I went birding with Judy Toups one last time this morning. Yes, I know she’s been dead for over two years–died February 27, 2007 if memory serves. But after her death, her daughter had responded to Judy’s last wishes. Mississippi’s answer to John James Audubon had asked to have her ashes spread, by her many friends, at favorite birding locations.
I, and Cape May, were so favored, so several weeks after Judy’s death, a box, lacquered in packing tape, arrived in the mail. It, and the small urn it contained, accompanied us on our 2007 World Series of Birding Big Stay in which Don Freiday, Will Russell, me (and Judy’s box, half hidden beneath a Zeiss baseball cap) set a national Big Stay record–139 species of birds in 24 hours from one location.
Don, Will, and I supplied the eyes and ears; Judy brought the luck.
I figured that the World Series was a fitting last birding venture with Judy (the record still stands). Soon thereafter, I spread the small measure of her essence at a secret location in Cape May. Put the thumb-sized plastic urn in my car. Never gave it a second or third or tenth or eighty-sixth thought (which is to say, like most of the things that find their way into my car, I forgot it).
Until this morning, when I went fishing for the binoculars that I’d tossed in the back and I found the forgotten urn. On a whim, I popped the cork. Held it under the light and….
Wouldn’t you know it? There was a little bit of Judy still inside!
Not one to take a friend’s earthly remains lightly; I decided to take Judy birding one last time. I doubt whether Judy ever birded Turkey Point. Her two World Series of Birding ventures in New Jersey probably skirted Cumberland County.
But I know she would have liked Turkey Point first, because it looks a bit like coastal Mississippi where Judy called home and, heck, Cumberland County is packed with birds. Why wouldn’t she like it?
So off we went. Under an overcast sky. With Great-horned Owls calling and Clapper Rails grunting and I was looking for some auspicious place or sign or both to let me know where Judy wanted to get off.
Mourning Doves, female and juvenile. Photo by Kevin Karlson.
I got all the way to the end of the road and Judy was still with me.
Part of me concluded that this was just as fate would have it. Judy, literally and figuratively, at the end of the road.
I stepped onto the bridge. Popped the cork. Started the upending process into the tidal creek and then something stayed my hand.
The tide was going out of the marsh, not in. I’m not sure whether Judy was much of a pelagic birder and besides, the point was to get her to become part of the thriving salt marsh ecosystem, not flush her into Delaware Bay!
It was just enough hesitation for me to think that timing, for such an important mixing, was probably just as important as location. It was dawn, and diurnal birds would be calling soon. I tried to think of some bird species that Judy might use as an emissary and recalled the story of how she got into birding.
There was a bird in the back yard. She said “pigeon.” Her father-in-law said “dove.” He was right. It was a Mourning Dove. And Judy, who hated to be bested in anything, set out to never again be bested in birding.
So there I stood. At the end of the road. Waiting for a Mourning Dove to call. Time moved on but no dove called. Then it occurred to me that maybe I was mistaken. Maybe this wasn’t the right place after all.
So I back tracked. Headed for the neck of land at the edge of the marsh. Figured I’d just let Judy tell me when and where she wanted to be dropped off. Turned out I was right.
As soon as I drew abreast the small pond, just before the drive-over bridge, a Mourning Dove sang. Judy always was a good judge of good birding habitat and this small pond holds birds year round. Now it supports the essence of a great birder.
So the next time you head out to Turkey Point, stop just before the drive-over bridge and look off to the right. See if there are any birds on Toups Pond.
Place always did need a name. Now it’s got a great one.
###
A Highway for Judy
by Ronnie Blackwell/Sun Herald Columnist
June 14, 2009
A couple of weeks back, Jim Beckman was visiting family in South Mississippi. Jim lives in San Diego and, as field coordinator for the Palomar Audubon Society, he plans at least 50 field trips every year. He’s birded South Mississippi, both the Pine Belt and the Coast, but we’ve managed to miss each other in the past. I was looking forward to meeting the man who everyone had told me was a top-notch birder, and Jim didn’t disappoint. He has great field skills, teaches as he birds without being pedantic, and he listened to my stories without complaint.
We got along well, and within 15 minutes of meeting Jim, he reached deep into his daypack and, like a 9-year-old showing off a prized cat’s-eye marble, pulled out his 2004 edition of the "Guide To Birding Coastal Mississippi." He opened it and showed me where Judy Toups had autographed the book. He said, "Judy didn’t come on the field trip that day. She was chasing the Crested Caracara that been seen in Harrison County that morning, but she still made sure that everything was ready for the field trip. And she was very gracious to me."
I was glad to be able to tell Jim that we were going to name a section of highway after Judy. But as I did so, I felt a terrible sorrow, an emptiness, a loss not for the mother of birdwatching in Mississippi, not for the founder of the Mississippi Coast Audubon Chapter, nor the 35-year veteran columnist, and not the creator of the Gulf Coast Birding Trail. I felt the loss for Judy, the gravel-voiced birder and gentle teacher of birders, the Judy who would have laughed herself breathless at the very idea of naming a highway after her.
Now, I grant you that Judy inspires having things named after her. She was delighted at the surprise christening of the Judy Toups hiking trail at Ward Bayou. And I’m sure she would have gladly given her name to the annual Judy Toups Birdathon. I guarantee that she would be thrilled about the blog that Pete Dunne wrote this April about his naming a small but birdy pond in New Jersey. Toups Pond is out on Turkey Point in the Glades Wildlife Refuge. I plan to go see it someday.
And I think that if we were ever able to untangle the snarl of Painted Bunting behavior and DNA enough to split that species, the Toups Painted Bunting would be a fine name for our local birds. But a highway? A strip of concrete and asphalt, carrying swift steel? That sounds like a nightmare to any bird lover.
But then, again, this is a very special stretch of Highway 90, only a tad over 1 1/2 miles between Cowanand DeBuys roads. This stretch of highway runs along side of the heart of the Least Tern and Black Skimmer colony that Judy worked so hard to protect, and the highway is very much part of the protection.
