Helping a Grebe in Trouble

A personal story from  Siva Gopalnarayanan, a Talkin’ Birds Ambassador from Plano, TX.

Last Saturday was quite a pleasant day in the mid-sixties and sunny, so my wife and I went on a walk around the pond in our neighborhood. It was filled with the usual migrants and locals – Mallards, Lesser Scaups, and Gadwalls. Among these there was this unusual immature Pied-billed Grebe swimming lazily around. My wife pointed out that there was something sticking out of the grebe’s head. I didn’t have my binoculars with me, and we thought it was some brush, so we went on to enjoy the rest of our walk.

Sunday ended up being nice walking weather as well. This time, we saw the grebe with the debris still on it. We thought it might be more than just brush. I came back with my binoculars and camera to take a better look, and I took a few pictures.

The grebe tangled in debris.

The grebe was tangled up in some kind of net. It must have gotten it wrapped around its neck. It was tilting it head to one side and wouldn’t swim much, but would instead stay mostly dormant in the middle of the pond. It didn’t dive once. It looked mostly sleepy, with the head tucked in. It tried to stay close to the rest of the ducks: when the other ducks swam away, it would suddenly wake up and swim closer to them.

I came back with my swimming pool net, hoping to catch it, but unfortunately it stayed mostly in the middle of the pond. I called Plano’s Animal Services, and at 4 PM on a Sunday, they showed up! However, they realized that they needed a boat to get to the bird. On Monday, they had other priority calls and couldn’t get to it.

Monday after work, I rushed back to the pond with my swimming net and scissors. The poor bird seemed even more tired, with its mouth open and eyes half shut. It might not have hadn’t eaten in a while, and perhaps it was dehydrated. Towards dusk, it finally was close to the ledge of the pond along with a few other mallards. I lunged to try to catch it with my net, but I was surprised to see how fast a disabled grebe could leap, dive, and swim away when faced with the danger of being nabbed. So I got back on my phone and called every bird or animal rescue and rehabilitation outfit that I could find.

I called Animal Services again on Tuesday, and they indicated that they would try to rescue the bird again that day. I went over during my lunch break. As luck would have it, they had just showed up, but they were waiting for help from the Parks & Recreation department because they needed a boat to be able to get closer to the bird.

Then this passionate Parks & Rec employee named Kym showed up. Lucky day! She was a birder too! So I knew then that she wouldn’t give up and the grebe was going to be okay. Kym and her aide took out a flat-bottomed boat and paddled behind the grebe, which, when necessary, would not hesitate to dive or to fly short stretches. Her aide later brought back an outboard motor so they could continue chasing the grebe. Kym was getting quite soggy. Did I mention that it was quite chilly that day – perhaps in the 40s?

With Kym and her aide were in the boat cornering the grebe and I on the shore with my net, we chased the bird for a good couple of hours, and we almost lost sight of it many times, but eventually it tired out. Finally, the grebe swam closer to the ledge. While Kym and her aide distracted the bird from the boat, I nabbed it with my net.

Kym quickly took the grebe out of the net and put it inside her vest while I fetched the scissors. It was so heartening to finally cut the net loose – which apparently was a piece of grass seed net from landscaping. The net had been wrapped around the grebe’s neck and right foot.

Kym let the grebe back into the pond, and within seconds it was near the other bank. I came back to take a few more pictures and videos of the freed bird, which spent perhaps hours preening itself. It was great to see it dive and spread its wings. I couldn’t thank Kym and the rest of the staff enough.

The grebe at last spreading its wings.

I promptly gave Kym the Talkin’ Birds info card. We may soon have another Talkin’ Birds Ambassador! 

The grebe at rest.

Frozen with Fear

A personal story from listener Robert Ross of Byfield, Massachusetts.

It’s a ritual. Every morning, rise, brew a cup of tea, and sit to watch the feeders. The mealworm feeder is filled every night, the suet feeder is kept packed, the three hangers—sunflower, Nyjer seed, and safflower—are cleaned and filled weekly. Over forty species have appeared in or over the backyard.  

