A Blessing of Kestrel

This photo is not by me; nor is it my kestrel. It's by Jiri Bohdal from www.naturfoto.cz. And in fact, it's a Eurasian kestrel. My bad.


Here's the American kestrel. Again, not "my" kestrel nor my photo. Pinched from animal.discovery.com. Thanks, Science Chimp!

I have a few online friends (sounds dodgy, doesn't it?) who get to be up close and personal with some pretty fantastic birds regularly. Susan works at a raptor rehab centre in Cincinnati, while Julie runs her own informal avian (and occasionally chiropteran) spa on her farm. Reading their accounts, both heartwarming and heartbreaking, of life with these creatures has been a joy these past few years, and I am looking forward to hearing more of their stories when we actually meet at the New River Birding and Nature Festival next month.

That being said, I've always been a little jealous of them. Hanging out with a female turkey vulture named Earl and a maniacal-looking screech-owl named Thirteen, helping cranky concussed hummingbirds to fly again or getting up close and personal with Eastern bluebirds who line up for food at the feeder --- I could only hope for experiences like these. Don't get me wrong; I'm very grateful for the 46 species that the eastern flyway has sent into our yard over the last few years. In terms of recent new species, we've had a rough-legged hawk fly overhead, a song sparrow show up intermittently throughout the winter, and last week a horde of American tree sparrows.

But the avian joy of my life these days is at work, right outside my window, a female kestrel who perches in the dying trees and hydro lines above the railroad tracks. I first noticed a kestrel here around the same time last year. She'd sit patiently (except for the compulsive dipping of her tail) until she saw something tasty in the undergrowth, then fly down to grab it and return to the tree to eat. I sometimes enjoyed my coffee watching her enjoy her rat. She didn't seem to stay around the whole summer; perhaps this was just a way-station, as our back yard seems to be for so many birds.

And now another kestrel, perhaps her daughter, is back. Something drew me to the window a couple weeks ago, and there she was, dipping tail and all. She is a little duller in colour than last year's beauty, and she's even more patient. More cooperative too, being content to get quite close to the windows, even as I stand there and say, "hello sweetheart." I always seem to know when she's around, and while I know this is just because I've observed her behavior enough to discern patterns, I'm beginning to think that I have a connection with her. When I told my better-connected bird friends that I think I understood, ever so slightly, what they feel when they are with "their" birds, one of them replied, "What a blessing she is to you."

Blessing. According to Oxford, gift of God, nature, etc., thing one is glad of. Yeah, that fits. And not just for me, as it turns out. A few days after she first showed up, the rest of staff were in a training session while another colleague and I worked on a deadline and kept our eye on the kestrel. She flew down to the brush by the railroad tracks and then sailed up, up, with a snake in her beak. Then she settled down on a rooftop patio rail to eat. Unable to contain myself, I ran into the meeting room yelling, "our kestrel is back and she's eating a snake!"

I've never before seen my colleagues move so quickly or efficiently. They all leaped from their seats and ran as fast as they could back to my cubicle. The conversation that ensued was hysterical:

"What's a kestrel?"
"If she's that excited it must be a bird."
"Who cares? It's EATING A SNAKE!"

They crowded into the two cubicles with a view, pushing each other out of the way. One grew faint, gripped the wall and slunk out of sight when the snake started to go down the kestrel's throat, but otherwise everyone was amazed by this fierce, beautiful little creature who lives next door to us. And the fact that I could share this with them, see them so transported with delight, was another blessing.

I haven't seen the kestrel for a few days. I'd like to think that she's had her fill from our railway buffet and has moved on. I don't like to think that anything might have happened to her, but I know that is a part of what happens to the birds and animals we love, because they are wild and that is the way of the wild. We just watch them and help them when we can; we share their joy with others who might not otherwise have known it, and hope that they make it to the next stage of their journey.

And that's a blessing.