Encounters with an old friend

I was looking through my pictures and remembered this great experience that occurred over the Winter. Here's the entry I wrote up afterward.


Mom asked me to come into the living room and look at something. “Maybe I’m losin’ it, but is that something out in the field?” I looked, seeing something a couple hundred feet away that sort of looked like a tree stump, but it seemed to be playing a trick on our eyes, appearing dramatically closer than the background of the tree line. “Is it an owl,” she asked. It couldn’t be, I thought, it’s way too big. But it was something.

I snuck off to my car for some better eyes, binoculars. To my surprise it was indeed a bird, one I adore ever so. Neck folding nicely, tucked into itself, the stump was none other than a great blue heron, Ardea herodias. It stood motionless. What was this bird doing planted in the middle of a field?

A bird of reverence in the stories of Native Americans, Egyptians, and many cultures for it’s wisdom and patience, determination and self-reliance. And of course it’s hunting skills. The great blue heron is a graceful and noble creature moving with purpose and intent.

I should probably take a moment and explain that I’ve always enjoyed this bird feeling a connection to them. Partly seeing one at a young age as well as watching a heronry every evening on Woodstock Pond at York River State Park to end my days a few years back. I would get a good spot and float backwards in my canoe into the mountain laurel and disappear. A parent would come flying back in as the babies starting making raucous noise sounding like dinosaurs.



The parent would regurgitate food into the young, which looking not much smaller you would think they would pierce their beaks through the parents, an aggressive showcase while youngins impatiently waited their turn. It was about 4 families, and I fell in love with them, even getting to see one juvenile fly for the first time, trying to land on a mountain laurel as its legs circled around clumsily under branches that couldn’t support it. Live and learn.

I know they et frogs, snakes, fish, and potentially mice, but the stealthy hunter would have a hard time catching a rodent, and nothing else would be out there in the middle of Winter. After a few moments it approached the woodshed where rabbits sometimes hide. Could it be after a baby bunny? No…

Then it walked into the backyard slowly. Very slowly. I was completely confused by this behavior, it seeming very odd and uncharacteristic. The poor bird tried to fly once, getting only a couple feet. We figured he or she must be old, sick, or wounded. The heron kept methodically stepping and stopping until it crossed the street and ducked under the wooden fence clumsily.

I remember the first time I ever saw a great blue heron flying above the pond in
the pasture this bird had just entered. I was very young and enthralled by dinosaurs as many young boys at that age. I saw the huge bird flapping and thought for sure I had discovered a Pterodactyl that had survived throughout the eons. I was mesmerized, never seeing a creature so big and graceful. I ran home to tell my parents, who probably took my out of breath chatter about seeing a dinosaur as an overactive imagination. I wondered if this old bird was heading to that pond, though feeding seemed far from its mind. I decided this was not an opportunity to pass up, sliding under the fence and creeping closer, getting within 8 feet of the bird. The heron looked at me, not showing much concern, standing on a cow patty.


a pair of great blue herons and painted turtles at Woodstock Pond, York River State Park

Now being one who has stalked many herons while working at York River State Park as well as various other water areas, I know fully well how spooked and careful they are towards humans, some normal instinct mixed with gained fear from the millinery business rush of the 1920’s and 30’s. They have no patience for people normally.



I’ve tried to stalk them and not been able to get within well over 100 feet before, sometimes much further and occasionally closer. It’s normally a matter of luck of being in a spot where one happens to fly and land close to. I had once gotten to within about 10 feet via canoe to a juvenile who had just started flying and was a little curious still. I couldn’t believe how close this old great blue heron let me get. I sat down on the damp ground, not minding the water soaking into my jeans, this was far from ordinary.



The bird would raise one foot time to time, hold it, and then slowly put it down. It just starred off into the field. I was perplexed and confused, filled with a mix of excitement and sadness. I looked at its feathers, its scaly legs, claws bigger than I’d imagined, and huge beak. The beak was a giant dagger, blue on top, yellow on bottom, with a few short white hairs bristling under part of the lower beak close to the chin. I was surprised by the similarity of the bird’s beak to the sheath of the bird of paradise flower, remarkably so.



The bird turned and looked dead at me several times before returning the gaze to the field, occasionally scratching its head close to the eye with a foot, not too unlike a canine. It blinked slowly, sometimes keeping the eye closed for several seconds, seeming to wince and pause.




I wondered what was going through this bird’s head, if it was remembering the past, if it was in pain, if it was exhausted, if it knew the end was near and was preparing itself.

I talked to the bird for awhile like it was a mighty animal spirit, maybe it was. But mostly I just looked at the bird, nearly hypnotized. I was transfixed in the moment, unable to believe my proximity to this beautiful creature, one more piece of magic, another part of our creation. I must have set there for at least an hour. I tried to show respect and reverence for its life, the species having a special place in my heart, even though I suppose I should feel that way towards any living thing. We’re all drawn to certain animals more than others, some always and some for various stages of our lives and growth.

Part of me wanted to stay with the bird all day, follow it, and learn its secrets and where it may go to die. Part of me wanted to let it be, to pass in peace, to die with whatever degree of dignity it could. I decided I would make breakfast, having been up for awhile but the slow trot of this avian had put everything on hold. I left, walking away slowly, looking back over my shoulder once, knowing I would be back in twenty minutes to see what had changed.

Part of me wanted the bird to still be there, part of me wanted the bird to be gone like a ghost. Twenty minutes later the bird was gone. I walked to the pond in search of the heron, finding a warbler and a couple wood ducks instead. I scanned the field with my binoculars. I went all over the field, walking to another pond close by, seeing a handful of songbirds but no sign of the heron. Well, I did find a couple tracks in a spongy tract of dirt, but I never saw that bird again.

It may still be out here somewhere, slowly giving up the ghost. It may be the meal of a fox, mountain lion, or vultures, it is hard to say. But that heron reinstilled a bit of childlike magic in my heart, just like the first time I ever saw one, and I thank this bird for that. Maybe the heron flew off to that big ole pond in the sky where the fish and frog never run out, maybe the heron is just returning to the Earth, its spirit splintering and flying into the aether. Where ever that bird went I feel blessed for spending a few precious moments together before that time came, and just like I’ll never forget the first time I saw one fly, I’ll never forget the day this heron walked across my yard, came within four feet of me, and later more than likely died.



Those piercing yellow eyes hypnotized me, I couldn’t turn my own eyes away. I was locked to this bird, mesmerized. Those eyes that do indeed look like dinosaur eyes; so ancient, so primal, so full of raw being and truth. No deception, conceit, or confusion. Just a longing for things as old as time, desires of life, awareness and intense focus unlike anything I know. A different type of passion I can’t help but respect. Something deep seeded and atavistic. I am grateful to witness such thoughtless beauty, thankful for this heron’s existence, rekindling my sense of wonderment and intrigue towards the limitless mosaic of nature that never ceases to amaze if we take the time out of our day to stop and look, breathe deep and stare the unknown in the eye, and realize we are a part of something so complex and fascinating, so rare and unique, so fragile and fleeting.