This morning, though, there is only one bird on a feeder, a female Cardinal, perched on the side of the feeder. She is as still as a Cardinal in a Glen Loates painting.

The branches are empty around the yard, where Mourning Doves, Crows, Starlings, Grackles, and Grosbeaks often perch. The large flock of finches—Gold, House, and Purple—are nowhere to be found. The joyful morning chorus of excited chirps and squeaks is silent.  Not a creature is stirring, not even a Titmouse. 

A pair of Cardinals have been in the yard all year. Male and female feed regularly. They are the yard’s alarm system, hitting their high, sharp, staccato chirps whenever anyone or anything enters the yard. In their precise world view, it is their yard. The Robins, House and Carolina Wrens, and a pair of Red-bellied Woodpeckers would vociferously disagree. The lone Starling, which magically morphs into twenty before the very eye, the sparrows who bully beyond their standing, and the boisterous Blue Jays make their case, yet the Cardinals do not flinch. 

The Cardinal has not moved an inch. Not a feather. Perhaps she has caught her claw, wing, or beak in the feeder. Last night brought the first frost; the grass is glazed with a slight layer of sugar. It was not cold enough to freeze any healthy bird to death.

Twenty minutes later, the paper is read, the tea is drained. Outside the kitchen window, the Cardinal is surprisingly still there. She has not stirred.

Curiosity wins out. Opening the back door, accompanied by two rambunctious hounds bounding out with glee. The dogs dart right below her. She does not move. The dogs spring off to sniff out the night’s invaders.  The bird on the feeder appears dead on its perch. 

 A clap of the hands and the Cardinal bursts to life, springs up, and darts off, diving down into the bushes and vines lining the yard fence. A gray-blue blur darts by, descending at speed, its wings so close they woosh as a wind blast hits the face. As the blur passes, its dive does not veer; its red eye looks only ahead.

Cooper’s Hawk! 

The Cardinal flees into the bramble. The scraggly maze engulfs her. The striker flaps but once and is right on her tail. Both disappear into the bush, and nary a single branch or vine moves. Predator and prey are swallowed up without a trace, the way a rising trout takes a mayfly and then both are gone.

Maybe 30 seconds go by; maybe less. The Hawk rises out of the bush the way a diving cormorant reappears with a trout in its maw. It makes no sound. It perches on the fence post. Its beak, though, is empty; its claws grasp only the fence. Its head cocked, its flaming eyes burn into the bush, dissecting the vines. The red eyes search for the slightest stir with a predator’s single focus. The hunt is not over yet.

It seems only fair to the unwittingly exposed Cardinal to end it. The dogs get to the hawk first, and it flies off toward the tall pines down the road. The dogs watch it go as the high shrill of its scolding echoes. 

There is no sign of the Cardinal. She is not below the bushes. There is no red or lighter brown among the gray, dormant branches and swirling vines. She does not fly out. She has vanished. Perhaps she will return at the midday feeding.

She does not. It is several mornings before she is seen again at the sunflower feeder. There is no obvious sign of trauma, and if she recalls it, she does not let on. A White-breasted Nuthatch feeds with her; chattering Chickadees come and go almost too quickly to eat; the Bluebirds gobble and joust over the mealworms; and a Red-breasted Nuthatch shares the suet feeder with a Downy. 

All is back to normal—at least until the Cooper’s hunts again. 

 (Photo by Robert)

A Rocky Big Day

A personal story from Talkin’ Birds Ambassador Allen Rand of Cleveland, Ohio.

When the alarm went off at 4:45 AM on Saturday, October 17, 2020, I kept thinking I was crazy, but it was October Big Day, and a team had been assembled and a goal of finding 100 species had already been set. I hit the road at 6:30 AM en route to Willow Point Wildlife Area in Erie County, Ohio. Everyone was punctual at 7:30 AM, and we headed out to rack up some shorebirds. Reports of rarities like Hudsonian Godwit and Long-billed Dowitcher had been coming in all week, so we figured checking off some lifers would be a good start to the day.

