This book was annoying on so many levels. The author was very proud of his fathering skills and kept talking about. He was a liberal wack and kept taking shots at anyone who disagreed with him on global warming, evolution, or politics, proving his own arrogant stupidity in the process. He was an awful birder—confusing a Yellow-breasted Chat for a Townsend's Warbler, for example. All I can say is that if I had a year in which I could bird in Florida, Missouri, Texas in April, California twice (including a pelagic trip), Montana and some other places, I would have ended up with a lot more than 338 birds.