Hey tweets, I ran into Stefan Schlick just as he was pulling out to go home
after seeing the buff-breasted sandpiper at Marymoor this morning. He
directed me to the soccer field where he had seen the bird loafing "just
five minutes ago." Alas, no sandpiper in the field.

I scanned every dirt clod, every fallen leaf, and every loose feather, of
which there was a plethora, trying to turn each one into a crouched-down
sandpiper. Buff-breasteds have a habit, you know, of squatting down and
blending into the verge when they feel threatened. As I was scanning the
field, I noticed one feather that blew a little in the breeze like a bird
ruffling itself. I tried my best to turn it into a real live bird until a
crew of grounds workers tearing down the orange plastic fencing nearby
walked right past the "bird" without flushing it. I had to give up my
fantasy, realizing that not even a buff-breasted would sit still for that. I
packed up and walked back to my car, muttering under my breath. Another
birder drove up as I was morosely kicking pebbles in the parking lot, and
she too said the bird was in that field "five minutes ago."

Neither she nor Stefan said those dreaded and oh-so-obvious words, "You
should have been here five minutes ago." I would have been, honest, except
that the pesky Montlake Bridge went up just as I reached it on my way to the
east side. I had had to sit drumming my fingers and clenching my stomach
while some rich b*** with a yacht and no need to work sailed blithely
through the cut. Well, I may not own a yacht - in fact, I don't even own an
inner tube - but I decided I wasn't going to work today either, not until I
found that sandpiper. Certainly by the time all these fruitless thoughts had
passed through my brain in the sandpiperless soccer field, my stomach was
churning enough to warrant calling in sick. I *felt* sick.

I decided to drive over to the gravel parking lot that Brian Bell had
mentioned originally. As I drove the short distance to the parking lot, I
asked myself an important question: "Do you feel lucky?"

My husband has a theory that people can make their own luck simply by
feeling that way. It's not that he's a new-ager who believes in attracting
the world's good fortune by walking around like a human karma-magnet - he
never visualizes world peas, for example. He does think, though, that luck
has a lot to do with self-confidence. If you feel lucky, then you just
assume that everything is going to go your way. Instead of worrying yourself
into a flustered puddle of self-doubt, you breeze through life meeting all
challenges with a smile. John told me once that he thought the best job
interview question he ever heard was one that was asked of a potential
orthopaedics surgeon, "Do you feel lucky?" The interviewer wanted to hire
only those physicians who felt lucky because their surgeries always turned
out positively - it didn't matter whether luck was really involved or not.

Now, generally speaking, I do not feel lucky. On the contrary, in the game
of life, I tend to expect to be the one who ends up holding the Old Maid
card. But after just missing the buff-breasted sandpiper by a mere five
minutes, I knew that extraordinary measures were called for. So when I asked
myself, "Do you feel lucky?" I made myself answer, "Yes. I feel lucky. Lady
Luck is on my side right now. Let 'er roll, baby. The planets are aligned.
Heaven is about to part the clouds and shine its light down on my head. Come
to Mama."

At the gravel parking lot, I saw a woman drive in slowly and head right
toward a flock of killdeers. What was she *doing*???!!! Did she want to
spook them, thereby flushing all birds in a 500-yard radius? What was the
matter with her? But then I repeated my mantra, "Lady Luck is on my side;
let 'er roll, baby," and somehow the clueless lady made a little popping
sound and disappeared. Left behind in her wake was the BUFF-BREASTED
SANDPIPER, calmly foraging along the gravel. What a beautiful, beautiful
baby it is. Pale buff on the face and chest, with delicate spotting in front
of its wings, a buff streak of an eyebrow that gives it a wide-eyed look of
innocent surprise, buffy-white edging crisply marking each feather on the
back, sturdy yellow legs, bright black eye - it's gorgeous.

I watched it until 11:30 or so. It spent most of its time foraging in the
gravel, picking up a bug here and there and occasionally stretching out
first one dark wing and then another. At one point, though, it did crouch
down into the grass, settling like a hen on a nest of eggs. But not for
long. Up again and eating, eating, eating, even though its crop looked full.
My teenagers used to do that, too. I guess young ones need as much food
energy as they can pack in.

If you get the chance, head for Marymoor today and have a look. I have a
feeling this bird will not stick around for long. - Connie, Seattle

csidles at isomedia.com