Lost

Recently, in another part of the county, a male sandhill crane began attacking cars stopped at an intersection, viewing them as a threat to a nearby nest and the two eggs there.  Responding to complaints, wildlife officials moved the nest to the other side of the retention pond.  As of today, the would-be parents have not rediscovered their eggs.  They had viewed humans as a threat to their eggs—and, as it turns out, they were right.

Spring is the time for new life.  In the past weeks, I have watched little swan babies enter this world and I am currently watching the pair of hawks at Hope who are building a nest.  I am well aware that if I get too close to the nest, I might have a screaming hawk grabbing at my hair, so I am careful.  But I love that every day now I get to come to Hope and see the two hawks; the female near the nest today, the male patrolling the trees.

It is a comfort to know what to expect, to know that the hawks will be there, that when I come, about an hour after sunrise, there will be cardinals.  There are always cardinals.  They’re as plentiful as the mourning dove and mockingbird.  I know now that the flowers I had seen last summer are beginning to reappear and it’s like seeing old friends again.

I was looking through the journal I kept many years ago when I went on an Alaskan cruise.  In preparation for whale sightings, I attended a lecture on whales and the woman speaker told us that whales can die of loneliness. 

It is a sobering thought to think that the natural world is not simply governed by biological and neurological impulses.  It is sobering to think that wild animals have feelings we normally attribute to humans and sometimes our pets.  It is sobering because if we acknowledge the feelings of wild things, then we have to start treating them as creatures with feelings.

And we should know better than to move a nest.