The eagles have landed
“Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts. There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature – the assurance that dawn comes after night, and spring after winter.”
― Rachel Carson, Silent Spring
“Jean! I saw 30 eagles yesterday near the creek opening!” Our neighbor Rob’s exclamation to me in December, while I was waiting in a long pre-holiday line at the post office, instantly transformed my mood from bored impatience to excited anticipation.
When I got home, I immediately announced to my startled husband, Steve, “We’ve got to take the canoe out on the river! Rob saw 30 eagles yesterday!” Unfortunately, when we checked the forest preserve boat launch where we put our canoe in the water we found a gate blocking the road bearing a small sign that read, “Closed for the season” – not unreasonable, considering there was at least ten feet of ice hugging the shore. Despite this setback, we walked through a bone-chilling breeze across the nearby bike-trail bridge to see if we could spy any eagles upstream from there. No luck. While we missed seeing the large group of bald eagles, the same day we did see two adult eagles roosting along the river, as well as an immature one soaring above. The excursion confirmed: the wintering bald eagles are here!
Seeing bald eagles in the area has been one of the great joys for me and Steve since we moved to West Dundee, Illinois, nine years ago. A small town along the Fox River, West Dundee is a 30-minute drive from O’Hare airport and 40 miles from Chicago. To see these magnificent birds on the fringes of a huge metropolitan area is a special treat we did not expect when we came here. It turns out, Illinois boasts more resident bald eagles in the winter months than any other state in the lower 48. Some breeding pairs nest in Illinois, but they are here in much larger numbers when it turns cold. The vast majority are along the shores of the Mississippi River, but some hang around smaller rivers, including the Fox. The birds that nest farther north head south to find open water to catch fish, their main source of sustenance.
I felt a special urgency to see the congregating eagles that day. My love of the natural world – and birds in particular – is a lifelong passion, born in me as a child who spent countless hours exploring the large wooded area at the end of our dead-end street in Connecticut. But in recent months, as the global pandemic has raged on and on, that love has felt more like a critical need. I am not alone. Aside from my own observation of larger-than-usual numbers of cars parked at local forest preserves, a recently published study by researchers at the University of Vermont found most regular park users were increasing their visits and better than 25 percent of visitors were using local parks for the first time.
At the opening of this post, I quote Rachel Carson from her groundbreaking book, Silent Spring. Nature gives us a precious sense of continuity. When I see the wintering eagle visitors return to the Fox in December, I feel that all hope is not lost for our world.
In this blog, I will share some of my experiences in nature, mostly from my own yard, neighborhood and local parks and preserves; the inspired words of poets and some of our best nonfiction nature writers, past and present; as well as photos showing my own views and others’ perspectives. My wish is to inspire others to get outside and experience the beauty of the earth. It’s there, if you but take the time to look, smell and listen. Not long ago my dear Aunt Betty, who lives in Manhattan, had a front-row seat observing a red-tailed hawk devour its prey in Central Park and, on another day, saw a spectacular sunset from a park bench.
For more inspiration, here’s a poem by Wendell Berry, “The Peace of Wild Things,” and a photo I recently took at our favorite local park by the river, just a few blocks from our house.
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
