Two adult ospreys with chicks in nest — Ollie (left) and Opal (right) with their two nestlings

A salty, yet gentle south wind blows with it a familiar call. A sound that flows like velvet through my ears and signals home. Osprey. A forever keeper of this vast estuary known as the Chesapeake Bay. I hear but I cannot see.. I continue to listen. The wintry sky bursting with hues of pinks, blues and faint purples, while yellow ochres and sea-greens of the tide settle in. I wait against the bark of the old loblolly pine and breathe in the oysters and follow the tiny salt trails of each periwinkle. A salty river moon glows toward the mouth of the river — I suddenly catch her wing against the wind. She arrives.

Opal. That was her name. Her eyes were dark that glistened like a starry night sky. She was an excellent hunter and a well-seasoned traveler. Opal and her mate, Ollie, visited us for many, many years. It was always the warmest hello with a very tender goodbye. We never knew if they would return again. I learned so much about Osprey because of this pair. She became my companion. I was able to see the world through her eyes and gain a new appreciation for my surroundings. I became a better artist, birder, and naturalist. My ability to pay attention to each and every detail changed. I flourished and never looked back.

The first sighting each year brings joy and peace to many of us. A beacon showing us that spring is here — Mother Nature lifting her wintry veil and signaling us to arise. Their strenuous journey and resilience reminds me to never give up. Never stop. To stay rooted and live. To breathe.

This is the first bird I remember identifying on my own. I was five when I realized what Osprey were and how special they are to the Virginia coast. It is an honor to call the largest breeding ground for this salty raptor my home. Whenever I was painting, writing, or creating — Opal was right there next to me. Perched in her favorite pine tree with a bunker or nestled in her nest box…she accepted me and allowed me close to her territory. Ollie kept close by, but he was a gentle, shy bird. I always respected his space. I eventually learned what each call and signal meant. A fish being caught, a territorial display, calling to their mate of any threat, hunger, or taking turns incubating eggs…from talking to their young, or simply just being content — there is a sound for it. On a very hot day they tend to drag their talons lightly through the water to cool down and clean off the many fish scales that accumulate. They’re also gentle waders; a nice riverbank will always grab their attention to bathe and relax. It's a sight to behold!

Be cautious! Fish scales and tails will occasionally drop (and possibly land on your head!) if you are not aware of your surroundings. I never minded. It was a sign of health in the rivers; an abundance of food for wildlife to enjoy. I learned to observe their favorite trees and branches. Speckled trout and bunker became a dinnertime favorite. Though, the occasional rockfish would land in the talons of this skilled hunter from time to time. Documenting their chicks from nestlings to fledglings was a real treat. Patterned with bright diamond-like markings and red, curious eyes — how incredible to witness their first flight. The wind brings in courage and they take it. That first flight signals a summertime sadness. Migration is close. Yet this duet, Opal and Ollie, were excellent parents and guided their young to be successful for this great journey they were soon to be a part of.

I could truly fill this entire page with each experience I witnessed. A small snippet of a letter will have to do. In March of 2020, Opal did return but she did not stay. Her feathers were weathered and worn. She was tired. She had aged. I noticed the once full-of-life bird fall fragile. She navigated endless migration seasons. She survived and lived to an old age that many birds facing endless threats do not reach. Over the next few days, I noticed her nesting box was empty. Where was she? Ollie was taking a longer than normal time to arrive..I was worried. I never saw Opal again after that dreary day in March. I do not know if she passed in her sleep, if she suddenly was not happy with her nesting situation, a possible Great Horned Owl disturbance, or whichever — I was deeply saddened.

I kayaked miles to search for her and to make sure she was alright. I carefully inspected each Osprey nest that I knew of in the creek. With my binoculars, I glassed each and every individual bird..hoping to find her dark speckled eyes against the tide. Tears began to fall down my face in disappointment. I had to remind myself that this is a part of life and that this day was inevitable. Nothing could have prepared me to say goodbye to a longtime friend. In the middle of a chaotic and already isolating time in the world, I lost my sense of comfort. Ollie did eventually return. It was very heartbreaking to witness him wait for his longtime love, Opal. He waited like the true gentlemen he was.

If anything, I was happy that she came back home, even for a few days..because if she did pass away, this is where she belonged. This is her home.