The Kakapo- The roundest parrot on earth
Field notes by Roger the Wizard
Location: New Zealand (if a Hobbit was a bird, this would be it)
Subject: Strigops habroptilus
Common Name: Kakapo
Status: Critically endangered. Which is a bureaucratic way of saying “nearly not real anymore" (unless we do something about it).
I’ve been on this Earth for quite a long time.
Longer than most people realise.
Most of them forget I’m a magical being entirely, which is frankly a bit rude, but not unexpected.
In my time, I’ve seen wonders. Not pyramids or palaces—those are fine, I suppose—but the quiet ones.
A moss that glows only at midnight.
A flower so beautiful it made me cry for three days straight.
(Still does, if I catch a whiff of it unexpectedly.)
But I digress.
The point is: there are things worth knowing. Worth protecting. Worth admiring, even if just from a distance.
And so, dear reader, I bring you my Field Notes—brief introductions to Earth’s most overlooked marvels.
And today, my dearest friends, I will tell you all a tale about the kakapo.
A bird so green it might vanish into the moss if you blink too long.
(Which I do, sometimes. Not on purpose. My lids just get heavy when the forest hums like that.)
Now, this creature… how to describe it?
It is a parrot, yes, but it does not fly.
It hops, climbs, and, on occasion, flops. With enthusiasm, if not grace.
The kakapo is the sort of bird that looks like it forgot what it was doing halfway through evolution—but bless it, it’s still here! For now.
In the old days—when the stars hung lower, and trees spoke more often—kakapos were everywhere in Aotearoa. They were loved. Respected. Thought to be a bit magical, actually. Still are, in my opinion.
But then the noisy ones came. The two-leggeds with boats and busy hands.
And they brought teeth.
Rats. Stoats. Cats. Humans. All teeth.
And the kakapo? Well. It didn’t change.
Didn’t learn to fly.
Didn’t grow claws to defend itself.
It just… kept on carrying. Trusting the forest. Looking only ahead.
And now? Fewer than 300. Each one with a name. A little transmitter. And a human who monitors them like their lives depend on it (which it does).
I met one, once.
He was sitting in a patch of soft dirt, blinking slowly, enjoying the finer things in life.
He didn’t run. Didn’t caw.
He just stared, calm as twilight. Then turned around and sneezed.
(I took that as a blessing.)
We shared an apple. I gave him the best half.
If a creature like the kakapo still exists, then perhaps not all hope is lost.
Because he’s done nothing to deserve survival—no weapons, no power, no progress.
Only softness. Only presence.
And perhaps… that’s the magic we’ve been missing. Maybe that is what it's all about, after all.
Because who says we need to be harsh in order to survive?
If you’re the kind of soul who feels a tug at your chest when you hear about these birds, follow that tug.
Support the ones protecting them.
Tell their story.
Plant something.
Or just sit, for a moment, in the quiet. That helps too.
If you’re curious to learn more about this chonk of a creature, visit the Kakapo Recovery to see how humans are making a difference in their survival.
With gentle mossy regards,
Roger the Wizard
Currently composing a lullaby for the kakapo. In G minor. With woodwind accompaniment, if the squirrels agree.