The 24-hour traffic on 90 serves as an effective deterrent to land predators like coyotes, raccoons, skunks, dogs and cats. For the nesting birds, 90 is not a road, but a barrier of swift current. And that makes all the difference, doesn’t it?
We’ll use her name, but this dedication will not be for Judy.
###
First Impressions: Warblers
sent by Dena McKee, thoughts by Alison Henry 3/4/09
Don forwarded Alison Henry a photograph of an amazing lesson that Judy had incorporated into one of her classes. True to her creative form, she went to K-Mart and took home dozens of paint chips, all chosen with bird colors in mind. She carefully snipped and made a "first impression" color chart. Each little collage of colors just about perfectly represented color proportions of different birds. It appealed to my learning style perfectly. I always remembered the lesson - it was my favorite, and I was sad to think that the poster had long gone, but Don had evidently taken a photo of it. Thank goodness!
(Anyone care to provide a list of the birds to match all these chips?)
Post a comment.
Last Time With Judy
10/7/2008
"This is your last chance to come," my mother said. She was talking about the Bushwhackers, a committed group of southern Mississippi birdwatchers led by Judy Toups, aka the bird lady. I had been intending to get to Mississippi for awhile to join my mother, Judy, and other bird enthusiasts for one of their monthly field trips. All of a sudden, Judy decided to leave Mississippi for Decatur, Alabama; my mother thought it was because of the hurricane, Judy had lost nearly everything in Katrina. The October, 2006 bird walk would be the last with Judy at the helm of the Bushwhackers. I dropped everything and drove to Mississippi; after everything my mother had told me, I knew that I couldn’t miss bird legend Judy Toups.
We met early in what used to be the WalMart parking lot in Waveland, Mississippi. Birders had turned out big, there were about 25 people in our caravan. The first stop was a large pond surrounded by forest. We left our cars and began seeing diverse birds immediately, Avocet, gnatcatcher, heron, titmouse. I am a decent birder, but discovered that in this group, I was solidly below average; our group had two wildlife biologists, a bird surveyor, and three 30 year birding veterans, among others. Three other members had co-authored books on Mississippi birds. I was consistently outdone by a ten year old named Jake, the talented son of one of the biologists; he was obviously close to Judy…she led the way with her arm around him, pointing her cigarette at the sky and the trees, yelling, "Ani, scissor-tailed flycatcher, yellow warbler!"
I immediately began checking off birds that I had never seen before, including magnolia, chestnut-sided, and Tennessee warblers. Birds were everywhere, but were very quiet. I was reminded once again of my flawed logic as a beginning birder; the prospect of learning warblers and sparrows by sight was so daunting that I decided to learn them by sound. This strategy does not work well during migration, when birds are so tired that they do not sing. I was at no disadvantage that day, however, because my compatriots seemed to know everything that I didn’t.
We quickly birded the beach and moved on to a small forest, where we were greeted immediately by a Peregrine falcon. We jumped in the car for further woods; the driver of my car identified a streak in the sky as a kestrel. When our caravan arrived at the next forest, birders in almost all the cars had identified the kestrel streak. We walked into a pine forest and were surrounded by a flock of golden crowned kinglets. One hundred feet further in, and we were in a flock of warblers, mostly American redstarts. I incorrectly identified some kind of warbler when I saw part of a bird; Judy was right on it and wryly stated, “Well, it’s got the tail of a gnatcatcher…” I also mistook the tail of a male redstart as an oriole, but who was counting?
Judy’s talent was as obvious as everyone’s immense respect and affection for her. She managed to talk one on one with each and every member of the Bushwhackers that day, even an honorary Bushwhacker with a one day pass. She caught me on a small bridge over a creek; we were looking for ruby crowned kinglets, which we could hear but not see. “They sound like “moss” code to me,” she told me in the Massachusetts accent that 30 years in Mississippi had not softened, “but it doesn’t really matter what they sound like to me or to any other expert. What matters is what they sound like to you.”
As our bird count crested 80 different species, Judy matter-of-factly said, “Let’s go have lunch on Nancy Madden’s slab!” We rendezvoused on flat, coastal land, where the hurricane had wiped the slate clean of all human habitation. Our navigators found the slab without the use of street signs, perhaps by marking marsh grass and shallow waterways, which seemed the only thing there besides sky.
As I ate a peanut butter and brown sugar sandwich, Judy declared (to complete agreement) this the best day of birding since the hurricane. She mentioned Chris, a long time Bushwhacker who had died of cancer. “Chris was amazing,” she said, “during our birding trips, she’d sit and wish for a certain bird to show up, and it would come!”
Judy was sure that Chris had been with us today, and credited her with the summer and scarlet tanagers that we saw.
I was used to seeing slabs in coastal Mississippi, and I was used to being depressed at the sight of so many. But sitting on Nancy Madden’s slab, I began to think a little differently. What was left in this spot was everything and nothing, depending on perspective. The sky was full of osprey and black vultures, the grass full of seaside sparrows and marsh wrens. We were the only humans for miles, but the place still teemed with life.
I teared up myself as I took a picture of the entire group on the slab in the middle of nowhere and listened to heartfelt goodbyes to Judy. There were plans for the Bushwhackers to visit Alabama, where Judy was sure to continue her legendary, chain-smoking bird walks. Unfortunately, this was not to pass; my mother sent me Judy’s obituary in the Mississippi paper on February 28, 2007. I can’t help thinking that the birds that showed themselves that day came for Judy. I also know that ruby crowned kinglets sound exactly like moss code.
###
You're Not Going To Wear That, Are You?
by Patrice Toups-Schultz, 7/2008
It is hard for me to tell only one story about my mom. My whole life is filled with wonderful memories of my time with her as the eldest daughter. She traveled several times to my home in Georgia. Always eager to help (that is what she called it) with decorating my home. She tried desperately to make my modest home a showplace. As I look back , it looked a lot like hers, at least the color palette. We would sit and watch HGTV looking for inspiration. It was always so much fun, and I learned so much from her about color and creating a home that screamed Patrice.
