Audubon

Even accounts of committee meetings—one with 1920s Audubon members, another with contemporary seminomadic Namibian herders—had my heart pounding, tickled to be so immersed in bureaucratic Ping-Pong.

“There used to be a lot more of us,” said Greenwood, who serves on the board of directors for the National Audubon Society.

For me, these two artists, Roger Tory Peterson and David Allen Sibley are our own John James Audubon of the 20th and 21st century.

And Audubon continued to paint birds as his business ventures faltered and failed.

Before Audubon, ornithologists depicted birds flatly and schematically.

Olivier is based loosely on Alexis de Tocqueville and Parrot has affinities with Audubon.

Audubon, the greatest of all American bird lovers, gives a graphic account of the migration of a flock of these birds.

The story of John James Audubon is as interesting as the most romantic novel.

Here Audubon lived, wrote, and painted until even his rugged strength was worn out.

Audubon saw a flock that contained “one billion one hundred and sixteen millions of birds!”

Audubon mentions having seen it in Maine at the end of October, but this specimen surely must have been an exceptional laggard.