“Red-tailed hawks pair, as in a good marriage, “’til death do us part.” The oldest known red-tailed hawk was 28 years and 10 months old.”
— Allaboutbirds.org
It was an early, frosty morning and a lone deer fed in the field. You have to wonder why it nibbled at the cold, dead grass. Soon, another joined it and then another. In the distance they looked like shadows on the pale, icy ground.
The turkeys came again. First came six, followed by four. They all headed straight for the corn feeder but didn’t linger long. Later, Sam saw them in the far cornfield though the corn has been gone for a long time. Such beautiful birds they are; there is no mistaking them for buzzards (actually vultures) or Canada geese. With binoculars I could see their red heads. I was hoping for a glimpse of the heads turning red, white and blue but the toms weren’t thinking of love that morning; they sought corn.
Corn attracts a lot of critters. The Native Americans knew its value as the sustainer of life, and they are not alone. Just the day before, I returned from our neighborhood Prairie Women’s luncheon with some of Annette Perry’s homemade cornbread. Shortly, I noticed Sam had snacked on all but one muffin. You know it is a Southern thing, to not take the last anything.
Deer season is over and the deer are less skittish, or maybe they are cold. They rarely run from us. The deer recognize my car. One afternoon I returned to the house with neighbor Robin Tait. As soon as they saw her car, they scattered. But the days I return in my own car they stand and stare waiting for corn. The ducks on the lake recognize the car and squawk; they, too, want corn.
Over the winter Sam’s been photographing our critters and has upwards of 1,000 pictures. On one particular afternoon he watched a young red-tailed hawk fly back and forth between the treetops and the dam. The bird never caught anything but continued his flight, slowly making his way toward Sam’s perch in the tree stand. As he did so, Sam continued to photograph, never knowing if the hawk would soon fly away.
After a dozen or so swoops, the hawk landed in a stick of a tree just 20 feet to Sam’s right, practically at eye level. Sam feared the bird would startle if he moved, or possibly the hawk was too close to focus with his distance lens.
Slowly, Sam turned and snapped pictures of the proud bird with the sun setting in the background. One picture captured the hawk’s face, half shadowed and half in the golden rays of the setting sun. The eye appeared to look, almost posing, almost haunting, directly at Sam. As the sun set, the hawk flew away. Perhaps the mate had better luck.
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