Jim, Anthony, Luke, Toby and I had met on a trail in the Cleveland area in September. We shared awesome pictures and reported through text messages where the next rarity was being seen—like the LeConte’s Sparrow at Edgewater Park on the shores of Lake Erie. Then I suggested we combine efforts for the October Big Day. Everyone jumped at the offer. This was the first time any of us had attempted a Big Day.

Not five minutes after starting our eBird lists at Willow Point, we saw a large, dark shape gliding through the cold morning air. I lifted my binoculars to a cross-eyed view of a Great Blue Heron. I’d forgotten that, the night before, I’d put my binocs in the back seat after picking up a friend. When I grabbed my coat, I flung the bins across the driveway. I did a cursory examination and didn’t see any cracked or scratched glass. Well, I should have examined them better. The day was off to a disappointing start: it’s kinda hard to identify birds without binoculars. I pressed on, since there was nothing I could do about it.

Strike two came at the pool with all the shorebirds. With everyone on the team having less than two years’ experience, we hadn’t expected sentinel Killdeer. We’d seen them at other locations, where we got good views from close range without incident. That wasn’t the case here. Whether the cause was us or an unseen predator, they sounded the alarm, and everything flew away. Luckily, everyone saw the Godwits before the exodus. We tallied 32 species before moving on.

Our next stop was Pickerel Creek Wildlife Area. A juvenile ibis and Northern Harriers had been reported there earlier in the week. I carried my old binoculars around my neck as backups. We split up to cover more ground; Luke and Jim zigged, the rest of us zagged. Looking into the first pool, Team Zag saw some very colorful Mallards. Then we realized they were decoys. On the shore next to them were some hunters. They flipped us a bird that was not on the list. Anthony pulled up the website for Pickerel Creek: yep, closed to the public until noon. We got out of there as quickly and respectfully as possible through the still-frosty grass. We recorded 13 species in total, but the Bonaparte’s Gull was the only tick towards our goal. Our first lesson was to learn the ins and outs of target locations.

We pulled into the parking lot for Sheldon Marsh at about 10:15 AM. We split up again and started marking off birds immediately. No lifers or anything extraordinary, but we tallied 37 species. On the way back to the parking lot, I encountered my friends Jamie and Sarah. We hadn’t seen each other in a while, so I suggested they join us. Another lesson learned: we spent too much time chit-chatting. We burned 2 hours and 15 minutes there. The silver lining was that Sarah noticed a small, dark bird hopping around a brush pile with a tail sticking straight up into the air. A Winter Wren! Value had been added, but we lost Luke and Jim. They both had prior commitments and had to duck out. So we learned another crucial lesson: time management.

Anthony, Toby, and I reached the Lorain Impoundment lot around 1:45 PM. This hot spot typically yields a good number of diverse species. It’s reclaimed land that houses a pond ringed with phragmites; good cover for songbirds, waterfowl, and other waterbirds. There is a mile-long pier out into Lake Erie to the west of the lot. We picked up the pace, and I brought out the scope for the first time. Nothing of note in the pond, but we were surprised to see late-season Yellow and Blackpoll Warblers. An Eared Grebe had been spotted earlier in the day, but I didn’t see anything on the water. Found a Great Black-backed Gull, but no grebe. Sure enough, it was seen again about 2 hours after we left. Lesson #3: timing. Activity tends to be low in the middle of the day, but birds don’t always play by those rules during fall migration. But we left with 53 species, confident that we would hit our goal.

Next stop was the Sandy Ridge Reservation, also in Lorain County. This hot spot is an absolute gem. It’s not uncommon to total 50+ species there. Shortly after taking to the trail, I messed with the left eyepiece of my old binoculars and ended up busting the remnants of the ring that held it in place. The lens fell out, rendering the binocs useless. However, I had the scope, so I remained a contributing member of the team. 

