Each year when the weather warms, osprey return to the bluffs overlooking the waters of Escambia Bay in Northwest Florida — as they do all across the Gulf Coast. They come back from their wintering stations in the Caribbean and in Central and South America — some from as far away as the northern reaches of the Amazon.
Osprey, who form long-term bonds with their mates, part ways in the fall to travel south, but meet up again each spring at their determined nesting site. The big majority find their nests (called an eyrie) largely intact from the previous year. Because they continually add to their eyrie, in time they tend to become large and impressive structures, some reaching as much as six feet across and ten to twelve feet deep.
Osprey almost exclusively eat fish, hovering high overhead then sharply plunging down with astonishing speed several feet into the water to grab their quarry. They may catch six or more fish a day to feed themselves and their family, and always carry their catch head forward to maximize aerodynamics. The fish they are commonly seen bringing in from the bay can be surprisingly large.
Osprey are certainly wonderful to watch. It is hard to escape the feeling, though, that there is more here for us to see. Is there something they can teach us about ourselves?
Catching an occasional glimpse, it is easy to be left only with the impression of graceful flight, superb hunting skills, and impressive nests. But then you would miss what is most magnificent about them — the quiet work they carry out faithfully, though rarely seen, day after day. Sometimes there are no fish to catch. At other times they face peril, hard labor, efforts that come up empty, failure and loss. They continue on nonetheless.
At the base of the bluffs, a pair has been faithfully meeting for several years now at the same tall snag, a dead but sturdy tree near the waterline. The first will appear around the end of March. For several days you will see its constant silhouette as it keeps watch over the southern sky, waiting for that first glimpse to know the two will be reunited once again. Then its mate arrives and they begin their work in earnest. Because their nest is high and directly exposed to the winds and storms off the water, they find nothing left of it from the previous year.
Since each spring they must begin again with nothing, their eyrie never looks large or impressive. On the contrary, it tends to look a bit shaggy and ragged. Passers-by don’t stop to admire it like they do the enormous ones further inland. But neither do they witness the pair working together to rebuild their entire nest every spring, or after yet another fierce summer storm. No doubt, many have looked at it and never imagined that a pair of osprey focus their lives around that spot. Those two — they are favorites of mine. They live right on the edge where they endure the worst. Such exposure exacts a price, but they remain.
A quarter mile inland a tall snag recently stood on the banks of a creek right where it flows into the bayou. A single narrow limb jutted out near the top at about a 15 degree angle. At times I had thought how it would make a great location for an osprey nest if only it had just one additional branch in just the right place to help support it.
One day, to my surprise, an osprey arrived and began constructing a nest there, or at least tried to. I think it was most likely a young male, inexperienced in such affairs, possibly working on a nest for his first family. The fact that there had been no eyrie there in past years made me think he was single at the time, hoping that his diligent work would draw the attention of a mate. He worked two or three days before giving up — there just wasn’t enough there to hold the branches and twigs that he tried to balance on the single limb the tree had to offer.
For weeks after the effort was abandoned, several sticks and branches continued to hang from the single limb where it met the body of the tree. The old snag must have been quite deteriorated because it fell not long after, maybe during one of our frequent thunderstorms — another good reason for the osprey to have moved on. I can’t help but remember him with special affection. None of his hard work was in vain. He came up short, but learned. His efforts were in no way insufficient.
Since their neighborhoods overlap my own, and I see them coming and going, it is hard not to think about how their daily adventures mirror much in my own life, and in the lives of those I know. We humans also have our own daily struggles to cope with. We live through disappointment and loss. Our jobs are often difficult. We cope with illness, manage one problem after another, face loneliness, take care of our families, stumble and make mistakes. We get up and begin again.
We endure our own storms too. After years of working as a first responder, I suffered a severe injury to my right arm restraining a patient suffering from methamphetamine-induced psychosis. I had been in near identical situations countless times, but on this occasion things just got out of hand. The surgery seemed to go well, but it became infected. I had two more surgeries and was getting several antibiotics by IV. I wasn’t the best patient and one day my doctor walked in frustrated and angry —she said, “I’m trying to save your arm, I’m trying to save your life!” I responded with anger of my own. My nurse intervened. After a minute we both regrouped and got back to the business of getting me well.
Eventually I was discharged to return home with a long list of medical instructions. The hospital was 59 miles from where I lived, but I made them believe I had a ride waiting for me. I took the elevator to the first floor and drove myself home. After a few more weeks of IV antibiotics I gratefully pulled out the mid-line used to infuse the meds and took stock of the situation. My arm would never be as good as new. There was a chunk of it missing and functions it would not perform as well as it once could. Another scar to prove I was here.
We see so much of our world from a distance: those osprey, people we know little of, events unfolding around us. From such a perspective it is easy to grant a good bit of grace. Maybe it’s time we view ourselves and the efforts we make through the same lens. We should not be surprised if we see quiet dignity and strength we have overlooked. We may find that when we grant ourselves such grace, we can also extend it to others. They need it too.
We leave our own twigs hanging from solitary branches. We spend anxious days watching for what may not come. We try our best, and fail. Sometimes we feel unseen, unsuccessful, exhausted, defeated. We have our scars, and our efforts may seem a bit ragged. But we learn, and grow, and continue on in spite of it all. We do our best to take care of what is ours.
Our efforts do not always hold, but they are not wasted. We all carry our own regrets, but we are not disqualified. Our journey may have brought us here by a difficult and circuitous route, but we have not arrived too late. The world is a better place because we are here.
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