The wind sighs through the bare branches and far below, a car passes on the tiny ribbon road, slushing through old snow. The bald eagle parent pays no attention. She (or he, hard to tell) slowly rises to a standing position in the gigantic old nest. She stretches her neck slowly and shifts her weight carefully from one foot to the other. She's been sitting for hours. As she moves, three off-white eggs appear beneath her breast and belly.
It seems early for birds to be nesting - but I think I say that every year. Tiny Anna's hummingbirds are plugged into golf-ball size nests while winter still sends sleet and temps in the high 30s. On the other end of the size spectrum, bald eagles are setting clutches of eggs, sheltering them from the snow in some parts of the country. We humans worry, but that's because we've just recently started paying attention. These birds have been successfully nesting in February for thousands of years.
I have mentioned the many 'cams' set up to observe nesting behavior. The cams are set up before the birds arrive, and the birds aren't even aware of the 'eye' watching them as they go about their daily routines.
Outside Decorah, Iowa, a bald eagle pair have returned to their high nest once again. They successfully raised three eaglets last year. If you're interested, go to "Decorah Eagle Cam" on Google or such, and there you are. An eye into the day-to-day lives of the adult pair as they prepare for three more youngsters.
Right now, as I mentioned, the eagle is standing, stretching stiff muscles. Snow can be seen on the ground far below her. The nest is probably six to seven feet across, added to and repaired each year. In the center is a deep depression, lined with soft grasses and any fur or hair the pair could find. Horse hair is a favorite. I used to leave the mane and tail trimmings from my horses in the field for the birds to use. It would all disappear in the spring.
Her feet are the size of an average woman's hands. They are bone, sinew, muscle and talon. They are strong enough to grab and lift a lamb, strong enough to tear hide. Yet these feet are now softly and carefully placed on each side of her eggs, which are lined up lengthwise under her. She bends, tilts her head to the side and with a beak capable of tearing meat from an elk carcass, oh, so gently turns each egg. Each egg takes three or four soft pushes in order to get it in just the position that satisfies her. She then very slowly and precisely lowers her body and shifts side to side several times until she is firmly set into the nest. Then, with her powerful beak, she tucks grasses and twigs around her body, just as you would tuck a blanket around a child.
Her mate will return soon with a gift of food. They will greet each other with high-pitched rapid calls and then switch places. The egg routine will be repeated by the male while the female stretches, flies and does whatever else adult eagles do for a few hours.
I minimize the eagle cam on my work computer, but leave the sound on low. The wind is a constant; songbirds can be heard in neighboring trees. When I hear the high-pitched 'kuk-kuk-kuk-' of the returning eagle, I'm a voyeur once again.
In our stressful and crazy world, there is something deeply reassuring about this ancient and timeless ritual.
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