02/08/2022

Notes on Hawks

We’re in the thick afternoon heat, standing silent on an empty trail.

Justice turns on the balls of his feet, the sandy path grinding below him. A quiet trill catches my attention towards the footbridge behind us. We precariously tread back the way we came. The app on my phone is flashing the name of the woodpecker species we’re searching for.

We stop walking as the woods go quiet. I turn to look at Justice, he’s mouthing the word “cardinal,” at me. I shake my head, I have to see it first.

Cicadas screech around us, thwarting any chance of the app picking up the gentle call of the woodpecker. Reluctantly, I decide to rely on my eyes.

A few bluejays prance above us on towering pine tree branches. A female cardinal darts around the tree trunks covered in Virginia creeper. Just as I’m about to resign myself to moving on, I spot a robin-sized thing bobbing around a small branch.

I gesture to Justice to come to look, “it’s a downy woodpecker,” I tell him quietly, “they’re uncommon around here.” His eyes light up at this news, my husband the collector. We take a couple of photos and leave the woodpecker to his branch.

No, you haven’t accidentally signed up for a birding newsletter. You’ve stumbled into my newest habit, looking up and listening.

It’s a common belief amongst Americans that cardinals represent passed-on loved ones. It’s a comfort in the wake of great loss, these backyard birds symbolize someone coming back to say hello.

In April, I lost my grandmother, she was my very last grandparent. The last time I spoke to her was her 80th birthday. She was ecstatic to be surrounded by family and friends. I like remembering her that way.

In recent calls home, there’s been casual mention of her. My sister will point out that the cup she’s using “used to be Nan’s.” Dad offers me her crochet hooks. Mum notes the condition of her binoculars. It’s strange to hear about her in the past tense like this, in my mind she’ll forever be hopping on the train to catch a football game at the MCG.

On walks, we see a lot of cardinals. They’re still a novelty to me, a quick little patriotic flash, reminding me I live in North America, but I don’t find them much of a comfort. Nothing about my Nan fits the character of a cardinal. They’re small and flamboyant, full of chatter and metallic chirps. Nan may have loved a natter, but small and flamboyant she was not.

When I was about to move to Florida four years ago, she gave me a dainty gold necklace. It had a charm in the shape of Australia dangling on it.

“They haven’t figured out how to get Tassie on there,” she told me matter-of-factly. This made me laugh, I hadn’t even noticed. This necklace is now the only thing I have from her. It was a more heartfelt gift than I think she realized, it’s brought great comfort in moments of hopeless homesickness.

Nan was a die-hard fan of Hawthorne Football Club. In recent years, it has dawned on me the likeness she shares with their mascot, a hawk. Like Nan, hawks are intelligent and incredibly perceptive. She was a sharp woman who valued strategy and trusted a close few people. She valued her flock, or in hawking terms her “kettle.” Another coincidence, as the kettle was always on at Nan’s.

On a recent walk at Kiwanis Park, I made a point to look up into the woods. I was keen to spot another Downy Woodpecker. To my surprise, my eyes latched on to something bigger. A hawk, perched in the thick branches and vines, watching wrens and mockingbirds flutter below. I pointed the hawk out to Justice, after a minute or so he locked eyes on it.

“That’s the small one,” he tells me, “there’s two that hang out around here.”

We play calls of red-shouldered hawks from his phone to coax the bigger one out. She screams back but remains hidden somewhere in the woods. Her call isn’t a far stretch from my own Nan’s crackling laugh. I take in the hawk above us. Male hawks are smaller than their female counterparts. I shiver a the thought of a bird bigger than this one eyeing us right now.

He sits patiently, inspecting his surroundings. It isn’t a far cry from the dynamic of my own grandparents; a powerful female and unwavering male.

While the common backyard cardinal is an ill-fit for my Nan, a red-shouldered hawk feels like her. She had lived as a widow for 28 years. The sight of two hawks in my local park brings great comfort like my grandparents have found their way back to each other.

This month, I urge you to look deeply at the life that goes on around you. Are there little connections that you’ve missed?

Food For Thought

"I've learned how you feel more human once you have known, even in your imagination, what it is like to be not."
— Helen Macdonald

"The more you know yourself, the more patience you have for what you see in others."
— Erik H. Erikson

"I can control my passions and emotions if I can understand their nature."
— Spinoza