One of my fondest and funniest memories of her happened often. I would go shopping for clothes. Sometimes the clothing would be work related. Some of the clothing would be for a party or family function. Her response was usually the same. Those of you that knew her well, will remember of style of dress.
I usually found her in a pair of denim pants with an elastic waste band, short sleeved t-shirt with some sort of print on the front. (Is that coffee stain, no I think it may be paint) on her shirt.
If she had teeth in I considered myself lucky. Glasses perched on her nose and a coffee cup that had been reheated in the microwave 4 to 5 times.
I would walk out with my new outfit on - complete with accessories - and her response was "you're not going to wear that are you"? What gall she had! I would tell her so and tell her to look in the mirror. We would both laugh and I would take her advice.
I find it hard to believe that I am living my life without her, but there is always a whisper in my ear from her. She is still giving me advice and I still take it.
###
Miss Judith
I was so pleased to hear that you would be writing for our local paper. I have read your contributions before and was delighted.
I have read somewhere that you had much admiration for “Miss Judith”, but I gather that you did not know her. Let me tell you about her.
First, this is how I know her. I am the former day security officer at Beauvoir in Biloxi. It is a 55 acre slice of heaven filled with every variety of wildlife that it can support, (we even had a fox at one time). Completely fenced and protected by armed security, it is indeed a sight to see, or was, before Katrina. The buildings are mostly gone except for the main house where the President once lived and the library was largely intact. The public doesn’t know, but all the “real stuff” was protected in the vault on the second floor. The President’s actual writings and such were protected there.
Re: “Miss Judith” as I called her, she would arrive about dawn 2 or 3 days each week. I would, of course, unlock the main gates and let here and 2 or 3 other cars enter, then relock.
“Miss Judith” would walk the back trails of Beauvoir with her pals and then proceed to describe all that she had seen that day and why certain species were present at the time and where they were likely to be at another time.
She was special. I know nothing about birds, other than the Yellow Nape I once owned. I learned more from “Miss Judith” in ten minutes than I learned in years of actually having a bird in the house.
“Miss Judith” carefully explained why Beauvoir (at the lagoon) received periodic visits from exoctic looking Cranes and other fowl that somehow don’t show up elsewhere on the coast. At least I had never seen them anywhere else except Beauvoir.
“Miss Judith” was not an imposer. She would never discuss her interest until a question was asked. Then “watch out”. Get ready for lots of factual information.
I am now retired due to far too many back problems and surgery, but Jay Peterson is now the Director of Security at Beauvoir, and he is most accomodating. He will show you a small piece of heaven you did not know existed.
Good luck and I look forward to reading about you['re] exploits.
Joe Brister
Memories of Judy Toups
The contributions of Judy Toups to birding in Mississippi are numerous. She was an active member of Mississippi Ornithological Society for many years, past president, and member of the records committee. She was instrumental in recruiting many others to the ranks of active birding. There are few birders on the coast who were not taught by Judy and her influence is still felt throughout the state.
A review of the sightings records for the state will show that Judy’s name is on many of them. When I was a beginning birder she insisted that our group get together, review what we had seen, and send the cards in for inclusion in Birds Around the State. If a rare bird was reported in the state she was always ready and anxious to look for it, but she preferred finding them herself.
For several years Judy taught classes on bird identification. She was a master teacher, using teaching techniques that got her knowledge and enthusiasm across to those of us fortunate to be in the classes. Later she taught many others by concentrating on birding in the field, but those of us who took her classes were extremely fortunate.
Many birders on the coast and other parts of the states traveled with Judy to birding locations in other parts of the country. She could organize a trip, drive the van, find the birds, and provide wonderful meals at far less cost than most commercial tour groups charge.
Judy was on the board of directors of the American Birding Association and one of her contributions was encouraging young people to become interested in birds and habitat conservation.
Credit for founding the Mississippi Coast Audubon Society chapter goes to Judy Toups. She led in the establishment of the Nest in Peace project for the protection of least tern colonies on the coastal beaches. This project still continues in spite of the continuing growth of casinos and condos on the beaches that make protection of the birds increasingly difficult.
One of Judy’s contributions to birding in Mississippi was that she spread the knowledge of the diversity of birds here by her writing, her contacts nationwide, and the Elderhostels she led about birds. Her name is recognized nationwide in the birding community.
Of all the things I remember and respect about Judy Toups the most important to me is her friendship. She truly cared about people, and was always willing to listen to their problems and offer help if needed.
Submitted 10/17/2007 by Jay Morris
Counting the most significant people in my life would take only a few fingers on one hand. Of those few who stand out as a shining beacon in my life, Judy remains at the top of the list. I spent nearly forty years of my life not knowing or caring about the beauty that so richly surrounded me, gifts that were freely given for the taking, not knowing the pleasure that a simple glimpse of a migrating song bird could give.
Judy Toups changed all that.
I first met her in an Audubon Store located on Courthouse Road. A slightly stooped, older lady, she started to talk to me about birds and birding. I had never heard the word "birding" before but was instantly drawn to her excitement and how she seemed to shed years when she began talking about them. She didn't bother to tell me that she had already been a legend in the field of birding and although there were many books and magazines to choose from, I decided to head down to the local library and do some more research on this "birding thing". The selection at the library was very limited but the first book I picked up was called "Birds and Birding Along the Mississippi Gulf Coast" by none other than Judy Toups! By now I was more than impressed and decided to take her up on an invitation to go "into the field' looking for birds.
Our meeting place for this "Virgin Birder" was the Welcome Center near the Louisiana State Line in Hancock County Ms. From that location, I was introduced to already famous birding spots (made famous by Judy) such as Spence's Woods, Logtown and Waveland Lagoon. With my cheap pair of binoculars, I saw my first Prothonotary Warbler. The sight of this beautiful bright yellow bird sitting in the middle of a swamp hooked me like a shot of heroin. It took me quite sometime to swallow my pride and to admit that I had not seen a Hairy Woodpecker but rather a Downy, or that I had not heard a Louisiana Waterthrush but a Northern Waterthrush.
