Photo by Katie Finch   A Black-capped Chickadee on Staghorn Sumac in the winter.

I recently visited the American Museum of Natural History in New York City. The museum has housed and shared artifacts about human cultures, natural history, and the universe for over one hundred years. I was able to wander around dinosaur skeletons, view dioramas of African animals and learn more about meteorites.  

With a few extra minutes, I visited the exhibit on birds of New York City. An array of taxidermied birds were displayed along the walls of a hall. A few looked more life-like, posed as if they were flying or perched on a branch. Most had their wings down, eyes whitened, and clearly looked dead.  

Looking at this collection of dead birds, I was surprised to feel extraordinarily sad. Seeing a room full of dead birds was not unusual. Between my job and my curiosity, I look at a lot of dead things. ACNC has our own collection of taxidermied birds and mammals. I’ve poked at and processed my share of animal carcasses, examined bones, and shared animal pelts with others.   

But in this moment, I was not sad because the animals were dead. I was sad because of the way they came across to all the other people in the room. What if this was the only way these visitors get to know these birds? What if their image of a catbird, chickadee or screech owl is as a stuffed, lifeless creature about as relevant to the present day as the dinosaur bones one floor above us?  

I wasn’t sad about the dinosaurs. Their massive, pieced together skeletons awakened a sense of awe and wonder about these ancient animals. They feel so far removed from us that I have a hard time thinking of dinosaurs as anything more than bones. But so many of the bird species preserved behind glass cases can also be found just beyond the stone walls of the museum. Inside, removed from the plants, animals and other natural things they interact with, the birds seemed not quite themselves and very alone. 

On the train ride out of the city, I put on the audiobook of Robin Wall Kimmerer’s Gathering Moss. Much of her writing centers around multiple ways of knowing the world. A few moments into the introduction put my melancholy feelings in check. She shares that in indigenous ways of knowing, something cannot be understood without knowing them in four ways– with one’s mind, body, emotion, and spirit. 

 I saw the mounted museum birds with my eyes and held their colors, shapes, sizes, and names in my mind. What was missing was the spirit of these birds. How can one understand the spirit of a chickadee until they witness a flock of them bustling around in a nearby bush, catch a glimpse of one hanging upside down in search of insects, or hear the chips and chirps of their near constant communications. There is joy when chickadees boldly return first to a bird feeder after a disturbance, and gleeful surprise when one lands on the seed in your outstretched hand. 

But knowing and having these experiences doesn’t make a chickadee in a museum unimportant or unvalued. It’s just a different way of knowing that creature. Museums and the collections they hold, from our small, local nature center to larger institutions, such as the American Museum of Natural History, are important keepers of knowledge and understanding. They are places of safe keeping for artifacts from the human and natural worlds.  

For example, seeing the display of a dozen preserved Passenger Pigeons gathered in the branches of a tree will be something no one will ever see in the wild. As an extinct species, they can only be seen in a museum. And there is something in seeing these birds that you don’t get from reading stories or seeing photographs.  

Museums are also a place of education and storytelling. The exhibits don’t just display an object, but help put it in context and make it relevant to the viewer. Museums aren’t just a place to store stuff but they are the custodians of our natural and human history. The stories museums tell, using the collections they keep, can challenge our perspective, inspire us to learn or do more, and help us better understand the world and our place in it.  

Museums and collections are also a place of research. In the 1800s, egg collecting was a popular practice in the study of birds. Bird eggs are now protected through law and these aged collections now sit in museums, some on display, others in storage. In the 1960s, scientists were looking for evidence of the harmful effects of the pesticide DDT in the food chain. Using museum egg collections, they were able to determine that egg shells collected prior to the use of DDT were thicker than egg shells after. Thin eggshells were leading to ever increasing bird mortality and population decline. This evidence supported the case for banning the use of DDT in the United States and the conservation of multiple bird species.  

One of the best things about museums is that they are open to all. Collections of natural and human artifacts would probably sit in the home of the highest bidder if it wasn’t for museums. Visiting a museum can be a shared experience providing ways to engage in conversation, create memories, and spend time together with others.   

Learning about the world through museums can provide valuable knowledge through the body and the mind. When done well, museum exhibits can also evoke emotion.  I found I also need to continue to seek out ways to find the spirit of things too. For the natural world, spending time outside can provide that connection.