Today our resident barred owl landed on the bare maple outside my west window, her wings catching my eye with a whirl of tan and white stripes. I froze so as not to alarm her, then crept to the window with my phone, hiding behind the huge tv so she couldn’t see me. She hates to be observed. Another time she slammed onto a hapless mouse on the walkway outside just as I walked into the room to witness it.
The owl and I have tolerated each other for thirty years, ever since we built our house on top of a hill in her forest at Tara Lane. The first time I saw her was because of her strange call, like she was sucking in sound instead of hooting it out. She was clinging to the rope securing our hammock. We stared at each other for a long time, then I went inside. Clearly, this was her space. We would hear her calling to her mate with strange garglings in the twenty plus acres behind us, spreading out to the big green swamp on Sunset.
One halcyon summer day I sat on the porch of my pumphouse in the woods next to our wetland road, lined with salal and bracken then forest on either side. Everything was quiet except for the buzzing of bugs when Tara, the barred owl, flew through along the mossy roadway three feet above the ground, absolutely silent, her wings spread straight out, a gliding plane searching for food.
Whenever spring comes and I see the owl, I remember a pair of robins who labored beyond strength and reason to build a sloppy nest on a shelf outside my living room window. We watched them every day as they to and fro-ed endlessly, first building their nest, then laying eggs, incubating them, each devotedly taking turns to relieve the spouse, then endlessly feeding their squawking child, the sole survivor.
One day I was walking into my living room when there was a sudden kerfuffle from the robin’s nest. I realized the fledgling was about to launch. The messy little robin, down sticking from between his new feathers, stepped to the edge of the nest, lifted his wings, became airborne, then
WHAM!
The baby only got about two feeble attempts to flap his wings as he fell to earth but was snatched mid air by stealth owl Tara, who had been lurking behind the trunk of the big white fir, eavesdropping, all along. Good old mother nature.
The robins were shocked. They had no idea what had happened. Their baby had completely disappeared. Now you see it now you don’t. They squawked around for a while but what are they going to do?
Luckily, they got over it fairly quickly but nobody ever used that nest again.