I cannot imagine that time has passed so quickly and that it has been nearly ten years ago that I first met her, how much I learned from her and how much I miss her. I long to look over at her sitting in the passenger seat of my car and remind her to flick the ashes from that long cigarette, or to tell her to pour out some of that coffee or drink it, to stop the car on a moment's notice when she has heard a Kentucky Warbler.
I will see my friend again and I will walk with her under green trees and we will feel the sun on our face as we listen for the sound of birds and look for colors of gold, red and blue. Perhaps she will tell me one more time, "No Jay, I think that may have been something else."
###
A Tribute: Judy Toups 1930-2007
by Pete Dunne, published in Birder's World
July/August 2007
This is a tribute to a grand lady, Judy Toups. Late of Gulfport, Mississippi, on February 27, 2007 she took up residence on one of the billowing cumulus clouds that ride the crest of a blue norther and started savoring dorsal views of trans-Gulf migrants, alongside Roger Tory Peterson, Ludlow Griscolm, and Harold Axtel.
I refer to Judy as a "lady" and not merely as a "birder" because, frankly, to focus solely on her skills and achievements as they relate to the study of birds would sell my friend short. Judy was remarkable. Her life attests to it. Her many friends and followers will swear to it. This tribute, no matter how accurately or earnestly written, is doomed to fall short. But if you are unfamiliar with the "Mother of birdwatching in Mississippi," pray, read on. If Judy didn't get the verse she so richly deserved, it was only because it was her fate to live in a corner of North America that was, for much of her life, off the birding charts.
No longer. Judy saw to that.
Born in 1930, in Magnolia (pronounced, I suspect, Magnolier) Massachusetts, she met and married a young chief petty officer and returned with him to his home state of Mississippi. They settled in Gulfport. They raised six children.
"Not a serial killer among them," Judy's daughter Christine, allowed, and this boast comes close to the national average. There was nothing in this humble (but law-abiding) beginning to suggest that this mirthful, willful, gravel-voiced woman was destined to become one of the most influential birders of her time. She just did it.
As I understand the story, somebody gave Judy a bird feeder. That person figured it would the stay-at-home mom some measure of entertainment. One day a bird turned up at the feeder which Judy promptly identified as "some kind of pigeon." It was, in reality, a Mourning Dove.
Her father in law corrected her. [Actually it was her own father... -Editor]
I don't know why this incident was so catalytic unless, as I suspect, "error" was a four-letter word for Judy. She was a stickler for details, whether they be related to bird identification or the written word. Her birding career took off and her writing career began shortly thereafter, when she assumed authorship of a weekly birding column in the Biloxi Sun Herald. That was 35 years ago. Since first setting pen to paper, Judy wrote more than 1,500 columns, plus scores of articles for many, if not all, of the top birding magazines. She also authored two books, the Guide to Birding Coastal Mississippi and Adjacent Counties and Birds and Birding on the Mississippi Coast.
In what passed for spare time, Judy founded and was ever instrumental in the functions of the Mississippi Coast Audubon Society. She also taught beginning birder courses and here, perhaps, lies her greatest gift to birding. She was mentor, cheerleader, and role model for hundreds of birders whose interest was often sparked by her column and then fanned by her skills in the field.
Other parts of the country have their gurus. Guy McKaskie in California, Kim Eckert in Minnesota, the venerable Chan Robbins in Maryland. Add to their ranks the name Judy Toups, because, without it, no list of North America's tribal leaders is complete. More than introducing to birding to Mississippi Gulf Coast residents, Judy's crusade focused on winning a greater awareness and respect for her home state. Judy took her show on the road. She organized and led tours. She served on the American Birding Association board of directors. She was the first person to field a team in the World Series of Birding that did not herald from an adjacent state—the event's first true "out of region" entry.
That's how I met her. At the door of the Cape May Bird Observatory in May 1985. Captain of the "Ace Birding Company", up from Mississippi with teammates Dave Ruple and Mal Hodges. They needed help finding some must-get birds. Huddled on the floor with a bunch of maps, this self-admitted "grandmother with an arthritic shoulder and ingrown toenails" conferred with a 34-year-old bird observatory director. The Mississippi trio was seeded 20th out of 23 teams. Judy was miffed—rightfully so, it turned out. After the rain ended and the mud settled on one of the wettest World Series of all time, Judy's team placed ninth—a mere six birds behind the National Geographic Society powerhouse of Rick Blom, Jon Dunn, Will Russell, and Hal Wierenga, tied with my own team.
I learned then never to underestimate Judy. If there was a way and it involved birding on the Mississippi coast, you can bet that Judy's will was behind it.
In 1989, while Linda and I were working on The Feather Quest, Judy entreated us to bypass the well-known Gulf Coast hotspots (High Island, Cameron Parish, Dauphin Island...) and anchor our chapter on trans-Gulf migration in Mississippi. She promised birds.
"OK," I said. "Never underestimate...," I thought. We stayed a week. The weather was great, meaning lousy. You want a migratory fallout, you have got to have rain. Judy was generous with her time and eager to show us all the enchanting nooks and crannies of her live-oak-infested domain. We motored about in the automotive midden she called a car. Every day, new Toups acolytes came out to join us—people who plainly and justifiably worshipped the ground she walked on and who treated her every word as gospel.
Gospel or no, Judy's words were always spoken with a gravelly authority. Thirty years of Southern living had barely softened her New England inflection but it had slowed—somewhat—her speech's cadence. To this day, whenever I see the black-and-orange icterid bearing Lord Baltimore's name I pronounce it, in my mind, "Oh. Ree. Ohl." Just as Judy would have said it.
On the last night of our trip to Mississippi, the heavens opened and migrants slammed into the Chenier woodlands rimming the coast. Judy was ecstatic. So were Linda and I. That day remains one of my finest memories, because of the magnitude of the fallout and because I witnessed it with Judy Toups.
