The Osprey Story

Raising my two sons alone was never more challenging than the first few years after my ex-husband remarried. I made a lot of trips to Bay Head during that time.

Before Mom and Dad moved there permanently, the house, my family history and the ocean across the street were always a source of refuge for me. It was the place I went to heal, to rejuvenate, to stand on the edge of the ocean and realize my problems really weren't so huge after all. I would arrive in Bay Head bruised and battered (emotionally) and leave filled with hope and renewed energy to tackle the most important job of my life: raising my two beautiful boys.

One of the great things about Bay Head used to be the serenity and peacefulness I found when I was there. My mother, much to her dismay, is NOT one of the few people I can be "alone" with. She takes a lot of energy to be around, so when I am worn out I avoid her.

It was one such day when I was in Bay Head sometime in the mid-1990's. I needed some serious alone time, I had a lot on my mind and felt the world was tearing me down bit by bit. I was questioning my ability to raise my boys successfully by myself, and generally feeling whooped. So I took a chair and a blanket and plunked myself down at the edge of the ocean, hoping its magnitude would soothe my weary soul.I learned that day that God teaches us things we may not know we need to learn. Like what we deserve out of life.

While I was sitting in my chair, waiting for the magic to happen, watching the waves roll in and go back out, I became aware of someone sitting behind me. Because he was so quiet and respectful of my need to be alone, I knew it was my Dad. I knew he was there, behind me, literally and figuratively.

I was watching an osprey fly above the water. Every once in a while he would pause, then dive straight down into the ocean and come back up almost in the same spot. Obviously he was looking for dinner. After two or three attempts, he finally came up with a fat white fish flopping about, clutched between his two feet. He flew over to the shore and landed about 20' away from where I was sitting.

Flinging the fish down hard on the sand, the osprey began to jump on top of him, beating him with his wings, hitting the fish's head with his beak, clawing at him until at last the fish lay still. He'd put up a good fight, but in the end, dinner was served.

I fully expected the osprey to dig in and start pulling the flesh away from the fish. In fact I was almost grossed out by the thought and wasn't sure I wanted to watch. But instead, he quickly backed away across the sand. I hadn't seen his wife waiting off to the side, but there she was. The boy osprey had killed the fish for his wife, then gallantly moved away to allow her to come forward and peck away at her dinner.

The female, brown and homely, was very tidy in the way she ate, and completely unaware that the entire bird population on the east coast knew there was a dead fish on the sand. Flocks of birds appeared out of no where, crying, calling to each other, screaming ~ and one by one that male osprey fought them off while his wife ate the dinner he had killed for her. Time after time he stretched his wings out to each side and ran at a group of birds trying to approach on the sand. Then he turned and ran after the next group, on and on until his wife at last was full. Only then did he take a quick nibble at the fish himself.

It was truly an amazing thing to see and I was speechless. I was filled with awe for these birds who marry for life. But what became the miracle for me, the message I knew I needed to hear, came from behind me, from my father who had watched this amazing display of love and courage and gallantry with me.

In his very soft voice, he simply said, "You ought to marry that bird."

I love you too, Dad.