Sandy Ridge Reservation consists of two shallow ponds split by a walking path and a wooded area. We went straight to the ponds and were rewarded immediately: Northern Shovelers, Gadwalls, American Wigeons, American Black Ducks, Pied-billed Grebes, American Coots, and a Ruddy Duck were all plying the waters. We also scored Wilson’s Snipes and a Sora in the mudflats. One of the resident Sandhill Cranes the regulars named Kevin was out and about too. We knew he’d be there, but we still breathed a sigh of relief when we found him.

The light was fading, so we hustled around the pools and headed to our last location for the day, the oft-talked-about Wendy Park on Whiskey Island, part of the Cleveland Metroparks. We’d recorded Orange-crowned Warblers there the day before and were hopeful to find some of the more regular birds we hadn’t seen yet, like Tufted Titmouse, Common Grackle, and Gray Catbird. We pulled up to Wendy Park at 5:55 PM, less than an hour before sunset. I took the scope and headed down to the lake, while Anthony and Toby went looking for warblers and thrushes. We found a few more species, but were disappointed that we didn’t see any of the regulars. We wrapped up things up as the sun dipped behind Lake Erie, emitting a golden glow. As we double-checked our final count, two Peregrine Falcons shot across the sky, a fitting end to the day. I sent the final tally to the team text thread and was ready to head out when Jim replied that a Hairy Woodpecker was in his yard, so I counted it.

Our total for the day was 76, well below the goal of 100, but we’d learned a lot of lessons and overcome a lot of obstacles to get there. We look forward to the upcoming Christmas Bird Count in December. We’ll be better prepared after these adventures.

Local Residents to the Rescue

A personal story from Talkin’ Birds Ambassador Allen Rand of Cleveland, Ohio

This is a first-hand experience of behaviors I had not seen in the wild before.

I work in a second-floor office that overlooks a small pond with a fountain. One day this past June, I stepped over to the window when I wanted a break. To my surprise and awe, a Red-tailed Hawk flew in from somewhere behind me and landed in a tree by the spillway. Now, this is where things get tense. A pair of Canada Geese and their two goslings were resting on the spillway. When they saw the hawk, they made haste into the pond and swam towards the middle by the fountain. Hiding under some vegetation on the bank of the pond near the spillway was a mother Mallard with six ducklings. They all headed to the same location in a tight bunch.

While the families were scrambling to safety, three male Red-winged Blackbirds shot out from the reeds and headed straight for the hawk. They were in formation like fighter jets, and I’d swear I didn’t see a single wing beat. I hurried back to my desk, where I instant messaged my bird buddy co-worker at home: “High drama on the pond.” Then I grabbed the community binoculars (yes, we keep a pair at work) and rushed back to the window.

By the time I returned to my front-row seat, two Blue Jays and an American Crow had joined the fray. The hawk, having nowhere to hide, took several direct hits from the agitated local residents. By this time, the waterfowl were safe and the hawk had locked in on something else to eat. It lifted off, then dove down and grabbed something from the far bank. Even with binoculars I was unable to make out what the hawk caught, but the blackbirds were still not happy. The jays and the crow had gone on their way, but the blackbirds continued to harass the raptor. Then they all flew out of sight behind the neighboring building, the hawk still clutching its meal.

I found it interesting that the geese and ducks headed to the middle of the pond. It makes sense because hawks typically do not grab food from the water. I wonder whether they would have done the same if the predator were a Bald Eagle, which does grab food from the water? Secondly, the speed at which the male blackbirds organized and flew directly to where the hawk was perched gave me a new respect for that species. I usually find their territorial behavior annoying, but I commend them for doing what they could to keep the area free of predators. Finally, the jays and the crow seemed to come out of nowhere. They don’t like predators either—I know a predator is near when I hear their raucous alarm calls—but it seemed like they came to help the blackbirds chase the hawk. I realize I’m anthropomorphizing the situation, but we humans still have a lot to learn about other animals.

The whole episode lasted only three or four minutes, but it was long enough for me to better my behavior recognition skills. I’m eager for another opportunity to see what happens in similar situations.

Using a Trail Camera to Make Bird Videos

from Talkin’ Birds Ambassador Elise Torello of Wakefield, RI.

