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I read Jim Williams’ final column this weekend in the Minnesota Star Tribune and wanted to let him know how much I will miss his articles (“Watching birds is good therapy,” Oct. 26). I began reading them over 20 years ago on a recommendation from my dad, a friend of his, and fellow avid birder. His stories helped me understand my dad’s passion a bit more (what he hoped for, I believe) and made me feel closer to him (an added bonus). I am Kathy Granquist, and Mike Mulligan was my father. He passed away one year ago this month, and I still miss him every day.
Williams’ last column particularly struck me, as my dad, like him, was once obsessed with bird lists — keeping them, talking about them, writing about them and sometimes seemingly living for them. His bird trips took him around the world, and those adventures were some of the greatest of his life. There was always another trip to take and another “lifer” to check off a list.
In his last years though, with his memory failing and his world growing smaller, my dad’s love of birds changed from one of chasing the rarest to simply being in awe of the beauty of the most common. He too became “content to stare out the window at common birds doing everyday things.” And he spent many hours doing just that.
In 2017 Williams wrote about my father in one of his columns as he was planning a trip that he “hoped would bring his Central America bird list to 1,100.″ There are a lot of impressive numbers cited in that article regarding how many times he had visited various countries (Costa Rica, 36; Panama, 10; Guatemala, 8; etc.) and the number of species sighted in each (Mexico, 901; Honduras, 380; Guatemala 482; etc.) but it is the last sentence of that story, where Williams quoted my dad, that has always stayed with me:
“‘I enjoy immensely the actual trip,’ he said. ‘Even the occasional lousy bed or poor food doesn’t disturb me. (Hell, it’s a different country!) It’s simply not possible for me to watch a magnificent quetzal — or even a green heron — without feeling a kind of happiness, a completeness.
“‘I am a lucky person,’ Mike said.”