By Amy Herdy

Amy Herdy is an investigative journalist and documentary filmmaker who believes the best editors have feathers, fins, or fur. Her latest film, Parrot Kindergarten, is an homage to animal lovers everywhere—and to the wild heart of the San Juan Islands.

In the San Juan Islands, we measure time by ferry horns, sunset light, and the sound of a rooster’s proprietary morning call. “Neighbor” can mean the person next door, the Orca cruising past Lime Kiln, or the barred owl heckling us on evening walks. We don’t just live in nature—we embrace it.

Islanders love animals with unapologetic seriousness. We pick up strays and post their pictures to Facebook to find their lost human. We pause traffic for deer families. Our social feeds are 70% dog introductions, 20% cat confessions, and 10% breaking whale news. We know the wind that smells of kelp and the particular hush that means a pod might be near. When a fin breaks the water, we react with the reverence most cities reserve for celebrity sightings.

So why bring a film about parrots to whale country? Because islanders already understand what many are still learning: profound connections aren’t limited by species, size, or habitat. Love isn’t a zero-sum game. If your heart has room for an Orca, it has room for a cockatoo with comedic timing and a PhD in getting your attention.

Parrot Kindergarten is my love letter to people who believe animals are partners in a shared life. The “curriculum” looks like play, but it’s really relationship work—listening, patience, and the radical idea that communication goes both ways. A parrot doesn’t care about your résumé. A parrot wants to know if you can read the room, honor boundaries, and show up consistently. Turns out, so do humans. Those muscles—wait, watch, respond with care, try again—are the same ones we need for our hardest conversations with each other.

I’ve sat with islanders who can ID an Orca by saddle patch and a neighbor’s dog by the sound of joyful toenails. I’ve watched kids learn tidepool etiquette (look, don’t lift) faster than adults learn email etiquette. Elders tell me their cat keeps their blood pressure in check and their sense of humor alive. We are a community willing to be changed by the creatures around us, to let their presence deepen our days.

The film is funny because parrots are funny—masters of timing and tiny rebellions. It’s sweet because care is sweet—slow mornings, soft voices, the surprise of trust. And I hope it’s profound in the same way these islands are profound: cedar after rain, driftwood thrones, tide lines like cursive, stars showing up like old friends. Here, the line between “us” and “the rest of nature” wears thin in the best possible way.

To everyone who’s pulled over for whales, learned patience from a skittish rescue, or been forever changed by a furry family member—this film is for you. Parrot Kindergarten celebrates the idea that loving animals doesn’t distract us from the human world; it equips us for it.

If we can listen to a parrot, imagine what we might hear in each other.

See you at the water’s edge—eyes up, hearts open.