I live in a wooded location near water and was very curious what animals might be living here.  I set up my first trail camera a few years ago and started seeing some common animals--deer, squirrels, chipmunks, and the occasional turkey.  I got better at picking the location and set up of my camera and started seeing foxes and coyotes, but also started to be dissatisfied with the performance of my camera.  So I did some research and purchased a new camera, and through trial and error (and adding a few more cameras), started getting some really amazing videos of animals.  The bobcats and river otters were especially exciting for me.  Along with these wonderful mammals, I started seeing (and hearing) some wonderful birds.  Sometimes, I'd see a wonderful animal (like a bobcat) and hear a wonderful bird or two (Chuck-will’s-widow and Eastern Whippoorwill) at the same time!  

Some of these birds are real rock stars.  The gorgeous Great Blue Heron that spent a lot of time fishing in front of my camera in spring 2019 really impressed me with the large fish it caught and ate.  I also recently had a spectacular video of a beautiful Great Horned Owl in daylight--a rare treat.  I put together a compilation of some of our feathered friends for a local nature video festival (https://www.environmentcouncilri.org/content/2020-rhode-island-nature-video-festival).  I also saw a Worm-eating Warbler recently. I'll admit I had to get some help identifying that one!

It's been a lot of fun seeing these birds going about their business when they think nobody is looking.  A great resource for anyone looking to get into camera trapping is this book:  Camera Trapping Guide: Tracks, Sign, and Behavior of Eastern Wildlife, by Janet Pesaturo.  

Here are some of my favorite bird videos:

Great Horned Owl:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LorwgukQ7pY

Worm-eating Warbler:  https://youtu.be/pbiUEA4NYpI

Bobcat, Chuck-will’s-widow and Eastern Whippoorwill:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=obF8yYptHyw

Great Horned Owl and Chuck-will’s-widow:  https://youtu.be/KhKhlcR-o1s

Nuthatch gathering moss for a nest:  https://youtu.be/KGllSTSz-Jg

Birding to Cope with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD)

A personal story from Talkin’ Birds Ambassador Bill Bertke of Independence, KY

Many of us get into birding for a variety of reasons. And typically it's not just ONE reason. As for me, I got into birding for several reasons. Initially, I enjoyed birding for the photography challenge. With that came the challenge of finding and photographing new (to me) species. At some point, I realized that I enjoyed the time spent with nature, outdoors, often by myself. And with that came finding peace; a mental break, if you will. An escape from things that were so ugly in my mind. An escape from PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder).

I am a retired police officer. After my 20 years in law enforcement, I'm left with unhealthy mental images. I can tuck those images away for a time, but there are things that can provoke, or "trigger," those memories and send me into a dark hole. For a long time, I dealt with my PTSD by withdrawing from everything around me. It was hard to go to work. I wouldn't contact my family or return calls because I didn't want to bother anyone with my issue, and I really had no desire to contact anyone anyway. That was what I did for several years. It worked, but it wasn't really helping me get over anything. I just pushed it all to the back burner until it came forward again.

Thankfully, these days PTSD is getting more and more widely accepted as a real problem. I was able to attend a week-long Post Critical Incident Seminar held by the Kentucky Department of Criminal Justice Training. It was the very first class ever offered to police retirees in the state. I attended in October of 2018 along with my girlfriend Jenny, who cared enough to want to be a part of it with me, knowing I needed it. Many currently employed officers attended, but only a handful of retirees. We shared our stories and our reasons why we were there. Some officers were dealing with one particular incident. Others, like myself, had many incidents that kept creeping up on them. After being separated into groups facilitated by professionals in PTSD, we were individually assessed to see what sort of positive treatment plan might work.

My recommendation was to try EMDR, or Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing. I won't go into a full explanation of EMDR therapy here, but in short it teaches you to tell your brain to “file away” things it doesn't know what to do with and replace them with something else. So I learned over time to file away my most horrific images and to replace them with ones that that brought me peace and comfort. And wouldn't you know, I chose birds. 

