Written and Contributed By Edward C. Woodward

“Love is in the air, literally.” That’s the Valentine’s Day lead for a story I planned to pitch about a wild barred owl courting its counterpart, Phantom, an impaired caged female at Boyd Hill Nature Preserve in St. Petersburg, Florida.  

But as the copy flowed, my feelings sank. Barred owls mate for life. Reading my notes it seemed sad, not sweet, that the owls serenaded each other at sunset. They even clung together through the cage. I felt like wildlife paparazzi, cheapened by selling a cute story about frustrated lovebirds. And my anthropomorphized pick up line felt forced: “A barred owl’s call in the wild? It sounds like: ‘Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you-all?’ Compassion for the in-laws already. Brilliant.”  

Instead, I pulled away from the story and pondered layers, one theme nature writer Susan Cerulean taught during a three-day workshop that brought me to Boyd Hill. Did the wild owl know Phantom was caged? If they copulated through the cage, then what? Remember barred owls mate for life. 

I needed a “think spot” to decide the fate of my owl story. Underneath oaks behind my garage is a Sanford and Son catchall. I sat on a cinder block and closed my eyes. I breathed. And listened. I heard wind chimes; wind and chimes. I heard wind-rustled leaves; wind and leaves. Unfolding layers I heard symbiotic sounds otherwise silenced.

I also heard part of a poem Susan Cerulean recited earlier that day. “You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves,” writes Mary Oliver in “Wild Geese.” “Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again.” 

The world has far greater issues than my story angst. But in that chattering-mind free moment an answer appeared. Dig deeper than your first impression, I told myself. Don’t “YouTube” the owls.  

The next day I visited Phantom. She perched still in a potted ficus tree like an owl decoy in a garden. A few strides later I searched the oak tree housing the wild owl. At first glance, nothing. I looked higher, beyond a leaf cluster and the bark’s brown hues that hid his feathers. There he is. Not as conspicuous, though. And I couldn’t see his eyes. I returned to Phantom’s cage and stared at her, awaiting insight. She looked at me and blinked, then looked away. Wildlife paparazzi. I backed away about five feet, then turned and went home. This story would unfold at an owl’s pace, not mine.  

Follow the owl courtship at http://www.pinellasbirds.com/page04.html, a birding website maintained by a Boyd Hill volunteer.*

* Author's Note: After more than a month courting Phantom, the wild owl left. We'll keep you posted if the romance resumes.