Archives for 2024

Albatrossity sent me the annual first photo of Harley, which he does every year.  I am always relieved to see Harley; suddenly something is right in the world, and I teared up as I always do. Not for the first time, I asked Albatrossity if he would like to do a guest post – his perspective is a comfort to me in tough times.  And he graciously agreed.

(If you want to see all of Albatrossity’s guest posts, click on Albatrossity just below the post title.)

Hope, with feathers

by Albatrossity

Longtime readers on Balloon Juice might recall that there is a certain Red-tailed Hawk,  anthracite and ivory in color,  and a representative of the subspecies known as Harlan’s Hawk, who spends summers in Alaska or British Columbia, and winters here, about half a mile from my house in the other Manhattan, the one that is in Flyover Country. I have nicknamed him Harley, and I recall seeing him first in the winter of 2012-13, and many times since then.

They might also recall that he is swarthy, nay dark, and probably an undocumented immigrant. He has been making this journey every winter for the last 11 years or so, showing up in the fall and disappearing every spring. Finally, they might recall that I watch for his reappearance every fall with a mixture of anticipation (will he show up today?) and dread (will this be the year he does not show up?).

This year was particularly dread-filled, coupled as it is with the horror show candidacy of a felonious demented hate-filled fascist, and some sobering information about my own health that I received this summer. You know way too much about the former, and I won’t bore you with details about the latter (click on this link if you really want to know). But the bad national and personal news, and learning here about Betty Cracker’s health, in a time of my life when many people I knew have left us… Let me just say that I was not in need of any more hints about mortality. No sir, I did not need that. Not this year, or any other year for that matter. But the dread of the unknown was palpable this fall.

On a beautiful fall day here in the Flint Hills of Kansas, after a modest cold front blew some avian migrants our way, I decided to go see what blew in, and if one of them might be named Harley. I looked for his familiar profile on his favorite utility pole perch as I headed to a local fishing lake. And there he was. I pulled over, grabbed a few shots of him vamoosing to his second favorite perch, and breathed a huge sigh of relief. Maybe my eyes watered up a bit; it has been dusty here.

So I sent a picture to WaterGirl, who was touched, and also wanted to know if I would write up some thoughts about Harley and his return. I have lots of thoughts, and probably not all of them need to be shared. But I do wonder what bonds me to this bird, and why I care so much about his well-being, his comings and goings. I am pretty sure it is not reciprocal; he eyes me skeptically every time I stop to admire him, and usually takes off before I even get the vehicle to a stop. Our lifestyles could not be more different; he flies a couple thousand miles twice a year, and I have to debate whether I should take a walk up the street. That situation could be passed off as envy, but generally we don’t care so much about folks we are envious of. So what else is it?  Here are some random thoughts about this sort of attachment; feel free to chime in with others.

About the envy, I’ll admit it. He is a beautiful and striking creature, and other locals have commented on his gorgeous presence in the neighborhood. Additionally, I think part of every birdwatcher is envy for creatures that can simply take off and fly to a better place. I do envy Harley, not just for his ability to move freely in the air, but also for his ridiculously precise navigation, his appreciation for the seasons and the light, and yes, even his apparent disdain for the earthbound. He just seems too cool, and he doesn’t even need a tan suit to add to the aura of coolness.

As for the rest, I don’t pretend to know all of it. But some of it must include our need to engage with other living things, what the sage E. O. Wilson called “biophilia”. Obviously not everyone has that, or has it to the same degree. Elon Musk, for example, would probably be perfectly happy on a lifeless planet like Mars (and I would be happy to hear that he got there), so some folks either do not feel that need for a connection, or they have buried it under other layers of needs. Since I spent my working life as a biologist, perhaps I got an extra dose.

Another part of it is familiarity, I suspect. He spends half the year in my literal neighborhood, and we have become familiar with each other’s habits over the last dozen winters. We’ve been through the COVID years, and now as I head into similarly unknowable territory health-wise, it is good to have a familiar presence. Not a confiding familiar, for certain, but it just seems more tolerable when some things don’t change even as the changes of the world whirl around us.

Finally, I think it is the season. Fall has always been my favorite season, for some reason. As my friend and fellow biologist John Janovy wrote in his most excellent book Yellowlegs: “There is something about the end of summer that produces all sorts of strange yearnings in people like me.” It is a great time for doing, and watching, and reflecting, and learning more about all the creatures who share the planet with us. Janovy wrote about following a sandpiper to learn its ways, to “learn things that no teacher, no classroom, no public school, and especially no university could ever teach!” I am not about to follow Harley back to his summer haunts, but I learn from him every fall. And learning is one of my favorite activities. Some would probably call it a curse.

So that’s a long path to simply let you know that Harley is back, for another season in Flyover Country. The next weeks and months and years might be tough sledding, both for the country and for people who care, but I can report that at least one small and beautiful part of that world is in place, and that it is good. Please find some way to indulge in your own version of comfort and self-care. Go seek and find some beauty, and some good, in the world. We all need it.

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Hope, With FeathersPost + Comments (43)