It was cloudy when I went to check on the scrub jays today,
cloudy but warm. I wore a hooded
sweatshirt that I thought might be too much, but I soon forgot about the
weather at all and concentrated only on getting a picture of a scrub jay in the
grass. I had pictures of them in the
trees, backlit by the sun in some pictures, framed by still winter barren
branches in others.
But I wanted a picture of them hopping through the grass and
I knew from my hike the other day where to find them.
There was a woman in front of me, walking her dog, and I
tried to stay far behind her, for two reasons.
I didn’t want to intrude on her space and I figured the dog was most
likely scaring the scrub jays away.
And for a while that seemed the case.
I didn’t see one scrub jay.
I didn’t hear them either, not even in the distance.
So I turned around.
And there they were of course, behind me the whole time,
trailing after me, hopping after me from tree to tree.
I started taking pictures even though they were still in the
trees and the gray sky was a lousy backdrop.
But a second later, one hopped to the ground and I followed, crouching
low to get its picture.
I was thrilled, excited to get the shots I had been looking
for. When I was finished, I hopped back
up and hurried off so as not to catch up with the dog walker as she looped
around.
Gray skies, but great pictures.
I was still a distance away from the car, though, when it began
to rain.
“No,” I groaned.
The weather report had said nothing about rain, only clouds.
And this was not a light drizzle.
Big fat raindrops fell from the sky. It was a deluge and I tried frantically to
hide my camera under my sweatshirt as the wet sand around me threatened to
swallow my sneakers with each step I took.
I made it back to the car and as the rain let up, I decided
to head to the Wetlands.
I didn’t expect to see anything new today or particularly
interesting, not with the weather acting up.
The lighting would be horrible, colors muted.
I drove the car around the short loop and almost immediately
slammed on my brakes when I saw a Great Blue Heron, somewhat hidden by the reeds,
but holding something very large and with great big feet in its mouth.
“What is that?”
Yeah, I talk to myself in the car.
As I zoomed in with the camera, I couldn’t quite make out
what sort of animal the heron had caught.
I was hoping for an alligator. A
woman had recently posted a picture online, taken at the Wetlands, of a Great
Blue Heron with a baby alligator in its mouth.
I was hoping for that kind of luck.
But the big long tail and wet fur revealed the mysterious creature
to be a drowned rat.
I say drowned because I watched the heron hold it underwater
until it was dead.
And then I watched the heron swallow it whole.
It was all a little disturbing.
Maybe it was the weather, but all the birds seemed out of
sorts this morning.
Three Little Blue Herons, feathers ruffled, chased each
other along the water and under several heron nests.
But I was most troubled by the juvenile Great Blue Heron,
alone its nest, squawking and pacing and flapping its wings.
A nearby nest holds two heron siblings, but this heron has
always been the only child and I have wondered if he ever gets lonely.
This morning, he was making such a fuss, I was growing
anxious.
The noises he was making, I had heard him and other herons
make before. It’s a sound of hunger, of
impatience, of demand. It’s how they
talk to their mothers.
But the mother was nowhere to be seen.
As the heron stalked the nest and angrily flapped his wings,
I wondered if this was it.
Was this the moment?
The mother was no longer bringing it food.
It was hungry and if it wanted to eat, it would have to fly.
Was this the moment when the heron would finally leave the
nest?
I imagined the heron in physical pain, not just from being
hungry, but from having to make that decision.
Was it time to leave?
Was I strong enough to fly?
Can I do this on my own?
I drove away before he made his decision. We’ll see where he’s at tomorrow.
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