Birds are my peace. I can say with certainty that when I am birding I have NOTHING on my mind except the birds. Those moments when I sense a trigger, or wake up in a sweat with heart racing from a horrible dream, I plan to make an escape birding. I'll often grab a camera, find a spot out back by the creek or up the hill in the front with the trees. Then I'll sit and get lost with the birds. It doesn't take much. A cardinal, a chickadee, a titmouse—that's all I need to see. Sometimes I'll spend hours, other times just minutes. If it's a bad weather day, I'll get online and immerse myself in all things birds. I have the same outcome either way. I don't get drowned in that funk that could last days, or even weeks, of just wanting to be alone and stay in bed. 

It's funny how birding has come to be what it is to me. I still enjoy the challenges of getting the perfect shot and seeing a life-lister, but what my mind enjoys most is being able to see beauty instead of violence. 

A Bird, A Boy, and a Nickname

A personal story from Talkin’ Birds Ambassador Barb Gee, Port Allegany, PA.

When my children were young, I bought a house and started putting up bird feeders to see what we could attract. I had only a small pocket field guide with one photo of each bird, but the kids and I would look up every one as best we could to see who came to visit each day. 

My middle son, Nate, was six years old, and he seemed to enjoy it the most. One day he came running to get me because the feeder was covered in beautiful speckled birds. We looked in our book, but there was no bird in there with all of those spots!  So we decided to call them “Natebirds” to honor Nate’s discovery. We soon learned that these birds were European Starlings in their winter plumage, but we continued to call them Natebirds because it was fun. 

Well, the name somehow got stuck on my son, and we started calling HIM Natebird. It gradually got shortened to "Bird." That six-year-old boy is now 6 feet tall and 33 years old, but we still call him Bird. His nieces and nephews call him “Uncle Bird,” and now THEY look out the windows at my feeders and watch for the Natebirds to come.

Screech-Owl in the Kitchen

from Talkin’ Birds Ambassador Don Amiralian, Burlington, MA

One day in February, I got up early and went into the kitchen for coffee. Still a bit sleepy, I noticed a brown stocking hat on the windowsill. I then remembered that I don't own a brown stocking hat. I looked again and was startled to see a rufous-phase Eastern Screech-Owl playing possum on my windowsill.

I immediately called the animal control officer in town. After hearing my story, he said that he would send over a raptor rehabilitator. Ten minutes later, the owl lady arrived. She quickly captured the bird by throwing one of my dishtowels over its head. She then deftly but gently snatched the bird, controlling its sharp talons. The bird woke up and began snapping its bill rapidly. It was quite angry.

I later found out that the owl lady had a veterinarian examine the bird. It was determined that the bird was blind in one eye, so they decided not to release it because it would not fare well in the wild. The last I heard, the bird was doing quite well and was eating mice provided by the owl lady.

To this day, I can’t figure out how that bird got into my house.

Thrilled and Transported

Submitted by Talkin’ Birds Ambassador Peggy Page

I've been a serious (that is, “addicted!”") birder for almost 40 years, but the birds never stop surprising and delighting me. In 2017, I spent three months traveling around the US trying to fill in some of the gaps in my North American list, which is pretty respectable but was missing some birds I really wanted to see. One was the Northern Pygmy Owl. I had lived in the Bay Area for several years in the 90's and frequently prowled the Sunol Regional Wilderness park where this sneaky little guy allegedly breeds, but never was able to see - or even hear - one. It was at the top of my “Fill in the Gaps” wish list, but I had little hope. After all, it was (along with its sneaky little buddy, the Northern Saw Whet) a nemesis bird. 

In June, 2017 I returned to Sunol Wilderness with no thought at all of seeing the Pygmy Owl. In fact, I was looking for Yellow-billed Magpies to pad my year list. As I walked along the hot and sunny main road, I heard a hissing sound from a live oak tree right over my shoulder. Deciding it was only a bushtit, I almost didn't turn around. But some wonderful hunch convinced me to do just that - and there, only feet away, was an adult Northern Pygmy Owl feeding two almost-fledged, fluffy, and adorable youngsters. The hiss I had heard was one of the kids insisting on his share of the mouse the adult was shredding. i watched for ten minutes, frozen in the best kind of shock and awe. 

