Thank you, Ali, a beautiful glimpse into a birder's life of love and
fascination and deep connection, but I find most moving the rhetorical
use of the interrogative, which perfectly captures the humility before
nature that may save us and the Goshawk yet.  A good way to start
Monday!Veer Frost

On 8/4/2019 at 9:48 PM, "alison wagner"  wrote:Dear Birders, Please
read if you'd like: 
Are you the Goshawk? 
A neighbor called me to say she had “possibly an owl” in her yard
and she was sure it wasn’t okay. It had been on the ground for a few
hours and not moving. So I grabbed a sewing machine-sized box and a
baby-sized light blanket and headed to her house. What I found was
this gorgeous predator. We approached very slowly from behind. I
didn’t think he could see me well as his behavior didn’t change
when he turned to face me. Tough leather gloves gave me little
reassurance as I approached him, but he was as docile as a chicken. A
trip-to-VINS-later, he was examined and determined to be underweight,
“not well for awhile” (bent tail feathers indicated he’d been on
the ground a while) and I believe they said “plaque spots” in his
eyes. The diagnosis is West Nile Disease and they will do what they
can. 
All the way to VINS, I thought about this hawk and the many
opportunities I’ve had experiencing this species in Huntington. I
feel like I know this bird. 
Who are you? Are you the Goshawk I sometimes see flying over the
Huntington River? Are you a direct descendant, one of the many chicks
raised in the forest near “Gail’s Cabin” at the Birds of Vermont
Museum? Or maybe you are the parent that nested there. One time a
friend of mine was terrified as he was chased through those woods,
away from your territory. Do you recall that ever happening? The way
my friend described his escape reminded me of an old fashioned cowboy
gun fight, with the fleeing cowboy ducking behind a rock and looking
ahead for the next place to take cover. Look, choose, run, dive. My
friend scrambled on his hands and knees, diving behind berry bushes to
avoid your nasty talons. Did you do that, terrify my friend? Perhaps
you are the handsome bird that sometimes perches at the edge of my
yard, looking to pick up some fast food. If so, remember the time I
saw you perched as I drove my car down the driveway? I got out of the
car to get a better look...and one look from you told me to get back
in the car and close the door. Last year I recorded a father Goshawk
calling in the forest in Granville. His chicks responded in the
distance. Your tone told me I should not walk any further down the
path when out of “no where” you flew over my head and perched in
front of me. No, that couldn’t have been you...but I bet a distant
relative for sure. Maybe you’re the guy that made the adrenaline
shoot through my body one wintry day several years ago as I was
snowshoeing down the steep hillside behind my house...your bone
chilling calls inspired me to step faster. Or perhaps you’re the
offspring of the Goshawk I see circling the skies above Camels Hump
State Forest. You know, the southern part of the park off route 17?
Most likely you are the same bird I counted on a Christmas Bird Count
in the neighborhood just north of where I picked you up today. All
these places may just be pins-of-encounters with a male Northern
Goshawk, coincidentally in a straight line on a map. A line along the
high foothills paralleling the Green Mountain Range’s peaks. Are you
one and the same guy? Because I know you. You are my neighbor. 
I hope he recovers and I can bring him home. 
Ali Wagner 

Huntington