May 4, 2019 - 11:00 AM - 1:50 PM
Let’s see if I can describe what I saw.
It’s 86 degrees and sunny. It feels like summer. Three chicks sit between Mama Yellow-Crowned Night Heron’s open wings. I wonder about the 4th chick. We know that the 5th fell.
Her wings are open to allow heat to circulate across her body and sweep away the excess heat. The stance also shades the chicks. But, that is not enough. They, Mama and chicks, are gular fluttering. “The bird opens its mouth and ‘flutters’ its neck muscles, promoting heat loss (think of it as a version of panting) (Audubon).”
Mama YCNH in the second
nest sits low, almost hovering, fidgeting and adjusting the new hatchlings with her beak.
Life goes on.
Then, I hear a loud squawk (not the yup-sound in courting), a cacophony from multiple night-herons. I glance up and see a Red-Shouldered Hawk curve soar and land in an adjacent Slash Pine.
My first thought is another hardship so soon? The chick just fell a few days ago. But you and I know that life is as it is in all its impermanence.
A Red-Shouldered Hawk nest is within a half mile of these nests. I thought of those hungry chicks. I photograph the chicks most days, too. Here they are, as well as a photo of one of its parents.
I know that there is a survival similarity. Feeding young, furthering a species. YCNHs catch young fiddler crabs in the salt marsh to feed their young. RSHs catch small mammals.
I feel the tension.
Mama with the oldest chicks takes an aggressive, protective pose.
The third pair fly off in different directions to different trees. This is the female. She has a full view of the nest they are building. It's possible that there are eggs in it.
Her partner joins her and they wait.
And then, a Cardinal
appears and chirps what sounds like a warning alarm. Non-stop until the hawk flies off. I suspect from former visits that this Cardinal has a nest nearby. I often hear peeps of young.
Two Fish Crow appear as
well as a Bluejay. I wonder if their presence is like when problems arise,
helpers step forth. It feels like a brilliant communication network. You know, that "bird-brain" euphemism does not describe an avian's brain (Genius of Birds, Jennifer Ackerman). Birds are smart. Genius smart.
After another 10 minutes,
Mama with the oldest chicks relaxes. I notice that her long top feathers drop down after the hawk leaves.
A chick pops up with what feels like a what-was-that curiosity.
A chick pops up with what feels like a what-was-that curiosity.
The third pair stay away and within view of the nest for over an
hour and a half. I decide to stay until the third pair return to the nest. I relax in meditation. Occasionally I notice that even though I'm distracted by perspiration dripping down my sides, I come back to my softened gaze at the pair.
He seems to be looking out. Maybe for the hawk.
Three times he displays. She returns the last display.
Then he walks over to her and touches her body with his beak as if to say, "it's okay."
He launches into flight and lands below the nest and remains there for about 10 minutes. I imagine it might be like after a scare when someone checks things out before others return.
As I sat waiting and watching, I
realized how much patience and practice it takes to calm an upset. I study and practice meditation alone and with a
community of other meditators. As I watched, I thought of the gathering of
Cardinal, Corvid, Gnat-catchers (I heard their continuous chirps, though could
not see them), and YC night-herons in the way I think of the caring support of my
community.
