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Zusatztext "Enchanting." — The New York Review of Books "An amazing drama! as good as any soap opera and all the more remarkable since it is a true wildlife story." — Birding "A sublime lesson in adaptability! hope! and wild-bred devotion. It'll make you look to the skies! no matter where you live." —Carl Hiaasen! Mirabella "Astonishing. . . . If you don't believe that the Central Park of Stuart Little has always existed! read this book and open your eyes." —Mary Tyler Moore "Engaging . . . Dr. Zhivago with feathers. . . . That such simple pleasures can be savored today! in the heart of frantic New York City! is a bit of a miracle." — The Boston Globe "'Give your heart to the hawks!' the poet Robinson Jeffers wrote. Marie Winn certainly has! and so will readers of this delightful book." — The New York Times Book Review Informationen zum Autor Marie Winn wrote a column on nature and birdwatching for the Wall Street Journal for twelve years. Among her previous books are The Plug-In Drug: Television, Children & the Family (twenty-fifth anniversary edition 2003), and Children Without Childhood . Married to the filmmaker and palindromist Allan Miller, she spends part of every day in Central Park. Klappentext Updated Edition—Ten Years Later The scene of this enchanting (and true) story is the Ramble, an unknown wilderness deep in the heart of New York's fabled Central Park. There an odd and amiable band of nature lovers devote themselves to observing and protecting the park's rich wildlife. When a pair of red-tailed hawks builds a nest atop a Fifth Avenue apartment house across the street from the model-boat pond, Marie Winn and her fellow "Regulars" are soon transformed into obsessed hawkwatchers. The hilarious and occasionally heartbreaking saga of Pale Male and his mate as they struggle to raise a family in their unprecedented nest site, and the affectionate portrait of the humans who fall under their spell will delight and inspire readers for years to come.Excerpt from the Prologue Falling in Love Loving helps us to discern, to discriminate. The bird-lover in a wood at once distinguishes the twittering of different species, which to ordinary people sound the same. MARCEL PROUST Scene One The Bird Register If it is possible to fall in love with a thing, I believe I fell in love with the Bird Register the day I first opened it. The emotions were familiar: the same feeling of excitement, of undeserved luck, the mildly deluded sensation that a new kind of happiness was just around the corner, the certainty that life was about to divide forever into a before and after. The Loeb Boathouse, a nondescript building located at the east end of Central Park's rowboat lake, is where the Register resides, though not always in the same place. During the years I've known it, the Bird Book, as it is often called, has lived on the frozen-yogurt bar, on a shelf behind it, and on the cafeteria counter where the little packets of sugar, mayonnaise, mustard, and grape jelly are kept. Currently it may be found behind the podium where reservations are taken for the Boathouse Café, a private restaurant. It may have moved again by the time you read this, but keep looking. It's sure to be there, somewhere, sitting right out in the open as if it were an inconsequential thing instead of a local tribe's central treasure. I remember casually picking up the plain, blue canvas loose-leaf notebook with its sloppily hand-lettered legend on the front cover: CENTRAL PARK BIRD REGISTER AND NATURE NOTES: ENJOY BUT PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE. I opened it for a quick glance at its contents. Then, with that greedy feeling one gets after cautiously tasting some unpromising new dish and discovering it to be delicious, I stood there devouring page after page. I had known there were robins and...
