We have all been at a place in our lives when a small miracle is in order, and it usually arrives in the most unexpected way. My husband and I have had our getaway home on the White River in Cotter for five years now. Last year we made it our permanent residence, due in part to a health diagnosis my husband received. With the realization that the present is all we really have, I knew I needed to take care of myself as well. I headed out on nature walks with my camera. I’m embarrassed to say it took many walks past a 100-foot-tall sycamore tree before I looked up to see two beautiful bald eagles stuffing twigs and branches into a nest.
That day, October 25, 2013, I began a daily ritual of observing these beautiful birds. It was clear that each had a specific job. One eagle brought branches to the nest while the other stomped them into place. On one occasion, what must have been the overzealous male, we named George, flew back to the nest with an enormous limb. Martha, our name for the female, screeched, and he dropped it to the base of the tree. George joined Martha in the nest where she leaned into him and began a good old-fashioned tongue lashing.
All this house building soon caught the attention of a group of vultures who one day took to a nearby tree limb looking down on the nest like snipers. Were the eagles aware of their presence? How could I warn them? This is when I knew I was truly invested in this family’s survival.
The next day both eagles positioned themselves on that exact tree limb, sending a clear message to those vultures. I couldn’t have been more pleased. In January, one eagle remained in the nest at all times. They must be protecting eggs. Weeks later, on March 1, there were still no eaglets visible when a terrible sleet storm arrived on the river, leaving six inches of frozen white pellets everywhere. Were the babies hatched? Would the eggs freeze? My neighbor, on whose property this nest sits, had witnessed the eagles spending most of the night with wings fully extended, covering the nest and flapping away the ice. Was this love or instinct? George and Martha were completely devoted and unstoppable.
The babies arrived in mid March, and George and Martha began an intensive ritual of three feedings a day of mice and trout. By April 15, the baby eagles had tripled in size. Their soft grey fuzzy coat fell off in clumps, revealing a slick dark undercoat. I admit they looked pretty funny. They became feisty as well. In order to feed them, Mom pushed one to the side of the nest and turned her back on it, guarding the other as she fed it, much like a referee in boxing ring. I could see she was a good mother, and despite some onlooker’s remarks I received that only one baby survives, this mother made sure they both got the food they needed.
May 3 brought my first sighting of the larger eaglet testing her wing strength as the other watched.
I learned that the female is larger and develops faster. We named her Betsy Ross, and the smaller one Ben Franklin. She was the doer and he was the methodical thinker. Most of Betsy’s wing flapping in early May took place in the morning when the air was still. On May 15 she tested her strength purposely against strong wind gusts. She stood up on the edge of the nest and flapped and flapped until she became airborne, almost missing the nest on the landing. I screamed every time she did this thinking she was going to fall out.
On May 20, everything changed. Driving back to my house after running errands, I saw something at the edge of our drive. It was Betsy. I got out of the car, not believing my eyes, and she just looked at me. What had just happened? This was obviously her maiden flight, but why was she standing in the field alone looking bewildered? Where were her parents? Was she hurt? (#4) I panicked and called a wildlife biologist who immediately educated me with these words: This is not a Disney movie. The parents do not tie pink ribbons around the fledgling’s wings and accompany them out of the nest. Betsy was going to be on her own now and would have to be strong enough to fly to a safer elevation. She would return to the nest soon, if she lived.
Eventually Betsy took flight low and slow across our field, landing in a tree limb above Denton Ferry Road. She was safe, and that was all that mattered to me.
Three days later, she was back at the nest making several attempts to fly high enough to get back in, only to fall short, landing on a branch below.
Ben still had both feet firmly planted in the nest, as if he needed to hear Betsy’s stories from beyond. A week later, Ben flew as well. Surprisingly, the parents continued to feed the young through July, but all feeding still took place in the nest. Martha flew over them with a trout in her talons, lifting it above and then dropping it into the nest as if to say, ‘If you want to eat you better get up here.’
Where do they learn how to raise their young? None of this parenting seemed by trial and error, it was quite deliberate. My respect for these birds grew day by day. A trip out-of-state took me away for 10 days. I returned on June 10, and my husband drove me to the nest before taking me home. He knew I would be anxious to see the eagles. The nest was empty. This beautiful experience was over. Sadly, we went home. I poured myself a glass of wine, stepped out onto my deck to console myself, and got a big surprise.
Here at our river bank sat both baby eagles. They turned their heads to look at me, and then turned back to face the river as if to say, “Oh, it’s just her.”
They were huge, about two feet tall, and their talons were a bright yellow. They ran across the lawn playing with each other like children. When one became tired, it curled up its talons and literally flopped onto the grass chest first, then rolled over on its back and stuck its legs straight into the air.
I later learned that these antics are important role playing for growing up. The next couple of days we had a gentle rain, and both eaglets came back to our bank.
They danced on a log in shallow water with outstretched wings. One eaglet caught the first glimpse of himself when he peered over the edge of the log and saw his reflection. (#8) He stopped cold as if he were trying to figure out who that was in the water. I could tell they were having a great time exploring their new world. How privileged was I to be able to witness this?
Soon, this game playing at the river’s edge came to an end. For two weeks starting July 1, our teenagers spent their days inseparable, perched on very high limbs over the river. They became very vocal, letting out screeches at feeding time, letting George and Martha know they were hungry. They were demanding, unappreciative teens. My last sighting of them on July 15 was spectacular. They performed an aerial ballet high in the sky, grabbing each other, twisting and falling….
And then they were gone.
It was to be expected that the fledglings would leave the area in search of territory up or down stream where they could begin their own lives.
The miracle for me was that I was granted the privilege to witness these birds, that somehow they were comfortable near me. It gave me faith in a higher power that seems to have a plan for all of us. M! February/March 2015
Jo Anne Dukes
Thanks for sharing this wonderful story.