海角大神

When Sherry Williams arrives at the Douglas Tomb State Historic Site in Chicago鈥檚 Bronzeville neighborhood, she has her 13-year-old granddaughter with her 鈥� and an assignment. 鈥淔ind three different bird species before we leave,鈥� she tells Shanti.

It鈥檚 fitting, given the importance that Ms. Williams鈥檚 own grandmother played for her, particularly when it came to the natural world.

鈥淪he taught me birds and trees and bees and bugs, she taught me sunrises and sunsets, constellations, to name the stars,鈥� recalls Ms. Williams, from beneath the dual shade of a catalpa tree and her big, floppy, white hat. 鈥淚 then passed that to my daughters.鈥�

And she鈥檚 been passing it on to others in her community too. More than 15 years ago, Ms. Williams created the first 鈥淎frobirding鈥� group, meeting monthly in her neighborhood on Chicago鈥檚 South Side, often at one of two bird sanctuaries she helped create.

In the process, she鈥檚 diversifying and broadening a pastime that鈥檚 often known for its narrow demographics.

Despite the typical birder stereotype of older, white people, Ms. Williams says it鈥檚 a hobby that fits in naturally with the heritage of many cultures 鈥� particularly that of African Americans. She often begins bird walks by pointing out to people the parallels between the Great Migration that many African Americans, including her grandparents, made from the rural South to the urban North and the migration that so many bird species make every year.

鈥淏oth birds and humans come for the same thing 鈥� a home, a place to raise their families, a place of safety, a place of refuge,鈥� says Ms. Williams. It鈥檚 a story that resonates with many immigrants whose families came from other countries too, she says.

Rebeccah Sanders, senior vice president of states with the Audubon Society, remembers getting that message when she first went on one of Ms. Williams鈥檚 bird walks. Ms. Williams had created a migration path around the site, with wooden stakes featuring laminated photos of both birds and local community members, recalls Ms. Sanders. Each photo had a paragraph about its 鈥渕igration story鈥� and how it 鈥� bird or individual 鈥� came to Chicago.

"The invisible church"

鈥淪he connected people鈥檚 stories to nature stories,鈥� says Ms. Sanders. 鈥淲hen we think about birding or the conservation movement, it鈥檚 about meeting people where they are, recognizing that we all have a shared interest in having a healthy environment, but we all may have different entry points to how we get there. Someone like Sherry has opened that door to a whole bunch of different stories.鈥�

Ms. Williams鈥檚 family鈥檚 migration story started with her grandmother, who brought her daughters north to Chicago from Inverness, Mississippi, in 1942. On annual summer treks back south, Ms. Williams learned from her grandmother about their history in that state, about why her grandmother felt the need to move, and about the systemic racism and abuse that her family and other sharecropping families suffered. Her family had established a church in 1904, but for her grandmother, says Ms. Williams, nature offered a sort of 鈥渋nvisible church鈥� all around, freed from the constraints of an oppressive ideology, with roots in remembered heritage from Africa.

鈥淪he wanted me to understand more deeply about the invisible church. She鈥檇 take me to those creeks and those bayous and all of the trees, and she鈥檇 show me and identify what they are,鈥� recalls Ms. Williams. 鈥淚 began to understand the goodness and grace of God in those alone moments.鈥�

Back in Chicago, Ms. Williams struggled as a young girl to find nature in Chicago鈥檚 Englewood neighborhood. She lived on a busy street that had apartments above the storefronts, but no backyards or front yards.

The nearest park was across a tacitly understood racial line: Black people weren鈥檛 welcome. The closest one Ms. Williams could use was a mile away, and that was only open to her at certain times.

Not having access to that green space is a big reason why she decided, as an adult, to start reclaiming and improving some under-used parks on the South Side, turning them into places welcoming to both birds and people.

鈥淭he term now is called 鈥榦ccupy.鈥� I didn鈥檛 ask permission,鈥� laughs Ms. Williams. 鈥淚 thought, if we build bird oases, that could very well represent some of the remnants of the 鈥榠nvisible church,鈥� but at the same time we鈥檙e reflecting and recognizing and celebrating our survival.鈥�

She had noticed that birds were attracted to the debris around the old Pullman clock tower, which had been damaged in a fire and had a flourishing weed garden. Ms. Williams got materials from the Cornell Lab of Ornithology about local birds, and started inviting friends to show up weekly to the Pullman site for her newly created 鈥淎frobirders club.鈥�

One member made a huge breakfast buffet every week to lure people out of their beds early. Ms. Williams and other volunteers helped people find inexpensive binoculars, and created paths on the site, including the photos and stories that so enthralled Ms. Sanders.

鈥淭he original intent here was a burial ground for Stephen A. Douglas,鈥� Ms. Williams says, looking around at the paths and flowers around her, including trees and shrubs and native species that volunteers planted. 鈥淚鈥檓 looking at sites beyond what was intended.鈥�

A grant allowed Green Corps volunteers to plant more than 100 trees and shrubs at the Pullman site, and in 2012, Ms. Williams became an Audubon fellow, which gave her more funding that went to improving the Douglas site: planting white oaks, black oaks, and other native trees, shrubs, and flowers.聽

Bridging historical gaps

As she looks around the Douglas site now, Ms. Williams is disappointed. She鈥檚 been largely absent for a year, getting a masters degree in library and innovation sciences from the University of Illinois, and the state has hired a manager. The gates are now closed at night. Some of the benches are stacked up. Signs she created are missing.聽

鈥淪tuff like that shows me there鈥檚 a disconnect,鈥� she says, shaking her head, and vowing to get changes made.

She鈥檚 eager to get back to regular Afrobirder gatherings, and hopes they can help advocate, again, for better access to sites like the Douglas park. And she鈥檚 pleased to see that her granddaughter, as she鈥檚 been talking, has found several birds, including crows and robins, Shanti鈥檚 favorite.

Many of the birds that come to her bird oases are common ones but that doesn鈥檛 make Ms. Williams treasure them less. As a conversation starter, she often asks people what their favorite bird is, and hers is clear: the crow. 鈥淗e鈥檚 so intelligent it鈥檚 mindblowing,鈥� she laughs, as she spots a crow light on the ground near her. 鈥淚 don鈥檛 mess with them.鈥�

The oases Ms. Williams has created are small, but in a city, those tiny spots of green can be important for both birds and people, says Ms. Sanders. 鈥淪omeone like Sherry can help bridge the historical gap between communities that don鈥檛 see themselves reflected in these outdoor spaces, and she provides that path for them,鈥� she says, adding that the only way people start to care about nature 鈥� whether huge biosphere reserves or local parks 鈥� is by experiencing it.