End of September, as the autumn colours brighten the countryside, a ceremony was taking place in Harvey Hall, Albert County. We called it a celebration of Mike Majka’s life, because we wanted to celebrate his life rather than mourn his death. When I was thinking about it later, I realized how very important Mike was in the creation of the Moncton Naturalists’ Club.

Growing up in the country Mike was early acquainted with nature. He had no books or even a knowledgeable buddy but he once told me that he kept a "secret chest," a wooden box in which he collected all sorts of mosses and lichens, snails and bugs, something he showed to nobody in fear that his mother would not allow him to keep it. "When I was alone, I would open that box and enjoy my terrarium," he said.

This interest continued when Mike, as a student in Austria, climbed high peaks of the Alps and hiked its lush valleys. It wasn’t until he landed in Canada that this interest became a serious life-long passion.

This interest continued when Mike, as a student in Austria, climbed high peaks of the Alps and hiked its lush valleys. It wasn’t until he landed in Canada that this interest became a serious life-long passion.

I have been trying to pinpoint a happening that I thought was the beginning of his fascination with birds. It was a weekend we were spending in the wilderness of northern Ontario. We drove for hours from our home in London to a rented cottage in the Huntsville area. At one of the stops, the sweet song of a bird made us speculate what it could be. (It was a White-throated Sparrow.) On arrival at the cottage, two most beautiful, large birds with gray and blue feathers greeted us in the yard. (They were Blue Jays.) All through that stay, to our elation but also frustration, we saw birds but could not identify them. There was an eerie, haunting call on the lake, a hooting voice at night, a twitter, a whistle, but who were they? On our return home, it became mandatory to find out.

Luckily, Mike knew that one of his colleagues in the hospital, Dr. Marven Smout, was a birdwatcher. "He has got a book," Mike told me, "depicting all the birds. I will borrow it from him and we will be able to identify them all."

In our ignorance, we imagined that book would contain a few dozen birds, and it would be no difficulty to read up on them and identify them in the field. We were flabbergasted therefore, when we leafed through the Peterson guide to birds. "This is only for the eastern part of North America," Mike commented, with a hopeless sigh. I closed the book in resignation.

"Give that book back to Dr. S." I told Mike. "Never in my life will I ever learn which bird is which." What an irony that, with my own interest spiked and through Mike’s coaxing, I did learn to identify them after all!

Mike was not deterred so easily. A few days later, a "present" for Mother’s Day appeared on my night table. Supposedly for me, the Peterson guide instead became Mike’s bible. When he brought home a pair of binoculars, an item we could hardly afford on his resident’s salary, I knew this was serious. From then on, all our walks and visits in the countryside became bird-oriented.

Point Pelee and Long Point on Lake Erie were close to London and so they became our meccas. Of course, we kept bird feeders and eagerly attended the meetings of the McIlwraith Field Naturalists’ Club in London.

Once in Moncton, we expected to carry on with those activities, and Mike inquired about a birdwatchers’ or naturalists’ club. He was surprised to draw total blanks or ironic smiles from his medical colleagues.

"Birdwatching," someone asked sarcastically, "Isn’t that just a pastime of old ladies in tennis shoes? Those women who sneak around with binoculars on their necks so that they can spy on their neighbours?"

Another colleague, approached with a question about a naturalists’ club, looked cautiously around, "Mike, I’d advise you to be careful about a question like that. Nudists are not popular in New Brunswick."

Mike came home upset. "Nobody in this bloody city knows anything about observing birds or nature. I wanted to take part in the next Christmas Bird Count. I guess I will have to give it up."

"Why don’t we organize one ourselves," I asked. "There must be at least some people interested in that fun activity, which does not require a deep knowledge of birds."

On a November afternoon in 1961, we drummed up five people: two high school boys (with great appetites), a newspaper photographer (who besides birds, photographed pretty girls), a CNR employee (who loved taking his kids for hikes) and a serious looking school teacher, for a total of 8 participants including us and our older son, Chris, who at age seven and a half was becoming a good observer — no doubt infected by his parents. We did not include our son, Marc, age three and a half. Although toting a pair of

toy binoculars, he was not hit by the bug and only later became as ardent as the rest of us.

That late November afternoon turned into more than a chance meeting. Today, 47 years later, the club has a great number of members. One of the city’s most vigorous organizations, it has taken birdwatching to new heights of environmental awareness and nature protection to a respected part of our social fabric. It’s definitely no longer considered a pastime of old ladies and not a nudist club either.

Mike’s passion became a reality that benefits, educates and adds enjoyment to so many of us.

Mary Majka