Georgianne Nienaber Author Photographer

A Visit From the Screech Owl

 

An emissary from the Bird Nation was trilling from the sea grapes last night. His/her insistent song drew me out into the cool Florida night. The sea fog that had been shrouding the sands and shells around my little cottage had receded, and for the first time in three days I was able to see clearly in the light of the waxing moon. The Screech Owl has been around here for years, singing sweetly through the night, but seldom seen.

Tonight seemed to be a deliberate visit, since the night visitor sat boldly in the open. I ran to tell my dear neighbors about this special event, thinking the diminutive owl would certainly be gone when I returned. Not so. He was trilling as if to guide us to his perch in the jumble of branches. We stood not ten feet away as he continued his song and then, of course, I wanted to “capture” him with the camera. Would this be wise? Would it be ethical to startle him with a flash? 

The camera was hardly 30 feet away in the house. Of course, the desire to connect deeply with the winged ones has always won out in the life of this two-legged. Again, I thought, “well, he might be gone,” but he was still trilling when I returned with the Nikon in hand. It was as if he were singing to my friend, who was waiting. 

Again we discussed the pros and cons of “capturing” him with the camera and decided it would be OK. Just one quick shot. He turned his head at the moment, almost as if to offer a profile and did not flinch as the flash exploded in the darkness. Right or wrong, and guided by his direct stare into the lens, I dared to take another. Still, he did not move, but continued trilling. We stood there in wonder. Transfixed. 

My friend’s companion joined us several minutes later. I do not know how long we stared at the owl, but the moment arrived when we thought it was time to leave him to his nocturnal journey. 

I returned the camera to its resting place on my kitchen counter and remembered that another neighbor had always wanted to see the Screech Owl. He was sitting on the same branch when I ran to her cottage, but was gone when we returned. A disappointment for her, but an opportunity for reflection for me. 

I had been sad all day.

My dear friends were leaving our beach sanctuary for their annual return to the north country of New England. As an emissary to the Bird Nation, I have always taken the comings and goings of the birds very seriously. There is indeed a world beyond that of the earthbound that extends to the Elders of the Spirit World. For all of human existence, the appearances and manifestations of those who swim, fly, crawl and walk on four legs has held meaning for the two-leggeds who care to reflect on why they appear to us in the “real” or dream worlds.  

As I drifted off to sleep, I remembered the special role of the Owl as messenger. He/she brings awareness of change, intuitive knowledge, and especially, the ability to see beyond the mask of what may seem apparent.  

With that in mind, I shifted my thoughts from the apparent inevitability of loss to a grateful knowledge that for the past two months I had been able to reunite with dear friends and share many moments of sheer joy and excitement. This is enough. 

It is time for them to leave. I have captured every moment in memories that will sing to me whether or not I can “see” my friends in proximity. They are about to take a journey.  

This was the gift of the Screech Owl.

 

 

 

Visitor From the Bird Nation

 "Scruffy" came to visit this morning. He/she is not domesticated, but is a former rehab Common Ground Dove (Columbina Passerina) who has returned unbidden to my doorstep for two years. I can be gone for months, but "Scruffy" will always show up a day or two after my return. Scruffy was the weakest of five that I rehabbed; not spectacular, and Doves rarely make it into the nature books about Sanibel Island, but I have learned more about birds from Scruffy than all of the island visitors from the Bird Nation combined. It is 49 degrees F here this morning, and as soon as he heard movement, the sweet cooing started. What a gift.

 

I woke up with the thought that God is in the details, and this is certainly true about Scruffy.  I don't mean the scientific details about the fact that he is about 7 inches long and weighs about 1 ounce. Scruffy offers a universe of thought and feeling in his 1 ounce. He can soar into the clouds with a great whirring of tiny wings and land silently on my doorstep when he chooses. His cooing is ethereal in its ability to calm me. Scruffy will never offer betrayal or violence. He cannot comprehend these things as he spends his days foraging-- I know not where. He comes and goes, predictable in manner and countenance. Where does he venture? I would guess he visits the sea grapes along the dunes, the shells along the bike paths, and he might even fly over to the national preserve.

If humans were in the imaginary guide books perused by the Bird Nation, how ponderous and unpleasant would be our descriptions? Heavy, earthbound creatures that we are.

Scruffy sees some quality in humanity that is shared with the Bird Nation. I am not certain what it is, but I would guess that we share a genetic memory of a universal home. Perhaps we knew each other in the moments after creation. All I know for certain is that Scruffy offers me a sense of belonging, of peace, and yes, love. That is everything.

So, I offer the humble Scruffy this morning.

Overriding Impetuous Behavior

It took me five years to get this capture of a Roseate Spoonbill soaring over the wetlands at the Ding Darling National Wildlife Refuge on Sanibel Island. In that time I have tried everything. Macro lenses doubling as telephoto. 200mm. 400mm. Tubes and doublers. Tripods and monopods. Patience and impatience. Worry about camera malfunctions. Maybe when the cat booted the 400 mm down three stairs, something was broken. Nope. Camera in perfect condition. Get a back-up camera. Same exact make and model. Spoonbills are elusive fliers. Ospreys, egrets, pelicans and hawks are willing models in flight. What happened today? I tried something new. Broke the pattern. Broke the mold. Challenged muscle memory. There is a setting on my Nikon D7000 that I never paid any attention to. In the a1 AF-C Priority Selection (the name is one reason why I avoided learning about this setting), you can tell the camera to take the shot no matter what. Come hell or high water, release that shutter.

Habitual light catchers know the consequences of this. Shooting without guaranteed focus means that most of your captures will be, well, out of focus. We kid ourselves and save every ruined shot in the archives, lying to ourselves that there might be "a usable element" in the frame. There never is.  If the animal is out of focus, you won't find a glimmering eyeball or much less a spectacular feather unless you also want to lie to your viewers and pass it off as an "abstract project."

Who would think there is an alternate setting called "focus?" An over-ride for impetuous behavior. The shutter will not release unless your subject, or whatever is in the viewfinder (don't ask) is in focus. Imagine that! An exponential increase in the chance that your image will be in focus! No more wading though dozens of blurry images. 

I got to thinking. Got to focusing. How often do we rush through encounters in life with only a blurry remembrance? How many crisp, sharp memories do we retain on a day-to-day basis? Too much rapid fire leaves nothing but smoke and fog. Life is not an abstract project. We cannot trick ourselves into artful living when we have nothing but foggy memory.

Take the time to focus. Think, breathe and savor the moments as they fly by. All you need is one beautiful memory to fill a lifetime.