By Carrie-Anne Rogers
What do you think when you see an owl? Do you view them as harbingers of bad luck and even death? Do you see them as symbols of great wisdom and luck? Owls' nocturnal nature, intelligent eyes, and magnificent wingspans have made them a source of intrigue for centuries. Preschool teacher Michelle and marine biology student and photographer Isabella are fascinated by owls, but, with unique lives and perspectives, they love owls for different reasons, always keeping an eye out for the Barred Owl in particular.
Photo by Isabella Ackermann
It’s strange how two of the most important people in your life can share a unique interest. It feels like there’s some invisible string connecting them, a continuous thread withstanding the unexpected turns in life. You may wonder if it has always been there or question when it materialized into existence. Life is funny that way, realizing both your mother and best friend keep an eye out for the Barred Owl.
***
“I heard there might have been an owl around here,” a student says.
The other student responds, “Really? During the day?”
All notions of class leave Isabella’s head. Though she doesn’t typically listen to the conversations of others, she can’t help but pay attention to these brief remarks. With students hurriedly walking to class with minutes to spare and athletes zipping by on their scooters, a college campus is far from the typical habitat of an owl looking for a place to rest during the daylight hours. An owl on Wilmington’s campus is not something to dismiss lightly, especially when she still has time before her next class.
Having finished her biology lab, she takes a much-needed break from academics, knowing she has time before her chemistry lecture. With her bookbag in her dorm room, Isabella is free to wander, camera in hand and eyes roaming for her bird. Patience is not a stranger to Isabella, having sat for hours in the cold and known to stay out until the sunlight disappears.
Finding the campus owl is the difficult part. Photography comes naturally to Isabella at this point, knowing the angles of the camera like the feathers on her pet bird. Having captured her photos, Isabella reviews them, smiling at the luck she has had on this particular day. Except she has forgotten about her chemistry lecture and has run out of time – and running won’t help her in this instance. Her bookbag is in her dorm room, and her lecture hall is on the other side of Wilmington’s campus. She can picture her bookbag slouched against her desk chair alongside her foraging bag, regretting the choice to leave it behind.
“Anna? Do you have your car? Can you please meet me at the parking deck with my bookbag? I’m late for class but swear it’s for a good reason,” Isabella hurriedly promises, having called her roommate as soon as she packed away her camera.
Minutes later, Isabella is seated in her friend’s car with her bookbag on her lap and driving towards the cluster of academic buildings. Anna makes it clear that this isn’t to become a repeated occurrence, to which Isabella simply tells Anna how much she loves her.
***
“Beep! Beep! Beep!” Michelle’s alarm chirps far too early for anyone’s taste.
Her mornings begin in a rush, hurrying to feed her impatient golden retrievers before waking up her high schooler Skipper who sleepily asks for five more minutes. And then it’s a flurry of quickly pulling on semi-clean pants, throwing various fruits and crackers into a lunchbox, and refreshing the Here Comes the Bus app for the tenth time only to have it suddenly load and the bus be a mere three minutes away. Assuming her daughter makes it on the bus, saving her a thirty-minute drive through traffic, Michelle is afforded a few seconds to breathe before she begins various chores throughout the house while also attempting to keep her two-year-old golden from biting her thirteen-year-old golden.
Michelle is not a night owl. She has never been one and likely won’t ever be one – her busy mornings don't allow her the luxury of staying up until the midnight hours.
But there’s one task she enjoys above all others. She happily grabs her bag of birdseed and fresh suet cakes, leaving the barking, dirty dishes, and pile of laundry behind.
Anyone walking past her house on the street may think that the confusion accompanying old age has begun early as Michelle walks with her eyes towards the sky and seemingly listens for something she can’t hear quite clearly. With her phone inside, she strolls in a circle around her house, watching each cluster of leaves and the rustle of branches as though they might be what she seeks. It doesn’t happen often. Once, maybe twice per month?
“I know you’re there,” Michelle whispers to herself.
She knows this for a fact. Seeing an owl means it’s going to be a good day. Seeing an owl assures her that everything is going to be okay, regardless of all the chaos and stress in her life. Those large and intelligent-looking eyes seem to say, “It’s okay. You’re okay. Just breathe and pause for a moment.”
***
Even as an elementary school student, Isabella’s room was filled with animals. She’s had large fish tanks atop her wardrobe, various hamsters and guinea pigs running in wheels at all hours of the night, birds – many found as abandoned pets in the wild – flying around her room, her family dogs sniffing in the corners, and adopted turtles – albeit kept in the garage on account of the tank. Even now, as a sophomore in college, her bird Peeta and dog Indy await her at her family’s home while her frog Fungus and banana slug Rhubarb keep her company in her college dorm, spending her classes studying marine animals and her free time sitting in wait to photograph birds and other animals in the wild. Animals have been a constant in her life, to say the least.
