We Should All Be Birds: A Memoir by Brian Buckbee
A few months ago, I stood at the precipice of abandoning memoirs about animals. I had waded through pages featuring hawks, otters, chickens, and pigs, and the repetitive motifs began to wear thin. Just as I was ready to close the chapter on this genre, I took a leap with We Should All Be Birds. Co-written by Brian Buckbee and his editor, Carol Ann Fitzgerald, this memoir not only rekindled my interest but also left an indelible mark on my heart.
In these pages, we first meet Buckbee navigating the disorienting landscape of the early COVID-19 pandemic from his home in Missoula, Montana. Unlike many of us who experienced a brief interruption in our routines, Buckbee’s retreat had begun years earlier due to a mysterious ailment known as myalgic encephalomyelitis/chronic fatigue syndrome (ME/CFS). With no clear diagnosis and even less hope for recovery, he paints an agonizing picture of solitude marked by relentless headaches and unshakeable fatigue. My heart ached for him as he described this unyielding condition, threatening not just his physical well-being but also his zest for life.
When a peculiar pigeon, whom Buckbee affectionately names “Two-Step,” enters his life, the narrative shifts beautifully. This injured bird, unable to move in the typical fashion, becomes a poignant symbol of companionship and healing. The relationship he forms with Two-Step is profound; Buckbee finds his loneliest moments in the pandemic profoundly enriched by this gentle creature. His reflections—“Most days, I have more interaction with birds than I do with people”—resonated deeply, forcing me to consider the nature of connection in a time of isolation.
What sets Buckbee’s memoir apart is not just the bond between human and animal but the intricate layering of themes that emerge as his story unfolds. The threads of nostalgia for lost love, familial bonds, and fleeting moments of transcendence create a rich tapestry. Moments that spark joy—like swimming in the rain or witnessing fireflies—are juxtaposed with the heavy realization that travel, adventure, and life as he once knew it may never return.
Buckbee’s narrative style is utterly authentic, weaving a reflective and introspective tone throughout. His ability to relate past experiences through his current lens showcases not just his journey with Two-Step but a journey of self-discovery and acceptance. In writing that is both heartbreaking and hopeful, he reminds us of the unyielding power of connection—whether with our fellow humans or the birds that flit through our lives.
One of my favorite quotes captures this beautifully: “I needed to be rescued by…an injured, vulnerable animal who himself needed care.” This profound sentiment resonates beyond the pages and into our own lives, evoking the deep, inherent connection we share with all living creatures.
We Should All Be Birds is a memoir likely to attract animal lovers, fans of literary explorations of resilience, and anyone searching for hope during trying times. It’s a gentle reminder of the beauty that can arise from our most challenging experiences. Reading it reinvigorated my appreciation for the genre, boldly showcasing how our lives intersect with those of the creatures we share our worlds with. Buckbee’s journey is not just about a man and his bird; it’s a testament to the healing nature of connection in every form.
As I closed the book, I was left reflecting—perhaps we should all aspire to embrace the wonder that birds can bring into our lives. Ultimately, this memoir is an invitation to be open to the unexpected connections that can lead us to healing and joy.
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