I’m not long back from a place many Brits have probably never heard of (well, unless you’re old enough to be familiar with a certain song), where the most bizarre of events takes place. The International Congress on Medieval Studies (yes, this exists) is hosted in Kalamazoo (zoo-zoo-zoo-zoo!) in the US state of Michigan. The name alone is strange enough, but in this town, of all towns and cities in the US, some 3000 medievalists from all sorts of arts and humanities fields, from all over America, Europe, and further afield, have been assembling for the last 51 years on one weekend in May to present new research, network, smooge and drink. Can any other town in the world truly say it is overrun by medievalists?! (Well, Leeds actually, which decided to copy the Kalamazoo format.)
I was a Kalamazoo (and US) rookie, but I have been initiated: Bell’s, Waldo’s, ramps (I still can’t quite get the Virginian pronunciation of these things), the Saturday dance … The travel, admittedly, was horrendous: three hours getting through Chicago customs (no really, the officers are lovely people), then a seven hour standby because I’d missed my connecting flight. Fortunately, I managed to get on the last plane out that night because some other poor sap hadn’t made it on time. I’ve never been livid and joyous with relief all at once. If I believed in God I’d have asked him to bless everything and everyone, but instead I just offer personal blessings to all coincidences that put me on that plane. Ironically, all the flights were only entirely booked up because of the Congress (who visits Kalamazoo the rest of the year?) Anyway, I did make it to Western Michigan University campus that night, and finding the canteen shut, I wandered down the boulevard to find an empty burger joint, sat alone eating my chips, then retired to my little undergraduate breeze block room.
The birds, however, saw me all right. It’s not often I get to take advantage of an avian double-whammy reason to visit a new place. I’d come to Kalamazoo to talk on some research I will publish later this year (on birds’ voices and translation theories in Geoffrey Chaucer’s Parliament of Fowls), which went down very well (and I intend to write more on this in my next post for the medievalists reading this!), but it was the real birds that did it for me. The area is well wooded, so it wasn’t difficult to notch up plenty of new species just on campus: common grackle, red-winged blackbird, American robin, downy woodpecker, great crested flycatcher, blue jay, cedar waxwing … The Congress times itself perfectly with the great spring migration, so I got off campus when I could to nearby Walden wood to see what passerines might be moving through: palm warbler, Tennessee warbler, grey catbird, indigo bunting, scarlet tanager.
The best of all, though, was suddenly and silently just beside me on a roadside path on the woodland fringe – my first hummingbird.