If I happen to be outside at the end of the day — usually when dusk is beginning to fall — I’ll often hear the gentle, haunting cry of a barred owl: Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you? It’s unlike any other bird song I know, close to human-sounding in tone and cadence. But also intimate and somehow loving, like a mother calling her children in for dinner.
Nearly thirty years ago, the night we first moved into our house, something swept across the road in front of us just as we were pulling into the driveway. It was hardly more than a shadow, flying low, its wings outstretched: a barred owl. It almost seemed to be welcoming us to our new home. Over the decades, there’s always been a barred owl or two around the place. It’s the perfect habitat for them, facing the wooded rise of Harvey Mountain and the rapid babble of Baldwin Brook. They hunt on our land, then sail across the road to perch in the hollows of trees or the repurposed nests of squirrels and hawks. They tend not to migrate, or even travel very far. Cornell Lab reports that “of 158 birds that were banded and then found later, none had moved farther than 6 miles away.”
It’s comforting to think of us living side by side all these years. I don’t often see them; they blend so beautifully into the landscape. But their songs at twilight let me know they’re still there.
Snowy Night
by Mary Oliver
Last night, an owl
in the blue dark
tossed an indeterminate number
of carefully shaped sounds into
the world, in which,
a quarter of a mile away, I happened
to be standing.
I couldn’t tell
which one it was –
the barred or the great-horned
ship of the air –
it was that distant. But, anyway,
aren’t there moments
that are better than knowing something,
and sweeter? Snow was falling,
so much like stars
filling the dark trees
that one could easily imagine
its reason for being was nothing more
than prettiness. I suppose
if this were someone else’s story
they would have insisted on knowing
whatever is knowable – would have hurried
over the fields
to name it – the owl, I mean.
But it’s mine, this poem of the night,
and I just stood there, listening and holding out
my hands to the soft glitter
falling through the air. I love this world,
but not for its answers.
And I wish good luck to the owl,
whatever its name –
and I wish great welcome to the snow,
whatever its severe and comfortless
and beautiful meaning.
I truly love what you post and share…and this sure is one of them. Enchanting. She always seems to ger to the essence of things. It is comforting and it is, I think , very wise.
Mary Oliver’s poem goes perfectly with the information and writing about the owls.
How wonderful and special to have these fascinating creatures around your home and for so long. I would love that. I live in a more “urban” environment (Bangor, Maine). Near the Penobscot River so see quite a lot of wildlife when out and about. Many crows , other birds, squirrels in and around the trees here and seagulls flying over. I see the flashes of white in the sky at night.
Thanks so much, Cheryl. How wonderful to live so close to the Penobscot River — such a beautiful part of the world.
I’m not a”poet person” but Mary Oliver gets me every time!
Thank you for sharing her words so often..
Enjoy the winter ❄️
Annette
Mary Oliver gets me every time, too, Annette!
BarryAWOTC
I always wondered what those barred owls were saying.
Her poem took me there.
Good to hear from you AWOTC. Glad I could translate Owlese for you.
Thanks Liza, Anders, Cornell, and Mary Oliver! What a lovey coming together of fact, art, nature, and narrative – a warm bowl of life.
Thanks so much, Phyllis. I’m lucky to be able to call on Anders for all things bird.
So happens we saw a Barred Owl just yesterday, inside a cage where it is recovering from an injury as we roam Gulfcoast Florida, chasing birds. And sure enough, it offered its precious “who-cooks” call. Always new and, as you say, both haunting and comforting.
What a lovely coincidence. And thanks for so generously sharing your photos and videos with us.
Well, this has to be one of the most amazing posts you’ve ever made. What you wrote and the poem were wonderful on their own, but Anders photos and video and recording were just amazing. I live very close to you, but our property isn’t really very near a wooded area. Nonetheless, from now on I’m going to be more aware when I walk Bentley.
Thanks, Susan. Perhaps the ferocious Bentley is scaring the barred owls off.
Liza, always love your writing as much as the poets you feature. Thanks for always helping me remember that “I love this world”….and often it’s the little things.
Thanks, Em. What a great line, don’t you think:
“I love this world, but not for its answers.”
This post and its links sent me to my drawing pad to draw the barred owl, a wonderful subject. You have artfully captured its essence.
Thanks, Patty. Would love to see that sketch sometime.
Not only a wonderful post, but I loved your brother’s pictures and description of the owl!
Me, too, Zina! Thanks for writing.