Enter the owl. A young Isabella can be seen reading Kathyrn Lasky’s 16-book series Guardians of Ga’Hoole and pleading with her mom to visit Huntersville’s Carolina Raptor Center to see raptors in rehabilitation. She creates the informal Owl Club to educate her friends about the species, having them draw from a box of cards to see which species of owl they would be and make “Mice Krispies.” At her kitchen table, Isabella draws, creating variations of Pokémon cards with different owls in lieu of the mythical species. When she receives a Chromebook in middle school, she immediately sets her password as Strix nebulosa, the scientific name of the Great Grey Owl.
“Where did this fascination come from?” her mother wonders.
Until this point, Isabella’s favorite animal has been the orca, the killer whale. That’s not to say that the owl was Isabella’s new favorite animal – asking Isabella to pick her favorite animal was like asking a parent to choose their favorite child.
***
For Michelle and Cristin, a typical walk begins at James Boyce Park. Their five-mile loop starts in this small park, leading into woods beyond. They wind through the woods, talking about everything and nothing at all. On the curving path with relatively flat terrain and the occasional bridge for crossing, they solve all the world’s problems and the most inconsequential of things. When they see a familiar face, they politely exchange brief greetings or give them an acknowledging smile or nod. The woods are too dense to hone in on a single detail; they save that for the creek.
Before they cross the bridge that will lead them to a more open stretch of concrete pathways, they see Ed. Ed the Poet always walks alone and never ventures past the bridge. Michelle and Cristin know that if they don’t see him by the time they cross the bridge, they will have missed him. This particular morning, Ed gives them a friendly wave and joins the duo.
“How’s it going, Ed?” Cristin asks with a smile as both women slow their brisk pace to accommodate the older man.
“Are you having a good day so far?” Michelle prompts, receiving an assurance from Ed that he is indeed having a wonderful morning. She adds, “We’re heading to the lake.”
“Oh, I’ll just walk with you a bit,” Ed remarks. “I have a new poem that I think the two of you might like!”
Before the women can politely protest, Ed launches into his performance. “It’s called ‘Captain Conniption’:
I’m Captain Conniption,
The Scourge of the sea,
No pirate alive
Is as fearsome as me,
I’m ten times as tough
As the skin of a whale
The sharks cringe in terror
Wherever I sail.”
Ed does indeed recite the rest of Jack Prelutsky’s poem, demonstrating his most recently memorized poem to his crowd. Before he can begin a new poem or create a new one entirely, they reach the bridge crossing McAlpine Creek.
“I’ll leave the two of you here,” Ed says with a wave, turning to reenter the forest and find his next audience.
With Ed giving an impromptu performance of a lifetime, Michelle hasn’t had time to search the trees without seeming rude. This is the place though. In the next mile towards the lake, the concrete pathway cuts between McAlpine Creek and the woods beyond it and the typically marsh-like area of land separating the path from neighborhoods. With fewer branches to scan, this is where Michelle’s search begins – in this new terrain.
***
As a photographer, Isabella looks for all types of animals but has a particular love for birds as one might guess from her bird-focused photography account on Instagram. Nearly every single day, Isabella posts. She never posted on Instagram in high school; she didn’t even have an Instagram in high school. But she wanted to try something new in college, sharing her photographs on social media.
When she first began photographing birds, hawks were an easy subject. They were everywhere in the wooded backyard of her childhood home and could be seen nearly everywhere in North Carolina. Now, attending a school on the coast, wading birds populate the beach, striding in the water nearly all day. The ghost-like ibis is her favorite, but she appreciates a heron or egret any day. Coastal birds in general fascinate her. Herons, for example, spear through fish.
“Perfectly designed to do what they do,” Isabella thinks.
Thus far, the Barred Owl is the only type of owl she’s been able to photograph. Don’t get her wrong, she loves Barred Owls but dreams of photographing the tiny Eastern Screech Owl. To be frank, she appreciates any encounter with an owl, knowing that some people only dream of spotting an owl in the wild.
In Isabella’s opinion, it’s a wonder that the gem of photography and birdwatching is the owl. She doesn’t get it. But, at the same time, she absolutely does. They’re elusive, and, if you’re able to capture a shot of one, you’ve succeeded. There’s a moment when you see an owl. You look at this being, and a reflection glimpses back at you, seeming to understand you.
