I had woken up early and from my window, I could see the stars slowly disappearing into the gloaming and the outline of the first trees appearing. There was an invite in the air and I quickly pulled on my clothes and walked out across the yard, my feet crunching through the overnight frozen snow. At the edge of the wood, I paused to savour the quiet. And there they were, two barn owls hunting over the top field. One landed on a disc golf basket, whilst the other flew back and forth on silent wings over the snow-covered ground. Then, as quickly as they had come, they left; one flying off through the trees, the other gliding low from her perch to disappear over the horizon. The rest of my morning felt blessed, like I had been a part of a service in some elusive chapel.
I think of the owl box that only yesterday we attached to the beam in the barn. Memories of leaning precariously out from the top of a high ladder. Drill in one hand, large piece of plywood in the other, fumbling to connect, whilst hoping the bullocks below stay away from the footings. I wonder if the owls will doubly bless me by nesting in this box? I am informed, however, that every other owl box that has been put up here has been occupied by jackdaws. I even have a friend who had the local jackdaws shot before putting up her owl box (owls nested in it). It is almost like they are the enemy. I, too, am a part of the ‘keep the jackdaws away party’, after all, they ‘steal’ the fat balls I put out for the ‘nice’ birds.
What is it, this preference for one creature over another? -They all have a beating heart and wildness in their eyes.
I remember being asked, sometime ago, what sound reminded me of home and I knew the answer immediately– it was the chatter of jackdaws and rooks assembling in the evening. If it wasn’t for them, the winter soundscape would be much the poorer. Watch them flocking, there is something touching about the jackdaw. How they are always in couples, so tied together, it is like they are connected by an invisible elastic band. If they were humans, it would be called ‘love’. I read somewhere that the longer they stay in their pair, the higher they are in the jackdaw hierarchy.
But still, I would prefer to see the owls. And I wonder what it was that made seeing them hunting this morning so moving? There was their presence and undeniable grace, the mystery of the darkness from which they come, their comparative rarity and yes, the sense of being honoured. I wonder, also, if there is something else. Perhaps us humans are ‘wired’ for diversity; from some deep ancestral place we know that it is a sign of health, an indication of a flourishing planet. And in this depleted world, any sign of that diversity, even just for a moment, makes us feel OK. We might survive.