Some years ago -- and I can't believe I didn't capture it here -- either Mary or I heard this odd whistling whooshing sound coming from our backyard. We looked out to see what it was and discovered -- baby owls, three or four of them, up in a tree branch outside our bedroom window. We went upstairs to get closer to us and looked up at them. They looked down at us. When we moved their heads moved in unison to track us. It was magical.
The other night when I took the visiting Mike White out to Sidetrack where we enjoyed a nice visit with Rod, who was hosting from behind the bar, Mary and Graham once more heard the sound of baby owls and then found them with a flashlight, up in a tree. I am sad to have missed it. Mary took a picture but they are far enough away and it was dark enough that it's hard to see them. And it would be just a picture anyway.
This morning sitting out here on the porch, where I take my breakfast in the warm months as weather permits, I saw an owl fly from tree to tree. Not a rare sighting to be honest. Of course there had to be a dear too, likely having inspected our compost pile to see what kind of edible treat we had thrown out their for his delectation. I can hear lots of birds.
I understand NIMBYs. Our backyard is a magical place, and one becomes accustomed to the specific magic of specific places. But the correlation between population density and productivity is more magical yet, if less self-evident and more complicated to create. If you want more owls and birds you can always move further out, towards the Frontier, as Americans always have. You can move to Vermont, for example, which is hemorrhaging people. Or West Virginia.
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