Snowy owls have been much in the news these days. The front page photo of a snowy owl in a recent Cook County News- Herald and knowing these owls come south of the border for our munchies enlivened desire to see one for myself. As a newly certified Master Naturalist, I wanted to log a sighting myself. I wanted to be in the awesome presence of a creature so unlike myself and so eminently equipped and skilled to survive in this harsh climate.
I was not to be denied this near winter, but mild snow sparse autumn. Out for a walk, I went to check on a friend’s cabin. As I began my descent down the steep driveway, my heart stopped. A distinctly white shape with black markings seized my attention. Snowy owl—there as if a shaft of sunlight singled it out for my wonder. I froze; I chided myself for being without camera. I thought how my photo would have fared in wildlife contests for calendar shots, how many hits it would have scored on YouTube or likes on Facebook. I could have gone big, I lamented.
Regret aside, I was determined at least to see this marvel close up. With the stealth of a starving wolf, I sidled down the driveway, careful not to set a stone aroll, the object of my quest ever closer and ever more undeniably the snowy owl, true to shape, size, and colorings.
My heart pounded. I dared not breathe. But within a hundred feet of where I thought I would find the owl, I had to round the garage, which blocked my sight of the owl. I scurried around the garage and searched tree tops for the white wonder. I spun around and around again. Nowhere to be found.
Where was this damned illusive snowy owl? Where was it hiding? Had it flown away? Surely, I had rounded the garage quickly enough to have at least seen it winging away and heard the woof of lifting wing. No snowy owl, no sight, no sound.
Disappointment burbled up through this vaporous loss. And then recognition, for in my spinning I had gathered the hard truth. I was chagrined to learn—an antique street lamp topped with a white translucent lens, oval shaped, was my snowy owl. The black markings? Nothing but the overlay of forest filigree.
I chuckled at the joke I played on myself. By seeing only what I so much wanted to see, my urgent observation had outrun reason. That realization led me to wonder now how many times I saw only what I wanted to see, and having done so, how many times my joke was on someone who did not laugh.
Don Wendel
Grand Marais
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