Neighborhood ospreys
Updated: Sep 17
A few blocks from our home is a nest on a large chimney. This stick nest is an unruly affair, a delightful mess. I envision two haggard parents-to-be, knocking together the nursery furniture.
Ospreys (casually referred to as fish hawks) dine on fish for ninety-nine out of one hundred meals. These ospreys claim their ninety-nine meals from our brackish riverway — though to be clear, they are neither saltwater nor freshwater in orientation. What matters is abundant fish supply near the surface of the water. For their one-off meal, not long ago, our neighborhood ospreys paid a visit to Noah’s backyard farm pond, mulling the prospect of a portly green frog or two.
Weeks ago, Noah and I together witnessed the osprey pair delivering coaching sessions to fledglings in the blue dome right over our backyard.
Three fledglings, attuning themselves to the ways of air currents. Prep work for their upcoming migration.
The thing about these formidable birds, their voice is unexpectedly sweet. Tender, at times. I had expected something that sounded badass, but no.
The call-and-response of the parent and fledgling training sessions above us, pure and resonant, was otherworldly.
Driving by the local chimney nest, this past week, I have looked up for a glimpse of the juveniles. I conclude that they have already set off.
And I am wistful.
