We have a problem child residing in our backyard, and he’s not the human variety.
It turns out that peregrine falcons also have problems with getting their offspring to exit the nest.
Actually, it’s been hysterical watching the frustrating process.
The precarious transition of a baby falcon to adult—
The first time we noticed that there was a baby falcon living in our eucalyptus tree, it was because the adults (parents) were dive-bombing our black lab every time he was outside in their vicinity. Hami wasn’t deterred, though, and continued to make himself visible and noisy.
Then, nearly two weeks ago, I came home one afternoon to find a peregrine falcon perched on the edge of my roof, leaning against our fireplace brick. He peered down upon me as I drove to the garage. As soon as I slowed down to look at him, he swiftly pivoted and ran back across the roof in the direction of the tree. And that was the first thing that seemed odd to me.
He didn’t fly back to the tree, as they usually do. He sprinted, as though he didn’t have wings.
He also had tufts sticking straight up from his head that gave me the impression he was a young falcon shedding some baby feathers.
Several days later, as Chris and I enjoyed a cooling-off session in the pool (it’s extreme heat time here in the Southwest), we watched our two resident falcons come soaring back to the tree. Then another followed suit. Two coasted easily into the confines of the tree branches. The other one got snagged up on the low-hanging branches and flapped and swung and flapped and swung in vane. Finally, he dropped out of the tree and stood on the dead grass. When I got out of the pool, I slowly walked up the steps and sat on the patio couch to watch him. His wings hung limply out from his sides. So much so that I thought they were injured.
Concerned, I watched him several minutes before rising and moving toward him. At that point, he hopped across the grass and flew—sort of—to the nearby metal fence. Then he flew awkwardly to our back wall. Up to that time, I was considering a call to the game and fish department, or the Sonoran Desert Museum to see if they could lasso an injured falcon. But Chris and I realized he wasn’t injured.
He was afraid to fly!
Since then, Chris and I have watched daily as the young falcon sits on the edge of our dog’s water bowl, inches from our glass bedroom door, with his tail feathers dipped in the water; watched him as he watches us between the sliding glass door separating us from him on our back patio and our bedroom; watched him perch on a patio chair within safe distance from his parents and his tree—the only home he’s ever known.
Then Chris watched a frustrated parent squawk at him from our rooftop, while the other parent sat next to him on our olive tree branch, trying valiantly to boot him off the branch into flight by butting her head against her progeny’s back end. But the adolescent wasn’t about to take flight. He sat stubbornly on the branch, unmoved and unmoving.
But in the last several days, progress has been seen. The three of them leave the tree together to hunt and return effortlessly to the tree. Picked-clean animal carcasses litter the tree base. He’s finding himself comfortable in a variety of places on our patio, including the furniture.
Last Thursday morning, Chris was treated to what he described as “an air show.” The three falcons zoomed back and forth around our acre property in Blue Angel-like flight formation. Clearly, the offspring is growing into his wings. Indeed, he seems to be realizing he has splendid, useful ones.
And it seems, from our limited perspective, that his parents are patiently guiding him every step of the way, sticking closely enough—but not too closely—to boost his confidence. Squawking out encouragement from various vantage points around the yard. (It’s gotten pretty noisy back there.)
When we told the story to one of our older sons college friends, she laughed and labeled him “the millennial falcon.” Thus he’s been christened.
Maybe he’ll finally venture out and find a home of his own, and a mate with which to share flying fun and a family. Or maybe he’ll decide he’s got pretty good digs in our backyard and will only move down to a lower rung to set up shop, living in the “basement” level of the 80-foot eucalyptus. Multi-generational family is back in vogue right now, mostly out of necessity. But it does have its advantages.
Either way, we have a burgeoning aviary in our backyard and are blessed to be witness to this spectacle. It’s been delightfully entertaining!
Benefits for me—
It’s been educational, to see how one member of the animal world trains and supports its offspring. The ties that bind has a new meaning for, and I’m thinking a lot about how much more our adult boys seem to need us—and our advice—than they ever did (or wanted) before.
And I’m ruminating on how different children need vastly different techniques in child rearing and releasing, depending upon their abilities, their personalities, and their confidence. Clearly, they are not all able, or interested, in leaving the nest at the same age, or at the age we’ve arbitrarily deemed the mandatory release date.
As parents, sometimes we need to squawk reprimands, sometimes we need to cajole, sometimes we need to sympathize, protect, and encourage.
Sometimes we need to sit back, observe, and not interfere.
It’s a delicate job that needs a ton of wisdom and discernment from our heavenly Father to do well. And a heap of patience and forgiveness (from both parent and child sides) as we walk this lifelong road together. Because once we’re parents, we never stop being parents.
And even though they achieve adulthood, they never stop being our children.
It’s a blessing we must never take for granted.
Our faithful, long-suffering backyard dwellers are demonstrating and reinforcing a lot of what I already knew but didn’t always do well.
I’m looking on the animal world a little differently now, with more appreciation and camaraderie. And more than a few chuckles and outright belly laughs.
I had no idea how much we could relate to one another.
This entire process could be less stressful and more successful if we’d just let it.
Until next week,
Enjoy the animal creatures in your midst!
Blessings,