This is Bird Note. I'm Adeebens-Lahadine, an evolutionary biologist in training.

It was about 8 a.m. when I stepped off the bus from my overnight summer job, nearly home and ready to sleep.

But a sound made me realize I had one more thing to do.

A young American Robin still stuck in the chain-link fence where I'd seen it 14 hours

earlier.

I don't normally intervene, but I'd told myself that if the bird was still there in the morning,

I'd try to help.

Donning gloves, I tried to gently pull the fledgling out, careful to not injure its wings. After a few attempts, the

birds still wouldn't budge. As I paused to reassess, an older black lady approached

from up the street. Understanding the problem, she whipped out a purple handkerchief, and in 30

seconds dislodged the robin and passed it to me.

The woman explained how she grew up in the rural South and had always wanted to become a veterinarian, but was dissuaded by her family before life took over.

She said how happy she was to see me out there, and as the bird flew away with its mother,

she remarked in awe. God wanted us to meet this morning.

I left with two things when we parted ways, a fond memory, and that purple handkerchief,

a torch passed from a generation of black naturalists who never got their chance.

This week is Black Birders Week.

To learn how to participate, follow the hashtag Black Birders Week on social media and visit

birdnote.org.