When I woke up today, I saw what looked like a juvenile bald eagle or hawk perched on a wire. My sister claimed it was a young owl. At any rate, its identity baffled several of us. It was a poofy ball of feathers, a bird of prey, preening its feathers just like any bird. What struck me was how many bluebirds and sparrows came and sat down next to it, a few feet away.
I was under the impression that songbirds are often preyed upon at gathering places like bird feeders, but these little birds were just ignoring the hulking bird. Even adult hens, when hearing hawk calls, will freeze in place and stare up at the sky with one eye.
Maybe the songbirds know this formidable bird is still immature and incompetent at killing? Maybe the element of surprise has been removed? Do songbirds think they can fly faster than the bird of prey so they’re not fazed?
I wonder if I would know the answer if I lived more in nature, observing it. We tend to think of Native Americans as nature whisperers. We, too, believe we are immersed in nature if we live next to a forest or prairie, but we are comprehending just the bare surface of the animal and plant network. We see a flower’s beauty but have no idea how many different animals visit it in a day, let alone know their names. As a baby plant germinates far from one of our favorite parent plants, we are clueless as to how the seed was transported there. Bird droppings, a mouse, an ant?
Just as with outer space, where only a little is known and so much has yet to be discovered, the plot of land we live on is unfathomably more complex than meets the eye.
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