A rare crepuscular ghost of a bird floats over our winter grasslands. When a friend reported seeing several of them in a restored prairie on private land west of town, I decided to visit at dusk. I followed her directions and ended up driving down a dusty county road that ended at a T intersection. Several hundred acres of prairie stretched over rolling land in front of me. I scanned the prairie with my binoculars and noticed a plume of dust off in the distance. I watched the car come down the road, slow down, and stop beside me. Two bright-eyed teenage boys peered out the window and asked if I was looking for Short-eared Owls. I said "yes," and they asked if they could join me. We stood side-by-side and watched the fading light settle over the prairie. Within a few minutes, a tawny, mothlike bird appeared in the distance and started hovering over the grass a few hundred yards away. Soon after, a second owl appeared. Then, the show began.
We heard the owls make loud barking calls and watched as they chased each other over the prairie and swooped past each other with outstretched talons. After one particularly close call, one of the owls flew right up to us and landed on the wire over our heads. She sat there, rapidly swiveling her head back and forth, looking in every direction. I got the impression that she was afraid of the other owl, and she perched near us to minimize the threat.
After a few minutes, she appeared to become calm, occasionally glancing at us. When she decided to leave, she dropped from the wire, floated past us, and seamlessly merged with the prairie. I glanced at the boys as she floated away and recognized awe in their expressions as they watched the owl fade into darkness.
This close encounter with beautiful and fascinating grassland owls prompted me to visit the Dixon Waterfowl Refuge to try to see more owls. I arrived in mid-afternoon. It was 22 degrees and windy. I had the place to myself. I often reflect on the fact that I am usually alone in nature. Where is everyone? It is tempting to blame the cold weather for my solitary pursuits, but I have been on this same trail on a Saturday in the spring when it is sunny and 70 degrees, and I still do not see other people.
At times like these, a sense of guilt creeps into my consciousness. Why do I feel compelled to go birding? Am I running away from something or toward something? Part of why I go birding is that nature makes sense to me. I feel comfortable when I am in nature, where I experience a subtle and ineffable joy.
Birding is a release from the work week, a chance to go below the surface level of life, and to be intentional about having the kind of experiences that light me up. Birding helps me to focus on beauty and gives me a sense of purpose, and something to believe in that is bigger than myself.
Rumi offers this advice on letting beauty guide us.
"Let the beauty we love be what we do. There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground."
Hundreds of ways for us to find meaning, joy, and connection.
I am diversifying my search for meaning by learning to connect with people the way I connect with birds. I started a dinner group dubbed The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen for a small group of my guy friends. We come together to share food and to be with each other.
I perceive in my friends the same beauty I see in birds. The light that highlights the iridescent beauty of a warbler also highlights the beauty in my friends. A shining feather, a gesture of care, wings extended, arms extended, feathers holding the wind, arms holding each other, a handshake and a hug, beauty unbound.
Now that I am more in touch with my inner life, I can see my friends' vulnerability, care, love, generosity, and insecurities. I try to tell them, in my introverted way, that I see them and that we are all extraordinary. They get it. A few kind words are all it takes to help someone feel seen. We have created a safe space illuminated by the soft evening light. It is healing for all of us.
When we spend quality time together, we learn about the details of our lives, and it quickly becomes apparent that we exist in a gray zone between wellness and illness. Our lives are a series of small transitions between the two. I think of birds in the same way. The little secret spots that birds inhabit are a gray zone in the landscape—caught between hard highways, barren fields, and droning barges on the river. A liminal space where life exists and thrives on the margins. It is a space that helps you work things out in the margins of your mind.
Observe the birds, think positive thoughts, embrace the surreal experience as a waking dream, and start to forge new neural pathways in your mind. Little tributaries of hope and well-being that will shift your thinking and, over time, your way of being in the world. Birding is a lifeboat in tumultuous times.
I want to float like a Short-eared owl over these new tributaries and traverse my mind with elegance and grace. I long to embrace the tension that creates beauty, to walk the edge where light, shadow, wind, and wings run through my heart. A liminal space for misfits is where I belong.
I step out of the car, and the prairie wind cuts through my clothing, making me shudder. I quickly put on my heavy parka and set off down the two-mile loop trail through the prairie. About a mile down the path, I stop and walk out into head-high prairie grass. I am in a prairie sea, watching grassy waves sweep across the landscape. Northern Harriers ride the wind. I watched one fly off to my left, and I noticed movement in the grass.
Then, I saw the prairie take flight. A tawny streak rose with legs dangling, caught the wind, and became grace in motion. Piercing yellow eyes set against jet-black feathers fixed their gaze on me and began to float in my direction. Three hundred yards turned into one hundred yards, and before I knew it, I was face to face with a Short-eared Owl. She silently swept over me. I was thrilled. I hoped for a close encounter but never expected the distance between us to shrink to 6 feet. What a rush! I was no longer questioning my decision to hike in the prairie.
I turned and watched her go; she seemed curious about me and unconcerned about my presence. She was busy hunting. She drifted along the marsh's edge and circled over the open prairie. Her long brownish-orange wings perfectly matched the color of the fall prairie grass. She would fade into the background as she banked and turned just over the top of the prairie. Bird and prairie were one. She was a master of the air; her speed, grace, and agility were mesmerizing. She resembled a moth with her buoyant flight. She would transition from cruising and scanning to diving down into the prairie feet first in a split second.
She led with her impressive talons when diving. She dove at least ten times as I watched, and she usually popped up a few seconds later and continued hunting. The small rodents she was after seemed to elude her. She flew over the prairie in random circular patterns interspersed with straight flights. I stood still and watched, and she repeatedly flew past me at close range, but never as close as the first time.
After 30 minutes, she disappeared in the distance. As my attention returned to my body, I realized I was shivering and decided to start walking back to the trailhead. I felt calm, at ease, and deeply satisfied. Birdwatching is a way to surrender to the flow of life, to let go, and to be open to what comes. To have the birds lift you up and set you on your path.
Attuning to birds and nature attunes you to your inner world and the lives of others. Henry David Thoreau said, "One should be always on the train of one's own deepest nature, for it is the fearless living out of your own essential nature that connects you to the divine."
“they were wrong.
this pain, this heartache,
these harmful habits,
they do not last forever
why? because the heart
is made of water and
the mind is made of fire-
the essence of both is change
the will to heal can remove
the deepest stains on our spirit”
Yung Pueblo
Abba Lot went to see Abba Joseph and said to him, “Abba, as far as I can, I tend to my little office, I fast a little, I pray and meditate, I live in peace, and as far as I can, I purify my thoughts. What else can I do?” Then the old man stood up and stretched his hands towards heaven. His fingers became like ten lamps of fire, and he said to him, “If you will, you can become all flame.”
The Sayings of the Desert Fathers
Thank you for sharing your awesome encounter with these owls. I particularly liked how you link being in nature with strengthening human connections. Beautiful writing.
An extraordinary experience, stunning photographs and a wonderful ‘essay’. Thanks so much. 🤗🤗