I came to know Judy best during the years we served together on the board of directors of the ABA. Those were critical and formative times. The club was morphing into organizational adolescence, ans "issues" were as common as cow pies in a feedlot.
Some of the greatest—and most forceful—minds in birding were then represented on the board. While some folks debated magazine revenue or whether heard-only birds should count on a life list, Judy wanted to get more young people involved in birding and to keep them involved in birding. She was also committed to keeping ABA programs within the reach of people who didn't have Swiss bank accounts.
She handled the first issue by becoming head of the Education Committee. She convinced her fellow board members of the seriousness of her second agenda item by finally and reluctantly resigning from the board. Judy simply could not afford to pay her way to board meetings. Her departure—and our loss—convinced the ABA that while fiscal responsibility was a laudable ambition, disenfranchsing birders of modest means from the organization's decision-making mechanism was a mistake.
Shortly thereafter, travel funds were made available for board members who cared to draw from them. Judy was right again.
I have little room left, and much more I would like to say about Judy—her skills as a teacher; praise for her writing; her strong conservation ethic; and, sadly, the great shock and loss she suffered at the hands of Hurricane Katrina. The hurricane's human costs were high, as everyone knows. But the destruction to natural areas that were Judy's local patches was equally devastating—to the land, and also to Judy, who knew that she would not live long enough to see her favorite places restored.
So I will finish with my single best memory of Judy. It is a moment in time that only tacitly involves birding, but which highlights what I know to be Judy's greatest and most wonder attribute. That was her great heart—which she shared so generously with others.
I was in Mississippi at her invitation, involved in a special fund raiser for her Audubon group. We were standing in Lydia's Audubon Shop—a store that specialized in birding equipment, and where Judy was a part-time employee.
It was getting dark when a shy young man came in. He carried an electronic harp, or something. He said he was trying to get to Florida, to find work, and needed money for gas. He said the harp played over 50 songs Would we buy it?
Now I am a hard-bitten New Jersey resident. I've been hustled by the best, and my hustle-shield went up as soon as the fellow started his pitch. Judy saw it differently, saw the obvious truth. The earnestness of the man. The belongings-packed station wagon, resting on sagging springs, by the curb. The young mother and two young children sitting in the front seat, looking on.
Judy pulled out twenty dollars, and when he offered her the instrument, Judy declined.
"No dear, Just take the money. It will at least get you to Florida."
Since that moment, I have waited in vain for someone to approach me with earnest eyes, in real need, so that I might honor the example of Judy Toups and perhaps, for just a moment, have standing equal to hers.
submitted 6/13/2007 by Jim Berry
It didn’t hurt that Judy was from Gloucester, near where I live in Ipswich. Sister Jean and nieces Denise and Lisa live in the area too, and Judy made annual visits to Massachusetts to visit. It was then that we birded together, which was every day we could arrange it. We enjoyed each other’s company so much that we never tired of it. In the later years, Judy didn’t let her bad legs stop her, and I put up with her smoking, though she knew she couldn’t smoke in the car. Things always worked out, and some of my favorite memories are showing her three life birds—and this was a birder who had seen more North American birds than I had, or probably ever will. Those birds were a baby saw-whet owl looking out of a nest box, a roost of long-eared owls in a cedar grove, and a dovekie along the coast of East Gloucester, near where she grew up. Her appreciation was as boundless as my pleasure in being able to show them to her.
There are some people in life who never grow old, and Judy was one of them. Her body did, but her mind was the fountain of youth. In her late fifties she started the ABA’s youth program because she understood better than her fellow ABA board members the importance of recruiting young people into birding and bird conservation. Today that program is going strong and is one of her signal accomplishments. But only one. Judy’s conservation work was immeasurable. As I hear it, she was the heart and soul of Mississippi Coast Audubon and had a way of making things happen. Her column on birds didn’t hurt. She wrote that column for so many years because, ultimately, she knew it gave conservation a voice that could be heard far and wide. Lord knows Mississippi needed to hear that voice. She felt like a lonely crusader at times, but she never gave up. The need was too great, and Judy showed that one person really can make a difference.
Judy could be up for anything, and she told me about some wonderful adventures in her life. We had some ourselves. In November 2001 I made my first visit to Gulfport, two months to the day after 9/11. The skies were pretty empty, but probably never safer. I met many of the Bushwhackers, and Judy, ever the perfect host, introduced me to the fabulous birding habitats on the Mississippi coast that she twice wrote up in published birding guides. She and Chris had a way of making any visitor feel welcome, and the dinners with fellow Bushwhackers like Alison, Nancy, Don, and Dena were unforgettable. I visited again in spring 2004 and cemented my friendships with several of the Bushwhackers. Judy was an instigator of friendships. In June 2003 we both attended the ABA convention in Eugene. Along with Judy’s friend Tish Galbreath we drove afterward across Oregon and Idaho to son Jay’s place in the Bitterroot Valley of western Montana. It was an unforgettable trip. We stayed with son Desmond in Seattle before catching our respective flights home. Having already met Chris and Patrice, I was beginning to know and appreciate Judy’s family.
The rest of that process had to wait until the memorial service, but after that weekend I almost felt like part of the family. They all had enough of their mother in them to make me feel that way. I kept asking myself why I had flown over a thousand miles for a memorial service—something I have never done for anyone else not a relative. The answer lies in the way Judy affected my life and those of countless other people. She was the genuine article; when I was in her company I felt like I could talk about anything and be taken seriously. There are few people I would rather spend time with, and I miss her. I am proud to have been among her (many) best friends.
###
submitted 5/20/2007 by Gregory Wallace
When I got my copy of "Birds and Birding on the Mississippi Coast" from a bookstore in Jackson, it became my constant companion on my sales trips through the Coast. On one of those trips, I showed my book to the amazingly knowledgeable woman—whose name I didn't know—who worked at Lydia's. I told her how it had been responsible for so much good birding in places like Waveland Lagoon, Lakeshore, especially Logtown...and I asked her had she seen it before?
Pretty dumb question, huh?
