Buzz and Ruby's Nest

Everything I know about sending my kids to college I learned from a pair of red-tailed hawks named Buzz and Ruby.

Red-tailed hawks are indigenous to the area where I live, and are especially plentiful in my “backyard,” which abuts 114 acres of conservation land.  It is not uncommon for a particular hawk, who I have named Crim (for crimson), to perch on a particular branch of a large and ancient tree off our rear deck.  Crim will sit for hours guarding our home and bathing in the sun.  He is accustomed to humans so, therefore, is not spooked when we gather on the deck to admire him or to party wildly.  Since moving to the area and meeting Crim, we have become hawk-conscious throughout the region.  There is something touching about the way they soar through the sky and loom over us all—a poignant reminder that we are squatters in Nature’s backyard.

But back to Buzz and Ruby.  Red-tailed hawks stay together as couples, even returning year after year to the same nest.  Up the road in the Fresh Pond area of Cambridge, on a busy commuter parkway adjacent to the large Alewife T-station (the terminating point of the Red Line), Buzz and Ruby built a nest on a ledge of an office building, about seven stories off the ground.  A few years ago, we became aware that they had built this nest by the crowd that began hanging around in mid-April.  Each week the gathering became larger and larger while the telephoto lenses hanging around the necks of the onlookers grew longer and longer.  Eventually, Buzz and Ruby created a round-the-clock traffic jam along this already packed surface artery.

By May 1^st, Buzz and Ruby had hatched three tiny “eyasses.”   Both parents remained in or near the nest, taking turns circling the area for prey and bringing back food for the tiny chicks.  Most of the time, they positioned themselves on the edge of the nest between their offspring and the distant gawking crowd, staring the spectators down while preventing even a glimpse of their precious youngsters.  By June, at least two of the young hawks seemed vital (there was a question of whether the late hatchling was feeding well).  We began to see them spreading and fanning their wings as they approached the height and appearance of their parents.   Within weeks, as they acquired the capacity, the fledglings took flight and were unceremoniously pushed from the nest.

There is nothing as wonderful as filling a home with children, and nothing as important as sending them on their way when the time comes.  When my children reached those difficult years—16, 17, 18—my husband used to tell me that it was Nature’s way of making it easy for me to let go.   Neither of my kids applied to colleges in our home state; both had dreams and ambitions that took them elsewhere.  I am happy that they both knew their own minds and that each found a life tailor made for their need.  In truth, I have always been less afraid of letting go and more afraid to discover that my lack of motherly skill may have handicapped my children.  What if I failed to instill all the desirable adult attributes and necessary powers of reasoning?

    

But children, like red-tailed hawks have their own powers of flight.  They sprout wings and learn to flap instinctively, taking to the air with or without maternal accession.  Sometimes they falter a bit, but then they learn to adapt to the changing winds.  All we, as mothers, can do is to soar high above as Nature allows, hoping to catch a glimpse of our progeny at work in their own endeavors, and ever grateful for those moments when we meet up as fellow adults.

Tomorrow's blog:  Visualize It