Miss Otis Regrets

A couple of years ago a great gale blew through the valley. I remember standing in the shelter of the porch and watching the trees bend to the force of the wind and listening. Above the cracks of thunder and wild smashing rain there was an unfamiliar and haunting scream. Small shadows were moving among the branches of the trees and silhouetted against the gun metal grey sky. The storm had brought with it a pair of screech owls.

For mornings thereafter I would actually welcome the chore of washing dishes. The kitchen window offered a perfect vantage point from which to view their adopted cave in the tower of a locust tree that we had asked Joe to leave standing after he cut down the decaying top of the tree earlier that year. Those dear little grey heads would peep out of the black circle and I would turn off the water and watch. It took forever to finish those dishes.
One evening we were watching a movie and had all the lights off for dramatic effect. In the middle of a particularly exciting chase scene there was a wild clatter coming from the bedroom. Hastening to investigate I found our cat Uncle Max staring from within the screened window at a baby screech owl who clung on the outside of the screen. Both were way beyond surprise at the discovery of each other and I was amazed at the creature who had come to visit.
In the days following we shared the progress and nurturing of two young offspring who spent most of their daylight hours perching on fence rails or clinging to the gravel strewn lane. We did our best to protect them from neighboring predators and I named them Cicely and Otis. A sacred bond was formed. And then they flew away.

Scroll ahead about a couple year’s worth of evenings..
A millenium is celebrated.
The first one and then the real one.
Another early summer storm turns the leaves upside down and a now familiar screech pierces the thunder.

Now it turns out that, all the while, the decking on my tree top studio had been decaying right along with the locust tree and when my foot went through the boards last week I knew it was time to visit Lowes and get out the tool belt. It was early on the morning after I had gone as far as my courage could take me and I begged for help to bridge the final three feet of decking which hangs out over a 16 foot drop. My friend John was due to arrive any minute and my eye caught a blur of grey on the lane.
Sure enough a brand new screech owl babe was clinging to it’s ancestral gravel. The streaks of morning light were raking it’s tiny and still form and I grabbed the camera. But the random scattering of feathers nearby suggested that this little one might have been bothered. In lieu of yellow tape, I dragged some bits of lawn furniture over and cordoned off an area of safety for her. I put a call in to my friend Kim the naturalist and John and I went about our deck building.
Three hours later he had secured the scariest joints and rails and we checked in on Miss Otis (So named for her predecessor). We found her a box and gently gave her rest in the cardboard cave. But the earlier bout with her unknown assailant had been too much for the dear thing. I found her on her side and still a few hours later.
She is resting in my garden now.

When I had finished the two tiny paintings I noticed a dip in the wing and went back to consult the photograph, only to discover that it indeed appears that her right side may have been damaged. She could not have flown, and would not have been happy among the gravel, far removed from her natural calling.