After a good laugh, Judy admitted authorship and autographed my book with a lovely note that I now cherish. I now have several dozen books on birding, but Judy's book will always be on the top shelf.
Judy, I barely knew you...but you changed my life. I don't know what happens to us after this life, but I know in my heart that your reward is magnificent.
submitted 5/5/2007 by Jean Prescott
Every time I read Judy's column I learned something. How many people on the shady side of 50 have the opportunity handed to them weekly to learn something new? I am so fortunate that our paths crossed in this life. She made me laugh. She made me want to pull my hair out. She could be a pain and then turn around be so remarkably generous as to put you to shame.
A sharp-shinned hawk would still be wandering around the screened porch at 102 Felicity St. in Bay St. Louis if Judy hadn't come to the rescue with an ability to read the hawk's mind, the skill to know what to do to rescue it and the confidence in me that I could help her drop a quilt over it and carry it outside. I swallow hard every time I think about it, but for her, it was a walk in the park. Actually Katrina blew the whole house away, but if it hadn't, that hawk would still be there but for Judy's intervention.
I loved her in the brotherhood of man sense but also in a very personal sense, because for all her cantankerousness, she had heart and soul and spirit and determination to make the strongest of us feel we fell short. I hope all of her children know just how much she cared about their wellbeing, even if she wasn't always (ever?) a warm and fuzzy cookie baker. And I'm sure her friends know how much she cared about them. Maybe too much.
As I understand it, part of the reason she left the Coast was because she couldn't bear to see us suffer. I wish she had realized that "starting over" is worse for those imagining it than for those doing it. She might have stayed among us if she had believed that when we told her. I can only hope I'm fortunate enough to cross paths with her in the afterlife. Clear skies, ol' buddy, and birds up the wazoo.
###
Guru Watching in Mississippi
submitted 5/3/2007 by Stacy Jon Peterson
In 1997 I had absolutely no idea that one year later my wife and I would be moving to the Mississippi Coast from southern California. But such is the life of one being married to a spouse in the US military. Judy and I had that in common.
But in 1998 we did, indeed, exchange eucalyptus for water oak and found ourselves on Keesler AFB in Biloxi, Mississippi. I'd been an active birder for many years and had served on the board of our local Audubon chapter in California, so it was only natural that before our move I heard the name Judy Toups. In fact, I don't recall who told me about her, but she was THE person I absolutely HAD to meet immediately upon arrival on the Mississippi Coast.
In California there are throngs of very highly regarded birders, and I thought myself fairly well equipped to stand my ground. In Mississippi, Judy was the single unquestioned guru for the region. Somehow I found that persona intimidating before I had even met her! So it took me a bit longer to introduce myself to her than it should have.
I quickly learned that my fears were all unfounded. Judy turned out to be a fascinating person who loved birders as much as the birds themselves. We developed a fine friendship over the next few years, and even ended up co-writing a birding guide to the Mississippi Coast with Jerry Bird.
While she was in the hospital at one point, she asked me to temporarily write her weekly BIRDING column in the local newspaper. I remember distinctly that the editor rejected my first attempt because it was too much of a candid reflection on Judy's current condition -- despite the fact that I'd cleared the article with Judy herself before submitting it. Judy wasn't worried about stuff like that, but other folks often felt the need to watch her back.
Even after my wife was transferred to Idaho in 2000, our friendship with Judy remained thanks to the internet and email.
I learned a lot from Judy, but somehow I never recall noticing her interest in nature art. That's tragic, because I recently started a wildlife photography business in Alaska where we are currently living. One of the first things I thought of doing when word reached me that Judy was sick was to send her a wildlife print of her choosing for her to enjoy. But I was hesitant, not knowing if she'd really be interested. The hesitation cost me the chance. She died too quickly.
###
submitted March 12, 2007 by Seymore Thanu (Pete Dunne)
I went birding with an old friend. Her name is Judy Toups. She died on February 28. [Editor's note: Judy died February 27]
Walking with old dead friends is easy if you overlook the fact that they cannot be physically present. In fact, I’m pretty sure that Judy was attending her funeral in Gulfport, Mississippi the day of our walk. Even the dead have trouble being two places at once.
But Judy was very much in my thoughts. And she is very much alive in those thoughts, richly alive. Few people, this side of the void or the other, have impressed me more. Fewer people have done more to promote bird watching and none so richly deserve being remembered to you, by me.
So, like I said, I went birding and for company I took a memory. We made a game of it. We decided to see how many species we could find, we two. Me pulling from my mind end of the void, she pushing. I set a goal of 50 species (just to make it interesting). As I parked the car, the call of a Great Horned Owl came out of the wood. Very poignant; auspicious even. In many cultures, including Native American cultures, owls are bed-fellows with the dead.
"One," I shouted toward the Heavens. Forty-nine to go. Forty-nine turned out to be a distant Canada Goose, then Snow Geese, American Woodock, Green-winged Teal. All these birds were heard, of course. Judy had great ears and, frankly, the calls of all these species are hardly a challenge.
First bird seen was a Long-eared Owl whose flighted form was haunting the edge of the road. I’m sure Judy must have had something to do with that. Long-eared Owls are not exactly stock items on nature’s shelf. You have to move heaven and earth (and have a pure heart) to actually see one.
Dawn saw our list grow by leaps and bounds. Mourning Dove (a very thematic entry) called at first light. Cardinal (the state bird of Mississippi) sounded off next. Then White-throated Sparrow, Fox Sparrow, Song Sparrow, Red-winged Blackbird....
After the first hour, the count stood at 26 species.
Number 26, the bird that put us over the half-way mark was a beautiful, adult, Peregrine Falcon that came in off the marsh. I had a beautiful ventral view; Judy a dorsal.
It got tougher. The morning grab-bag was over. Species were getting harder to find and the rising wind didn’t help matters.
"Come on, Judy," I urged. "Can’t you intercede a little bit here and get this wind down to something under gale force?"