She would never advise anyone to take this as a symbol of wisdom, though. “Owls are dumb as rocks,” Isabella would unabashedly state.
Nonetheless, she could see an owl a million times and never be bored; the experience would still be as magical as the first time she saw one.
***
There’s an unspoken rule on the greenway: if you see an owl, you don’t tell anyone outside the circle of trust. Michelle and Cristin know this. With their long lists of errands, they can’t spend much time with the wild owls, keeping a steady pace.
Most of the time, it’s Michelle with her eyes toward the sky, looking at each cluster of branches as though an owl might be hiding behind them. She assures Cristin that she is still listening to her story and is familiar enough with the fluctuations in her friend’s voice to not need a visual to understand the entire story. At the same time, she listens for the faintest “hoot” that may give her an inclination of the owl’s whereabouts.
If Michelle doesn’t spot the owl herself, she hears about it from Jim and George. There is a sacred code of trust. When they pass, they briefly exchange pleasantries and then inform the others about an owl spotting. They don’t tell just anyone. Though most people would like to see an owl in the wild, not everyone respects an owl in the wild. People attempt to disturb the nocturnal creatures, dissuading the owls from returning to spots they deem safe on the greenway.
Sometime during the year 2020, a parliament of Barred Owls deemed Michelle’s own backyard a safe haven. She knows it’s a parliament – a group of owls – because she sees the multiple pairs of eyes reflecting in the light of her flashlight.
The first time it happened, Michelle had been letting her golden retrievers outside a final time before getting in bed. Silently hoping that her dogs would do their business quickly, Michelle stood in the door frame with a jar of treats, ready to shake them and lock up for the night. There wasn’t much to see. With only the faint illumination from the doorway and the sparse garden lights around the trees, the backyard faded into darkness at night. She could see the hint of her white golden retrievers standing out among the trees and tiny swarms of bugs flickering into sight as they caught the light.
It was something she heard that made her pause. Straining to hear over the hum of downtown Charlotte in the distance, she heard it again. Something was emitting a series of “hoots.” Actually, it sounded like several somethings were contributing to the symphony of “hoots” that would rise and fade.
Donning the flip-flops always at the backdoor, Michelle grabbed her flashlight and walked into the yard, avoiding the countless holes that her puppy had dug. With so many trees, it was hard to pinpoint where exactly the owl (or owls?) would be. Aiming the flashlight at random clusters of branches and leaves, she slowly turned in a circle. As luck would have it, she noticed two sets of eyes gleam back at her for a second, disappearing as soon as the flashlight moved. Cautiously, she focused the flashlight on that area, noticing the two owls. Not wanting to frighten the pair, she turned off the flashlight, allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkness. She could just barely see the two owl-like shapes. Sure enough, as she listened, soft hoots sounded in that area, and another hoot responded. Twirling, Michelle tried to find the third owl, but her luck had run out.
But she had three owls in her backyard. The nocturnal birds had chosen her yard to begin their day. With her dogs content to be outside for a few more minutes, Michelle stood and listened to the owls’ calls.
***
There’s no rushing Isabella’s progress. Unless, of course, she was to lure the Barred Owl with a small rodent. As a marine biology major with an interest in ornithology, Isabella would know exactly how to stage a photograph. But you will never find Isabella doing so, vehemently opposing the luring of animals for mere photography.
Isabella tells anyone interested in animal photography that she never wants to disturb her subjects, giving them a healthy distance from across a clearing or behind a tree. Why should she bother them with her presence? And she will tell anyone that they ought to do the same.
Bird photography is not for the impatient. Armed with her Nikon D5600 and foraging bag, Isabella feels prepared for battle – the battle of sitting and waiting.
But sometimes the battle is not with nature itself but with people.
Isabella had gone to a garden near campus to shoot, knowing that migrations of birds are likely to pass through there and offering great visibility from nearly every angle. Though Isabella is content to sit in a single spot, patiently waiting for her next great shot, she does move from time to time, stretching her legs and experiencing a change of scenery.
It was a long shot – and Isabella knows it. There is this one tree that she had seen a Barred Owl perched in before, and, being the bird girl that she is, she knows that owls will return to spots they deem safe. And luckily, she has. She – Isabella knows she is a she on account of her larger size – sleeps in a tree, seated near the trunk in the safety of the branches’ shadows.
Isabella prepares to approach the tree, keeping a respectful distance between her and the owl and knowing her camera would capture the details regardless. But she stops when she sees what she presumed to be a mother and two small children. Knowing that the children won’t be occupied by the playground-less garden for long, she feels content to wait them out. And that’s when the mother approaches her.
