so I’m in the clear — free as a bird to bird. I leave my family to their dreams, while I embark on a race against a breaking dawn. On this summer day, sunrise in Dorchester County, Maryland, is around 5:40 a.m., which means that I must arrive well before then if I am to hear and, hopefully, catch a glimpse of my target species: Chuck-will’s-widow, a nocturnal