Mama woodpecker teaching baby how to drum.
Bald Eagle before the tornado
Spring time in Golden Gate Park
Tiptoe through the tide pool
Brown pelican in the Pacific
My St. Thomas snowy. Old faithful, she was sitting in the same tree.
Carolyn: Whoa, I thought that was a real bird for a second.
John: It’s a kite.
C: I’d say it’s more of a falcon.
C: … Because a kite is also a type of bird
J: … I don’t like the new you.
My first Snowy Owl.
While we’ve been having an irruption year in Ontario, I have been actively hunting for an owl since December. I was getting increasingly frustrated and disappointed, but also worried I wouldn’t see one at all this year. It was even on my list of goals for the year.
I was so convinced I’d see one in Windsor this weekend. I drove slowly the entire way there looking left and right constantly (and occasionally at the road). I even stopped and turned around at one point, only to be fooled by a plastic bag in a tree. On the way home I knew I was going to stop at the St. Thomas airport. As I was approaching, I saw something white in a tree in a distant field. I pulled off at the next road, whipped out my binoculars and camera. I was still to far to tell for certain what it was, so I doubled back, parked in a trucking lot, and ran through their ice-covered field.
I started to cry when I knew it was a Snowy.
Since my grandfather died, I’ve gotten a few Snowy Owl items from him. First was a birthday card he had picked out. For my graduation, my grandmother gave me a beautiful Snowy figurine that my grandfather had bought and loved. Chasing this Snowy Owl was so important to me as it has become a symbol of him.
Finding it was the singular happiest moment of my life.