“What are you doing with that camera?” the woman chirpily asks.
Never one to be rude to a simple inquiry, Isabella happily explains that she photographs birds when she is not in class, knowing people are naturally curious when they see photography equipment.
While chattering with the woman, Isabella glances over to see her children running around the owl’s tree but notes that they haven’t seen her yet. It is only a matter of time though, considering how low the owl is perched. “If I don’t draw attention to it, they’ll go away,” Isabella hopes to herself.
Then, the woman inquires, “Is there any specific bird you’re hoping to capture?”
That’s when Isabella makes a mistake. “Yeah. I’m actually here to take pictures of this owl,” she answers with a nod toward the tree.
All hell breaks loose at that point. The mother lets out an exclamation of “wow!” when she spots the Barred Owl. And the kids, noticing their mom’s excitement over the discovery, spot the owl. With horror, Isabella watches as the children begin throwing rocks at the owl, likely wanting her to take flight. The mother seems oblivious, still talking to Isabella about her camera.
When she realizes the mother won’t stop her unruly children, Isabella sternly says, “Hey. Tell your kids to stop throwing rocks at the damn owl.”
The mother puts a stop to her kids’ antics and resumes talking to Isabella. But the children’s running around the tree and throwing of rocks have attracted others. Grown men began to crawl around the tree, ducking under branches and trying to put their iPhones as near to the owl as they can. Isabella’s photos would have to wait.
To her delight, the owl returned to that spot in the following weeks, telling Isabella that she hadn’t been completely scared away. She learned a valuable lesson that day: don’t reveal an owl’s location.
***
Unlike Isabella, Michelle hardly ever plans to see owls. It happens by chance when she is walking around her backyard. When she is on her hour-long walk in the morning with Cristin. When she is sitting in the dog park, watching her puppy chase circles around other dogs. She doesn’t set aside a specific time, making it all the more surprising when she hears the owl’s call.
However, driving home from the Chinese restaurant, all Michelle can think about is the leftover fried string beans and chicken lettuce wraps that will be a great lunch the next day. Her sister-in-law occupies the passenger seat, explaining her guesses for the morning’s Wordle. While listening, Michelle is already planning to change into pajamas and pour herself a drink of sparkling water, white wine, and a splash of grenadine. In short, she has considered the day over.
Having parked the car and shown her sister-in-law to the guest room to change, Michelle decides to lock up for the night, checking the side door, back door, and front door. When she goes to turn out the porch lights beyond the front door, an odd shape catches her attention. A bolt of fear runs through her, a natural reaction to seeing something out of place. Moving to the larger window for more visibility, she peers around the wall. A Barred Owl, perched on a chair, stares back at her. She realizes she must have driven right past it when she returned home. Michelle had gotten used to seeing the occasional owl in her yard, nearly always perched on a distant branch or in an area with low visibility. “Why in the world would the owl choose to perch here?” Michelle wonders to herself.
They say not to reveal an owl’s location. We’ve learned this by now. However, the exception is when you share an owl’s location with a fellow enthusiast – someone who knows and respects the unspoken rules.
Scrolling through her contacts and dialing, Michelle quickly explains, “There is still some light out, and an owl is just sitting on our front porch if you want to drive over.”
The drive typically takes twenty minutes in rush hour as everyone seems in a hurry and in a dour mood sitting in the lines of traffic. The red SUV flies down the street just fifteen minutes later; the driver thanks the traffic gods for the lack of speed bumps on Michelle’s street. Stepping out of her car, Isabella already has her camera turned on and has apparently forgotten to wear shoes in her haste.
Having sat on the side stoop so as to not spook the owl, Michelle smiles, “Your mom told me you’d been having trouble finding wild owls in Charlotte. I said that I would call you the next time one visited my yard.”
Isabella silently thanks Cristin for knowing Michelle.
Spotting the owl, Isabella positions herself to photograph, standing a respectful distance away and trusting her camera to capture the details from afar. It’s an almost comical sight: Isabella with her expensive camera, occasionally shifting to shoot from a different angle, and Michelle with her iPhone, snapping away to capture every second. They are two people who would not ordinarily spend time together. In that moment, though, they shared in their love of the owl before them, appreciating its simple presence.
***
You might ask, “why did the owls choose them?” A college student with a profound appreciation for all animals, knowing how to respect creatures as well as capture them with her photography. And a preschool teacher who began seeing owls on her morning walks as well as in her own backyard, interpreting them as a good omen. My best friend and my mom.
Only the Barred Owl may ever know.
Photo by Michelle Rogers