In time, she might have been able to manage this feat but being new in the Afterlife I’m willing to bet that she didn’t have much pull yet, and still needed to make a few key connections. In Life, everyone who was anybody in the birding community was familiar with the birding spark plug from coastal Mississippi. She was a champion of young birders. She single-handedly made coastal Mississippi a destination site on the birding circuit.
Hundreds of people living in places like Pascagoula, Gulfport, and Dauphin Island have Judy to thank for their interest in birds. Her regular newspaper column was the cornerstone of local birding culture. Her many articles in birding magazines insured her a national audience.
Her friends include just about everyone she ever met.
By nine o’clock, we were down to needing just two more species. I went out a long, dirt road bisecting open marsh hoping that Eastern Meadowlarks would be singing. They weren’t.
A largish woodpecker flashed from the dike, heading for the trees. The wings flashed yellow; the rump was white.
Flicker! I shouted, and not just for Judy’s benefit. Northern Flicker, you see, was the bird that got Roger Tory Peterson started in birds. It’s image is on his gravestone. I’m betting that Roger (who was a big fan of Judy’s) had joined our team.
Fact is, I often go birding with Roger, too. I felt a little contrite that I hadn’t thought to invite him on today's trip (but I was glad Judy did).
Number 50? Yeah, we hit 50. I was hoping it would be Fish Crow--a southern corvid whose nasal voice has the same gravely intonations as Judy’s. Or maybe Turkey Vulture!
It was neither. Number 50 was Bufflehead. A small, plump, diving duck.
If there’s a connection here, it’s beyond me and it’s the prerogative of the dead to keep their secrets.
See you again, sometime Judy. Nice job.
Someday, you can explain the significance of the duck. But there’s no hurry.
--
Seymore Thanu is none other than New Jersey's own Pete Dunne, Director of the Cape May Bird Observatory and Vice President of Natural History for New Jersey Audubon Society. Author of several books on and about nature (available at the Cape May Bird Observatory), he has written for virtually every birding publication and for the New York Times.
Article reprinted courtesy of Exit Zero and the Cape May Bird Observatory.
Judy Toups, 24 February 2006, Leroy Percy State ParkThe Day Judy Wore a Hat
submitted 3/11/2007 by Claire English
On one of the first field trips I took with the Mississippi Coast Audubon Society, we went to the Seaman Road Lagoons. It was a cold, breezy day and I noticed Judy Toups had forgotten hers. I offered her one of mine and she firmly replied, "Oh, I never wear a hat!" I thought that was the oddest thing - my ears were numb and the wind was downright uncomfortable on my nose. My hat was providing some sense of comfort, but, I could see she was serious and didn’t offer again.
Two years later, sunny or cold, I had never seen her wear a hat. I'm sure many will tell you she did without! That winter, Judy encouraged a group of us to travel to "the Delta" to a Mississippi Ornithological Society meeting. We would see such wonderful birds along the way! She made a major contribution to the trip by packing an ice chest of delectable food and we all chipped in with sides and fruit.
The second day of the trip at Leroy Percy State Park, the sun was out and it was only a bit nippy. She decided to bypass a lengthy hike in the woods and enjoyed birding the picnic area. We returned just in time for lunch. As we spread out the table cloth and ate, we wove a tale, telling Judy about our adventures in the woods - the Barred Owl, the Hairy Woodpecker, and the Rusty Blackbirds in the opening with the yellow daffodils and Dark-eyed Juncos. We told of getting lost on a flooded trail and then finding the trail again, and seeing a Hermit Thrush.
After lunch, on a whim, she decided to make an exception to her "no hat" reputation and donned a cap. As I snapped this shot of her, I felt that I’d captured a happy moment - she only wore it briefly, but she was proud to be sporting "Audubon Mississippi".
submitted 3/5/2007 by Jay Toups
Judy made numerous visits to Utah and Montana over the years, mainly in the spring or summer to visit me and make sure I was getting enough to eat. We took several day trips, once up near the Snowbird ski resort, where she quickly spotted a Goshawk, and later regaled an entire restaurant full of skiers by naming then describing each of the different hummingbirds thronging the feeders hung in front of the plate glass windows in the restaurant. The skiers ate it up. Mom had an audience.
On another visit in summer 1996, I took her out to the Golden Spike National Monument area above the Great Salt Lake. She was searching a bird she'd never seen, a Sage Grouse. It was a bumpy, all-day ride across the sagebrush sea following the old railroad bed and detouring on every side road.
Chinaman's Arch - Golden Spike National MonumentWe came across the faint remains of a ghost town built during the railroad building years of the 1860s. One set of tombstones was particularly poignant. From what we could tell, a mother died giving birth to triplets, who all died too. Four tombstones, all ending with the same date. In the middle of nowhere. We had lunch there and absorbed the endless "basin-range" landscape above the Great Salt Lake, with 100-mile views to the north, south and west.
We looked for that bird all day and came up empty. We saw lots of antelope, various hawks, even a couple of young bald eagles. But no leks teeming with grouse waiting for a photo opportunity. When the sun started going down, I turned the truck around and we began the long trundle back to Salt Lake. Judy had grown quiet, resigning herself to another failed junket to add a life bird to her considerable list.
Just before dark, we passed something on the side of the road that made me look again for it in the rear view mirror. Was that a big bird? Yes! There it was, frozen in place on the shoulder of the road, eyes cast lovingly in the direction of its amorous pursuit nearby in the brush. I slammed the brakes on and pulled over.
Judy got her Sage Grouse. I got deep satisfaction when she saw why I pulled over. I was one of the few people on this earth to show The Bird Lady a bird she'd never seen.
photo: National Park Servicesubmitted 3/7/2007 by Alison Henry
Those early mornings. It is odd when a brain that normally doesn't function before 9 can so clearly remember those Logtown trails at that godforesaken time of day. The sun barely up.
At the center of the memory is a green oiled jacket, with brown corduroy collar - one side up, one down. Natural sandy hair, not styled to perfection, but somehow looking just right in those first rays of sun. She stomps on ahead and we follow, straining to hear the first gem from her. Looking for birds is a strange pastime in that most of the time, there are none. We all understand this, but it does not stop our illustrious leader from muttering "I am SO SORRY. Where the hell are they?"