Who needs a camera? That magical encounter is seared into my memory! The wonderful thing about birds? They never run out of ways to thrill and transport us!

A Mystery Swarm Draws Dozens of Birds

A personal story from Jesse Barraza, a Talkin' Birds Ambassador from St. Catharines, Ontario, Canada

A couple of weeks ago during dinner, our 3-year-old daughter suddenly told us to look out the window at many birds flying in the backyard. We are used to seeing a lot of birds because we have two bird feeders—one filled with nyjer and the other with safflower. But this time it wasn’t our usual guests coming in for a snack. We glanced outside, then went out of the house, to witness at least 50 birds swooping back and forth in the backyard. Tree Swallows and Barn Swallows were having a feast—and a couple of Chimney Swifts had tagged along, too.

Small insects were hatching from the lawn. We could see the swarm coming out of the ground and into the air. We saw a dragonfly feasting on them ow to the ground, and I hope it didn’t end up part of the feast itself.

I have no idea what type of insect was swarming. They seemed smaller than a house fly, but we couldn’t make them out and we did not want to disturb the birds by going closer. Do any of you know what these insects might be?

The feast lasted for a good 20 or 30 minutes. It seemed that the swallows knew exactly where to be at the right time. We are looking forward to this experience again, should this be an annual spectacle.

-- 

The Gift: A Personal Story

By Joy Klumpp, Certified Texas Master Naturalist

September 4th is the anniversary of my mom’s death. It is not the anniversary per se that is difficult for me to deal with; it’s every single day of the year that I feel her absence. So while the date is a milestone, it is just another day that I live my life without my mom. Every day feels much smaller because my mother is no longer in my life.  

While my mom was sick, she recommended a book to me: “Wesley the Owl” by Stacie O'Brien. I devoured it. It pulled at my heart strings and the very core of who I have always felt I am, or perhaps always desired to be. I feel awe when I read stories that are beyond comprehension—when humans and animals sync in such a way that I am left wondering how anyone could question the existence of God. I'm amazed at how a lucky few can unite with the spirits of animals and have a connection beyond anything humankind can understand.

This book sparked my passion for owls. I started learning what I could about the elusive birds. I listened to their calls for hours, learning how to distinguish the different species within the Texas area. I focused on the Barred Owl. It has an amazing call. I don’t know why I am so fascinated by this particular owl, because so many others are equally amazing, but there is just something in the way the Barred Owl communicates that stirs something inside me.

I had only seen one owl in the wild in my life: a Western Screech-Owl which just happened to be hanging out in my backyard one day. I’ve heard screech-owls and the Great Horned Owl, but I don’t get Barred Owls in my area of Houston. My encounters with owls for the most part have been auditory.

I felt pretty disappointed that I had yet to see a Great Horned Owl or Barred Owl. I feel silly for admitting this, but I remember praying that I would get to see one. It wasn’t one of those prayers I was thoroughly invested in. It was just a little conversation between me and God where I just expressed my desire to get to see one sometime.  It seems so silly and trivial, but maybe it was because I knew my mom’s anniversary was approaching and I thought that perhaps seeing one would reunite me with my mom in some small way since, she was instrumental in fueling the fire in me for owls.

I planned a kayaking trip with a friend for September 4th, 2016 because I didn’t want to sit around the house. We had been kayaking only for a few hours when it began to rain. It was a serene, calming rain, and it occurred for what seemed like only a few moments.  Then, as the rain began to dissipate, I heard it. It felt like I had tuned in to the middle of a conversation. I heard the final sentence draw to a close and caught the Barred Owl's last remark. And that is when I set eyes on the most beautiful bird ever. It perched there, its eyes locked on to me, motionless. I almost cried.

I realize some people will read this and say, “This woman is off her rocker!” But sometimes we are given experiences in life when we most need them. And I was given a gift.