TWENTY TOUCANS.

 

The word ‘revoada’ [rre·vo·a·duh] forms in my mouth at the sight of 20 or more black-billed toucans gathering in a tree at the foot of our garden. It’s what happens when your brain has several – I have 3: English, Portuguese, and Danish – languages at its disposal. It picks the best word for you. In this case, the Portuguese word is just more evocative than the simpler ‘flock’ in English and similar ‘flok’ in Danish. . 

 

It is the morning of Easter Sunday and Victor and I have leapt out of our seats on the veranda when we become aware of so many toucans landing. Their egg-yolk-yellow chest feathers glitter amongst the branches as the birds preen and jump from branch to branch. We marvel as they lift up one by one to fly in a straight line across our roof towards the tall Imperial palm in our front garden. About this time of year, the huge clusters of white flowers sprouted beneath its massive leaves have turned into tangled clumps of hard little nuts. The toucans have been waiting for this and perch to feast half-hidden amongst the branches. They fly away if they sense my presence.

 

While our eyes trail their flight, we discover more movement. A gang of Capuchin monkeys is making its way towards our towering flamboyant tree, and from there vault into the jackfruit trees and disappear in the foliage. We can follow their path from the bouncing branches and sometimes catch the profile of a leaping monkey. The monkeys are testing the jaca fruits for doneness, and – more mischievous than the toucans – hurl the hard unripe fruits at us and the dogs if they don’t find enough to eat.

 

In Portuguese those marvelous birds are called ‘tucano’, and in Danish ‘peberfugl’– literally translated as ‘pepper-eating bird.’ I hadn’t made the latter connection until Ginevra Searight, a British artist friend of mine, who had specialized in birds, asked to paint Sam, our yellow-billed toco toucan that we had rescued as a baby. Ginevra arrived with small sack of hard little tucaneiro [citharexylum myrianthum] berries from a tree in her garden, which she knew (and I didn’t) toucans love. Sam appreciated the gesture and the two spent several days in each other’s company until the portrait was done. Until then I had fed Sam a variety of fruits, all of which he metabolized with startling speed, but never those hard berries.

 

A quick look at Google informs me that toucans often travel in bands of 20 birds. but never in our more than 40 years in this house have I seen this many at one time. It feels special, and we need special right now, when the situation outside our walls is spinning out of control. In spite of their reputations as robbers of bird-nests, toucans have a particular significance for us, of something sweet and wild that touched our lives, when Sam lived for 10 years with us, and we’re always appreciative when we can observe birds like him enjoy their freedom.