Bushes which should contain certain species at this time of day and year are pointed out. Calls we should be hearing are described so well and the fact that there are none doesn't bother us one bit. We are still learning, without the benefit of avian example. Just being there with her conjures up the magic.
Suddenly a flutter. The leader stops and the disciples gather close, not daring to speak. She has already identified the bird before we have decided whether or not it is one, and she is eloquently preparing us to make our own i.d. (How high is the bird, how jittery are its movements?)
"Come on honey," she encourages the creature. She continues the lesson, "...do you see how it looks as if it has had too much coffee? Very jittery."
"There, did you see wing bars?" (We could hardly see the bird.) "Come on sweety. Can you hear that chatter, like morse code? Did you see an eye ring? (Now she HAS to be kidding.) Then, in a flash it is gone.
Our leader draws on a cigarette. "Little Shit" she mutters. What she does not realize is that we have just learned what a ruby crowned kinglet looks like, without actually having to see it.
We wanted it to last forever.
Judy entered my life in 1984 when I had a female Summer Tanager wintering over at my feeder. She came to confirm my novice identification. From then on my life would never be the same.
In early 1985, my telephone calls with her lead to a conversation that I was bored and wanted to start a business. Her suggestion for a wildlife store fueled my imagination and I was off and running, with her by my side all the way.
In March 1985 Lydia's Audubon Shoppe opened. I always said Judy was the wind beneath my wings. She made everything fun. She could enter the store and laughter would begin. Or there would be a story of where a rarity could be found. There were times when the laughter would be so hard all you could think of was where to find a bathroom.
Then on the other hand, her intelligence could be astounding. I was mesmerized listening to her talk about wetlands and political haggling that would destroy our prescious habitats. She had a level of understanding in how to deal with such matters that was incredible. I was constantly amazed at what she knew, how she expressed it, what she wrote, what she could do, and who she was a person. She was the huge onion with so many layers. She was constantly revealing something new and in such a way that you always wanted to be around her. She was a multifaceted diamond.
One of my favorite stories of Judy begins with us having a conversation on my deck as we were watching the antics of a Buff-bellied hummingbird that graced my yard. We began talking about control. She was a self-confessed control freak, masking it in grace and graciousness. She told me that as a child, she'd had to be strong for various reasons and had learned to take control of situations beyond her age. That bode her well through her life as she was married to a man who was away most of the time as she was raising her six children. She learned, through control, to make lemonade out of lemons. She was not interested in entertaining the thought of letting go of that control but she could laugh at herself sometimes and recognize it.
So, just a few weeks after that conversation, there were eleven birding enthusiasts in a van with Judy at the helm, driving us through South Texas. She was driving, as only Judy could--FAST. "HANG ON" were often words shouted from Judy behind the wheel. Don McKee and her sister, Jean, were immediately behind Judy giving looks to one another. Don leaned forward and said, "Judy, at the next stop, I'll drive." Judy, turns her head completely away from the road, still barreling down the highway and says, "What? What's wrong?" Jean leaned forward and said, "Judy, just let Don drive." "Why? There's nothing wrong with my driving!"
So, at our "tailgate lunch" Judy comes up to me and says, "Was I driving that badly?" Well, I was not going there so I tippy toed around it and said, "It was a little fast, but it's ok."
After lunch, Don was driving, Jean was in the passenger's front seat and Judy was relegated to the back seat. She was sitting there with her stocking knit cap on and just glancing from one to another. It was a very comical scene, when all of a sudden she said in that very throaty, wonderful voice, "I want you to know: I am still in control!"
Well, I want you to know, I came unglued with laughter! It was classic TOUPS ALL THE WAY! I still remember that as though it were yesterday and I love her for how she could deal with things.
We had so many times in Lydia's Audubon Shoppe where she realized, as she worked there that the fruits of her labor of writing her column were paying off in huge ways for the wildlife. So many customers came in so thrilled to meet her and get to talk with her. We saw the hummingbird activity on the Coast change right before our eyes. She would write, people would call with their sightings, and lo and behold, the number of species recorded on the Coast jumped from TWO to EIGHT. It was an exciting time for all of us. Toups and and troops forging new records.
But the bonus for me was getting to be with her so much. We had so many laughs. How many times did she slap that counter and her pockets looking for those glasses. "Where are my glasses? Has anyone seen my glasses?" "Where are my keys?" Has anyone seen my keys?" are Judy mantras that will forever belong to her whenever I hear them. Those words will always bring a secret smile to my face and her memory. I have no idea how much territory was torn up looking for those two items in her life! It got to a point that I didn't even look. I would just stand there and howl laughing.
What a great lady she was on so many levels. When I stop and think about her I am awed. It is almost as though it is impossible to verbalize the expanse of her impact. She was a force. And I will forever be grateful to have had her for my friend. I will forever cherish those gut wrenching laughs. I will forever cherish the feathered friends she brought me to visit. There is so much gratitude wrapped up in one person.
P.S. One thing I do want to correct: I would NEVER have considered "firing" Judy because of her smoking. Yes. I asked her not to smoke in the shoppe but resigned myself to the fact that she was unable to deal with that idea when she was busy in there. I would NEVER have removed her from my life in that way or deprived me, my shoppe, or my customers of her presence because of that. Judy was a smoker and once told me that the thought of going home without cigarettes was "more than she could bear." I realized that they had a bigger hold on her than she could deal with. That was her cross to bear. It was sometimes something that I had to deal with and I was willing to because of who she was and what she meant to me.
If you have a story to add, leave a comment and it will be reposted here!
2 comments:
Please do leave your comments, stories etc. here. After they have been posted, they will be included in the main "stories" page and the comment deleted.
Just finished a trip down memory lane and found myself alternately smiling, tearing up and on one occasion laughing out loud reading other folks impressions and anecdotes about mom. I especially loved the "road trip" story and mother's cry, "I want you to know: I am still in control!" It makes me miss her all the more.
Post a Comment