What is that ? I asked my husband as we rounded the bend at the end of our road, the one capped by the Coles’ pretty craftsman house. We were deep in conversation regarding a very important topic: the process for seriously-this-time cleaning out my burgeoning closet. I was intensely processing his suggested process when I became distracted by a screech screech screech in the background, a carrying-on that insisted on being noticed.
What bird is making that noise? I asked.
It’s the eagles, he said, and we both looked up.
Sure enough, there they were, there in that magnificent White Oak. Eagle one. Eagle two.
I needed a better view fast, so Tim and Little Bit held back and I headed left around the side of the house. Past the snowball bush, past the cutting garden, past the corner of the house and BAM. There she (he?) was.
Mama and Daddy both kept a close eye on me, barking instructions to this young fledgling who had most certainly landed in the big White Oak on a maiden voyage, one of her very first flights. She looked as confounded as you might expect, this baby, so I decided to relieve some tension. I circled around to the other side of the house. Big Daddy (okay, I really don’t know which is which so just go with me here) had had enough of me and took off for the nest, lunch in hand.
That’s when the real commotion commenced. Mama took to squirming and squealing like nobody’s business.
Finally, the baby got up her nerve and launched into the air. (She and I were both relieved to find she really could fly.) And still Mama squirmed.
She was no doubt worried, this Mama, wondering if her little girl knew how to navigate, how to land, this sweet baby so recently hatched and so fast out in the big world.
(Don’t you know? Haven’t you been there?)
Then in short order, Mama too, was gone, off for the nest.
Nothing could thrill me more, may I just say? After the excitement of the record three babies last year, then the collapse of the nest, then the sightings of both parent eagles together (a sure sign no one is watching eggs or hatchlings), and the search for their new home back there in the woods—I had completely given up any hope of babies.
How lucky I am to live here on this pond.
How happy I am Spring has come.