In a Bird Cage

Biking past Sara Delano Roosevelt Park at the confluence of the Lower East Side and Chinatown in New York City this early Saturday morning I was reminded of many a weekend early lunch break I spent listening to the caged birds sing. I heard them there today again. Those caged birds. Alongside their masters.

I used to hear and watch them every weekend. I’d come here during my one-hour lunch break from six hours of teaching ESL to adult immigrants—mostly Chinese. I’d take my lunch to the park just one block from work and sit on a bench, watching a group of elderly Chinese men congregate around a forest of bamboo bird cages hanging from poles, trees, and park fences. Sometimes up to 50 of them. Some of the elaborate cages half-shrouded in white cloths, others sitting at ground-level. The men, some of whom seemed to be approaching their hundreds, gathered around. There were never any women. (They’re hear on weekdays, too, but less numerous.)

Every weekend, approaching the park, I found myself wondering whether, yet again, the elderly Chinese men would be there. Somehow I kept doubting. It somehow seemed too remarkable to be reliable. A group of elderly men gathering and socializing around a congregation of bird cages? Every weekend? Rain or shine, hot or cold? But every weekend I was unfailingly reassured. After several days, weeks, perhaps even months of being comforted by the peculiarly pleasing presence of these men and their pets, I finally thought I better find out more about the custom of birdcage-side congregations. It suddenly dawned on me that, to most people I know, this might seem a slight oddity. For, it’s not everywhere you can reliably come upon a forest of hanging birdcages. So, I finally asked my (mainly female) Chinese students what they knew about the custom or birdcage-side congregations. What, exactly, were these men doing? (For some reason I thought there must be an additional purpose; other than simply standing around alongside birds and bird cages.)

The answer, of course, was obvious.

They were walking their birds.

Songbirds, after all, thrive in the outdoors and need fresh air to exercise (their song) just as much as dogs need to walk.

So, today, when I biked past Sara Delano Roosevelt Park once more on a weekend morning, I found myself yet again pleasantly reassured that the songbirds were still being taken out for their walk. And that the elderly Chinese men were still reliably socializing and approaching their hundreds.

(The songbird garden—officially called Hua Mei Bird Garden—has actually been here since the 1980s. Named after the hua mei, a particularly spectacular songbird.)