treehawk

The last time I was in Chestertown was over two years ago and while a fondness for small towns, historical preservation, water, and flavor-filled foods to name a few had always been present, the search for birds wasn't quite what it is today.  I mean, owls, hawks, eagles, ducks, woodpeckers, had always held some sort of sway, but the serenity of morning walks for feathers and framed snapshots hadn't taken such a strong hold.  Now it does any time I take to the road.

The shore has long fascinated me.  The son of a navy man, born along a beach, but afraid of the open sea.  And a bridge crossing so challenging the past 5.5 years triggered anxiety and pay for passage as a passenger in my own vehicle.  Yet four times in the past nine days I conquered the connection.  Originally, friends helped face the fear, and when you have them in between your ears and in your heart the solo roll is never alone.

I was going to be early and a quick glance of the map found a national wildlife refuge barely fifteen minutes farther.  I drove to scout the area and would return to take my break there after my scheduled meeting.

Tundra swans, buffleheads, and ruddy ducks opened the gates.  Over the course of a more thorough search I found at least eight bald eagles and four juveniles.  Turkey vultures circled and perched.  Harriers stalked and scattered our invaders from the north.  Lastly, a turned head over a red-shoulder bid me farewell before taking flight, landing at a distance, and surveying my retreat.

I had found good bbq in Chestertown prior, but having removed pork from my diet, I was glad a recent encounter had brought knowledge of a worthwhile pizza pie.  On the way along the side of the two lane by-way I saw a raptor take flight from afar and land four to five feet from the ground.  I doubled back, hoping it stayed, to see if I could make it out.

I watched, what I believe to be a red-tailed, hop up and around a few branches.  I thought I saw more than one bird between the split trunk but wasn't sure.  A bluejay came close to what I couldn't quite make out and a flash of a wing frightened it off.  For fifteen minutes I watched for more movement.

I wasn't sure if it was fascination or fear, perhaps both, that fueled my hesitation.  There was something more to what I couldn't quite make from my eyes and bins and I had to get closer.  Only this tree seemed to be on private property.  Woody Guthrie would've been pissed.

I crossed the road and squatted in the right of way to get a better angle.  There was definitely a raptor reluctant to release its talons.  Or maybe, what feared me, it was unable to.  There were no signs to return America to its once great state, but as a brown man, you may understand why I did hesitate, to drive down what I thought was a private driveway to seek assistance for our avian friend.

Luckily, the drive was a cut through, and multiple homes lined its sides distant from the tree.  I turned around to get back in the right direction and parked along the edge of a ditch.  Maybe it was this new found love of birds, a resurgence of confidence in my rescue abilities since taking a recert CPR/AED course the week prior, or maybe it was my inner self waiting to erupt in triumphant heroism the likes of which would make Hasselhof and Anderson proud.

It no longer mattered if this was public or private land.  It didn't matter the color of my skin.  They could shoot at will.  I was a birder before I knew it.  I was definitely one at that moment.  And I was prepared to be a birder eternal.

With only my phone in hand, to document my reluctant rescue (or demise) I slowly stalked closer to the tree.  The raptor was holding on perpendicularly.  It was not ordinary.  And as I ventured closer it gave a few wing beats.  I stopped.  It flew.  I snapped a shot of its escape.  At least it was capable and healthy.

In actuality, it was not the tree that its talons had held, but a squirrel.  I came closer to the tree and I could see that it had ceased to be.  Wedged between vines and brush it would not release, and so the raptor would not in turn.  I took a stick, pried it loose and moved it closer to the open in hopes the hawk would return.  Besides, I hadn't earned this meal, it had.  And I wanted pizza.

The last time I was in Chestertown I appreciated its smallness, its history, its proximity to the water, and its flavor, to name a few fondnesses.  But, what I remember most is that I came home with Covid on Halloween weekend.

This time I returned with a story to tell.  And what I'm hoping is a much happier ending.  Oh and pizza.  I also got pizza.

dec seventeen ‘24