In the spring of this year I
heard some strange sounds in the woods at night. They began at dusk and continued into dawn —
long, hoarse screeching sounds in the deeper woods sounding like distress
coming from low in the trees. It
was a sound I hadn't heard before.
So one evening when the sound began again I grabbed a flashlight and
softly walked into the woods in pursuit of the source of these disturbing
calls. After walking as quietly as
I could over leaves and twigs that crunched too loudly underfoot I finally saw
the faint outlines of a large bird of pray, two of them in fact, flapping on
the ground around the hollowed stump of an old tree, their apparent home. On closer inspection I saw that they
were juvenile Barred Owls flapping about on the ground, awaking for the
evening, stretching their wings and their vocal chords. And in the following weeks I was
treated to daily sights and sounds of these two siblings as they grew up around
me and became accustomed to my presence.
I awoke in the mornings as they screeched back and forth to each other
in the branches over my tent. In
the evenings they flew within arms reach as I worked in the kitchen, and one of
them sat on a limb only feet away from me as I brushed my teeth.
"How are you doing?" I
asked. "You sure are growing
up big and strong! Gonna catch
some mice tonight?"
She just eyed me quizzically,
quietly observing my strange sounds and activities.
Will she be hooting and hollering along with the adults by winter? I wondered.
Sometimes I feel so discouraged
with my writing, feeling so far afield of fabricating anything useful for
publication to the world, and far from completing my home. My savings have dwindled. I'm dipping into retirement funds.
I muddle along, working profusely
at building up the structures I need for this new life of mine, watching progress
occur too slowly to see with eyes of my own....
then I hear the juvenile owls
screeching, endless, into the summer nights, and in the daytime, too, ardently
working to fine-tune their skills for winter when they'll need to rely on them,
and only them, for survival.
Mid-way into summer I began to
hear a small musical lilt towards the end of their scratchy recordings, like
they might be starting to get the hang of mature vocalization,
and I said They're gonna get it!
They're gonna get the hang of that before long!
And now, as summer wanes into
early autumn and coolness chills the air, I realize I haven't heard from the
juveniles for awhile. Maybe they've moved on, I've wondered. Then better thoughts arise: They're
here, only grown, and their sounds now blend with all the other adults cooing,
cackling in the trees.
And I say to myself as I continue
my work, and work, and my endless practice: I'm gonna get it. Yes, I'm gonna get the hang of this
before long, too!
