Sterna paradisaea

The Arctic Tern (Aves Sternidae Sterna paradisaea) holds the record for the longest known migration of any animal in the world. It annually travels over 44,000 miles, from its breeding grounds in the North Pole to its wintering grounds in the South Pole on various migration paths that traverse nearly every western coast and some eastern coasts of the earth. In its thirty years of life, an Arctic Tern becomes one well-traveled avian. I would be an abysmal Arctic Tern. I am 26 (and a half) and I can hardly be considered a world traveler. Once, when I was in my mother’s womb, I went to Mexico. Since then, I have left the country once in 2006, with Julia, to visit Keri and Thomas in Germany and France (for that story, you’ll have to delve into the annals of print history in my living room, from the days of yore when people still used paper, to the undemonstrative beige journal in which I cataloged those adventures); and once more, this summer, on an excursion to China with Baba and Mom and Jason (which inspired this blog and which you will hear much more about later).

            

In my endeavors to discover the appropriate title for this blog, I have developed a great deal of respect for the mighty Arctic Tern, a much smaller, but yet much more courageous being than I. And though I know that an Arctic Tern of my maturity would be much more seasoned to the wonders of the world, there are things that we do, indeed, have in common, this waterfowl and I. The Arctic Tern is, despite all its roaming, in essence, a seabird, and I, as it turns out, for all my dreaming, am essentially a seabird too. On the conservation status spectrum, which ranges from EX (Extinct) to Threatened to LC (Least Concern), the Arctic Tern keeps hardy pace at LC. He’s long-lived, of average build, eats only small critters (no brawling in the skies for him), and moves about to stay comfy. He’s scrappy. But he has what I think is one other secret to longevity. He chases the Summer. Born in the North Pole, the Arctic Tern cruises down to North America, Europe, and Asia to catch our sunshiny months and then it hits the waters of Antarctica for the southern summer. Sterna paradisaea sees more hours of daylight than any other creature on the planet. Now that’s a good life! So while I have neither the life experiences, nor the countless tales of the Arctic Tern, we share, in some small way, the love for surf and coastline and sunshine and a healthy portion of scrappiness. (They tell me that I, too am on the LC end of the conservation status spectrum.)

Sterna paradisaea is, for whatever reasons its heart or its mind or its instinct give it, a true adventurer. And though I have only gone thither and yon once or twice, nowhere near the human version of the Tern’s 44,000 miles, it seems to be that there is the spirit of the wanderer in me as well, though in a much more Bilbo Baggins-ish way. A tried and true home body and patriot, I really do believe it’s true that home is the most important place on earth. But I also believe that life is an adventure. That people are amazing. That nature is awe-some. That God is great. And all of these beliefs set me to yearning and roaming and restlessness. Accents and languages entrance me. Words like fjord and Sherpa and agave and Sistine and reef make me thrill, make me want to touch and see and know. I know I am not alone in this. It is an innate characteristic of humans, I think, though nature and nurturing have shaped us each differently so that some of us are Baggins’ and some more like Tooks. There is a mystery and a beauty, a paradox, I think, in dearly loving the steadfastness of our roots in our own home soils and also the exhilaration of the wind beneath our wings.

            

And so paradisaea, this blog, is meant to recount those adventures as lived by me, just one seabird out of many. Channeling my inner Arctic Tern through the next bird’s life-span and beyond of my own life. Like the conservation status, adventure has a spectrum, from a bike ride on the American River Parkway, to a tour of eastern China, from a walk across the street without Mom’s guiding hand to a 44,000 mile migration. I wake up most days with Helen Keller’s words playing somewhere on the fringes of my mind: “Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing.” I will try to focus this blog on only the most distinct types of adventures, as I have other places and spaces to share the less demonstrative ones. But I will warn you in advance that rating life’s adventures is not my forte, as so many small things and great things alike make life its grandest. Or perhaps it is simply all un-quantifiable. At any rate, I have hundreds of good pictures and even better memories of this summer’s trip to China that I don’t wish to lose. Here they shall sit, and sprout, and linger. One mile out of many more before, and to come, I hope.

-R.E.A.