Week Twenty-Eight: March 8th

Back when I was doing bird shows at the Cincinnati Zoo, we used to get excited about shows at which the local Amish made an appearance. You generally knew the shows would go well on any given summer day, as the birds were well-trained and had been performing the same routines for years. But when the Amish arrived, you knew something amazing would happen.

Of course, I am not blind to the fact that we probably worked a little harder to get those crowds involved and cause them to laugh. My boss, Gary, used to time his lines to allow even more (perfect) pauses for dramatic humor, and he would celebrate after a show that he got an older Amish gentleman to smile or, better yet, to laugh. Gary claimed he once delivered a line that made an Amish elder fall from his seat. I was not there to witness this alleged event, so I cannot attest to its truth, but I have never known Gary to lie, so I would not put it past him. There was always more magic in the air on those Amish-crowd days.

Years later, as I worked at the Minnesota Zoo, I took this mysterious occurrence with me. I found that as I now hosted shows in our large, outdoor amphitheater, I would step up the frenzy on the days the Amish were in the audience. I relished the opportunity to discuss the birds and training with them after the show; at least far more than those Sunday crowds at my current zoo: those we dubbed "NASCAR Sunday" crowds. The Amish crowds had questions and expressed awe at the birds doing what they did naturally. The NASCAR Sunday crowds came up at the end of shows to tell us about how their brother or cousin (or both, simultaneously) had a bird whose tongue he cut to make it talk and the thing could swear in fifteen languages. Fascinating!

So, this look is my tribute to those times, when birds flew well, and the Amish crowd caused magic.