from raptor to rapture

It was a morning like any other really. I was scrambling an egg with one hand, stirring oatmeal with the other; my kids wrinkled clothes tucked under my arm and a vulture eye on the coffee maker. You know, if I could just find a way to use my toes, then I'd be perfectly efficient. I am in the South, after all. Meanwhile, the kids were acting like they were on crank and Father Mags was attempting to get a little shut eye after a long night at work. I had just called the girls to breakfast and was making my way to the altar to do my morning prayers and there he was. I froze...shaken for a moment by the stillness and intensity of this unexpected introduction.

In full view through my glass doors, he was perched on the rail of my deck, within just six feet of me. I knew this bird was too big to be one of the broad-winged or red-tailed hawks that I'd seen around. Nah...this guy was at least two feet tall, barrel chested, a beautiful brindle color with thick, stocky feathered cuffs all the way down to his toes sorta like he had his own built-in birdie Uggs. He had kick ass talons and topaz eyes that seemed to look into the deepest part of me. 'Right on', I thought to myself, I had just won the bird watcher's lottery. A golden eagle. Aquila Chrysaetos. Latin for large golden dude. Right there in front of me. These guys you don't see too often unless they're flying like bullets in the sky and you're living out West. But he was right here in the flesh, chilling on my back porch, taking a gander at some lady with bad morning breath and a fluffy pink robe.

As close to a loud whisper as I could manage, I told the girls to skedaddle and make their way into the living room. If you could have seen their faces when they saw this bird...The three of us stood transfixed, wide-eyed, hoping against all hope that he would grace us with his presence for just one second more.

Birds have been a part of my journey for awhile now. It began three years back when we moved cross country from Los Angeles to a quiet, wooded town in the South. The village that we live in is filled with a variety of avian wildlife and everyone has a feeder or two set up on their property to watch the beautiful cardinals, bluebirds, red-breasted robins, you name it, which flit around and do their thing. My neighbor is of the Audubon persuasion, our resident bird-man, in charge of replenishing the many feeders and upkeep on the birdhouses that reside on the seven golf courses in the village. After having just moved into our place, he was the first one to proudly tell me that an extended family of hawks had been shacking up for years in the five story trees that blanket the backyard of our home. We soon stocked up on all things suet and seed, chirps circulated and the next thing you know, birds of every kind showed up for handouts. With my oldest napping and pregnant with my second, I would often sit and regroup; sipping a cup of tea, wishing it was wine and gaze out of the dining room window. I came to really dig on my feathered friends. It was a nice switch from the go-go-go of the city...contemplative, serene and it helped beat the loneliness I felt from leaving my pals of the human variety and a place I'd called home for the last 24 years. We had a lot in common, those birds and I. I like to think this move was in some way a migratory one for me as well...a path that was innately familiar and one I knew I had to make...that led me back to the place where I had nested in my youth, reuniting me with a couple of other old birds I'd shared a lot of happy times with but most importantly, to the clutch from where it all began.

The eagle's a mystical creature. Native American legend holds this mythical super bird as the only one among animals that can look directly into the sun, and that the creation of thunder and lightning came from the beating of its wings. They were believed by the Pawnee to be a fertility symbol, honored by song, chants and dance. Me? I just think they're nifty. Plus, Goldie and I have some commonalities. Let's see..."she-bird" keeps it simple and mates for life, courtship activities include presenting talons and soaring together, she values her independence and privacy, can be a solitary kind of sort, the man goes out and brings home the bacon while she nurtures and nests. Then her kids fledge and she kicks 'em out of the house all within six months! Ya gotta love it. The kids then move away, with all the skills needed to live a productive and happy life but still come home to see mom and pop in the winter and hang for awhile. And let's not forget the fun part, they get to fly and dive at speeds of up to 200 mph.

This mysterious bird stuff goes back even further, some 8 years ago, having just embraced my Buddhist faith and hearing about a member (now a dear friend), whose beloved cockatiel of many years had flown the coop and left her broken hearted. For months, Millie ached, prayed like crazy and took positive action to get her buddy back, and sure enough, thousands of daimoku (that's what we Buddhists call our "spiritual fuel") and a newspaper ad later, Mr. White flew back into her life. Pretty damn amazing in a city of 8 million. I've always loved that story. It tells me several things. Even when the odds are really stacked against you, you can win...kindred spirits always find their way back to each other at some point...we are inextricably bound- a oneness of life and it's environment and that connection is vital to our happiness, progress and survival. Which brings me back to my thunderbird.

I quietly called for my husband, hoping he would hear me through the closed door of the bedroom. It worked and he staggered his way out, disgruntled, with that sideways look he always gives me when I rouse him in a panic over a spider 'that's the size of my fist' that's got into the house, who in reality ends up really no bigger than a pencil eraser. Hey, listen, Mama's all for nature except for the hairy eight-legged variety. Yeah, yeah, they eat bugs, are a link in the chain of life...I know, I know. My hubby took in a quick breath when he saw Joey. Oh, yeah. In the second she saw him, my oldest had already made up her mind on raptor-boy's moniker. Personally, I was thinking along the lines of Apollo, Icarus, or at least a Godfrey but my girl insisted and so it was. There we stood, the four of us Mags, a motley crew of bed-heads and our pal- Joey, the Golden Eagle.

We made a fumbled attempt to chronicle the moment as Geez tiptoed off to get his camera. But the only thing within reach was our quarter of a century old 35 mm with a cracked zoom. But as luck would have it, all eight of our telephoto lenses were in working order, so no worries. Besides, the best memories are the ones we store in the ticker rather than a scrapbook. At this point in the game, we were absolutely shocked that ole Joe was sticking around this long. We'd even settled in, sitting cross-legged on the floor and still he preened. It got me thinking on the matter. These birds don't make it a point to just land on your casa and stare at you. They don't make it a habit of vacationing in them thar hills usually. They like to cruise the Rio Grande, soar above the Rockies, free birds of the West....to me, a grand symbol of home. Perhaps he was just that...a mystical howdy from my old 'hood, or deeper still, a symbol of Millie's protective, super-sized prayer that had helped in guiding me and my family through some serious change and human revolution, coming out safe and sound on the other side. Maybe he was a part of me that I had left behind. Or maybe he was just the man, checking out his own reflection. Who could blame him? He is the Tyrone Power of the winged world.
Suddenly, he lifted his chest, turning his body around and showing us the gorgeous pattern of color on his back, his regal head cocked just so, a king ruling his court. His amazing wings unfolded, an eye-popping span of probably five feet, welcoming the warmth of the morning sun, reflective gold in it's rays and then he crapped on my deck.

Click here for conservation status of the Golden Eagle.