Don't Call Me Eagle Eyed

I missed it.

Tim saw a bald eagle Sunday, watching the traffic from a perch above the highway. Right in the middle of town. My mom taught me from a young age that I should never reveal a bald eagle's exact location, so you'll have to find him for yourself.

She taught me that to protect the birds. She didn't want anyone to seek out a nest out of curiosity and disturb the occupants.

When I was a baby, a bald eagle was a very rare animal. The DDT used to kill insects before I was born was internalized by the critters that ate their bodies and so on and so on up the food chain until momma eagles laid thin-shelled eggs that had no chance of protecting the progeny inside. Few eggs survived to hatch.

As I've grown older, the eagles have made a comeback. Mom, my little sister and I watched some soar from a Missouri River bluff one day. Since then, they like to hide from me.

Three or four Januarys ago, Tim and I headed to Lake Ozark for Eagle Days. The Conservation department should have called it Blue Heron Days because it was uncommonly warm and those were the only remotely unusual birds we saw. The eagles were probably nabbing field critters. I imagine they're an easier catch than fish. We did get to see some eagles nursed of their wounds by raptor organizations, but no free-flyers.

Tim, having been familiar with a roadside eagles nest near Truman Lake, knows what to look for. He spots them during our statewide drives. Occasionally, a bird appears to reward his efforts.

One of these days, it will be my turn to see a bald or golden eagle. I hope I'm either walking or a passenger in a car - so I don't crash while watching them.