We have birds that travel thousands of miles each year to live here with us for a spell, singing their songs, making their homes, raising their families. Some of them, like the ruby-throated hummingbird, weigh less than an ounce. Each spring we await the arrival of these little feathered jewels, delight in their courage and beauty, in the thrum of their wings as they visit the feeder–the same feeder in the same woods by the same log cabin they knew as home 8 months earlier. How do they do it? How do they travel, on those tiny wings, from Central and South America, crossing the Gulf of Mexico, navigating brutal spring storms and wild weather, to return to this tiny plot of land, this riverside forest in Minnesota? No one knows. Science can describe it, but not truly explain it.

At the other end of our avian spectrum we have our largest nesting bird, who lives here year-round except for moving perhaps 5 miles downstream in the dead of winter, while still dropping by for frequent visits. In February and March we see them carrying sticks and branches once more, rebuilding their home in the top of the big white pine, just 100 yards from the cabin. Hear them chirping excitedly, eager to get started with the yearly task. ‘Our’ eagles have now been here for seven years, thus far raising six broods of young–twice with two babies, the other four years with one. It is a joy to watch and listen to them, to anticipate the laying of eggs, the care and feeding of young, the big day of ‘branching’ and the even bigger day of fledging. It is a story that goes on in many of our trees, in much smaller nests, in tiny tree-holes, throughout the woods.

Being here in the midst of it, feeling almost a part of it, tends to–as I say–lend a sense of perspective. Helps in the daily pursuit of, and recognition of, truth. Honesty. Dignity. Things that, at this time in our country, seem up for grabs. If they are even considered at all. For many, the Bald Eagle is merely a symbol. An image. To be used for political purposes as near to truth, honesty, and dignity as the scattered craters on the far side of the moon. Here in the forest, an eagle is an eagle. Symbolizing himself/herself. Extraordinary in beauty, grace, and power, in the survival of winter snows and summer storms, as real as anything gets on this tiny blue ball, hurtling through the blackness of space. There is no lie in the voice of an eagle, No dishonesty in the piercing focus of its gaze. No ignorance or stupidity in the way it deals with life.

Our eagles would not be here at all were it not for the honesty, courage, and piercing focus of a woman who, 64 years ago, saw the disappearance of eagles and other birds, the emptiness of the skies, and the silence of the spring, and decided to find out why. And to do something about it. Rachel Carson battled the great political and corporate powers of her day, enduring ridicule and smears and threats, being called crazy and hysterical, all while she was dying of cancer. She made the world see, and pay attention to, the incredible harm of the poison, DDT. And to remove it from our environment. (In North America and most, but not yet all, of the world).

And so today, in our forest and elsewhere, we have Bald Eagles. Who in simply being themselves remind us of perseverance and toughness and courage and strength and beauty. And that sometimes we must find these qualities in ourselves, in order to make, or remake, a world that is safe for eagles. And children. And refugees and immigrants. And various religions and ways-of-being. And honesty and truth and a 250 year-old democracy and constitutional republic.

So, perhaps I am wrong. Yes, the eagle is just itself, in a very real and tangible way. But it is also… a symbol. If we are observant enough, brave enough, and honest enough, to honor it.

(The marvelous photos of ‘our eagles’ were taken just this week, by our neighbor Kent Edeburn. We are grateful. This post can also be found on my Substack platform. You can subscribe there at ‘Notes From The Campfire@douglaswoodauthor.’ https://substack.com/@douglaswoodauthor)