A Mother’s Reflections on Her Kids and a Baby Eagle

On this episode of Our American Stories, Our American Stories regular contributor Leslie Leyland Fields shares a heartwarming story about what she learned from a baby bald eagle at her Kodiak Island, Alaska, home—and how it connected to her own kids “leaving the roost” for the first time in their lives.

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Yea.

Speaker 2 (00:10):
This is Lee Habib and this is our American Stories,
the show where America is the star and the American people.
Up next, a story from Leslie leyland Fields. Leslie is
an author who lives on Kodiak Island in Alaska, and
she's been a regular contributor here on Our American Stories

(00:30):
for quite some time. Today, Leslie tells us a story
about motherhood. Take it away, Leslie, are.

Speaker 1 (00:37):
Not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one
of them will fall to the ground outside your father's
care Bam, bam, bam. My eyes twitch, my lids lift.
I peer at my watch. It's five forty six am.

(00:59):
I stump fall from bed and blearily approach the picture window,
just in time for the ninety ninth assault of the morning. Bam.
The fox sparrow collects himself from his collision with the window.
Then ready's for the next tubby. Really, now you're ruining

(01:20):
my sleep too.

Speaker 2 (01:22):
I groan.

Speaker 1 (01:24):
This marauder is the fattest sparrow I've ever seen. He
took over our bird feeder last month, and ever since
then has jousted his reflected adversary in the glass every
daylight hour, breaking only for rests in his nest just above.
That means that every meal beside this window and tree,

(01:48):
our every waking hour is punctuated by Tubby's charges. Yes,
I want to help him, but mostly I want my
quiet house back. It's a few days later now, and

(02:08):
I'm out hiking the edges of our Alaskan island on
this late June day, and I'm not thinking about the sparrow,
but I'm thinking about my son and daughter. The sun
is warm and the ocean is calm and serene, but

(02:31):
I'm not because later this week I will hug them
as they each board a tiny boat for a thousand
mile journey out in some of the wildest waters on Earth.
They're going to fish for salmon in Bristol Bay. It's
the largest and craziest salmon run in the world. They're

(02:53):
going to travel the North Pacific along the furthest reaches
of our country in a tiny thirty two foot boat,
the largest boat allowed in that fishery. So they will
be sailing the roughest furthest seas in the bathtub, my
daughter and my son, and they'll be gone for more

(03:15):
than a month. I hear the whistle of a peregrine
falcon overhead. Now when suddenly something stirs at my feet,
an eaglet. I almost stepped on her. She's not more
than a month old. I'm guessing. She looks at me quizzically.
She's as startled as I am. I look around. I

(03:38):
don't see any eagles overhead or on the hillside behind me,
And then I see the nest. It's just a circle
of dead grass, outlined with twigs, just eight feet away
from me. It's not on a cliff, it's not in
a tree, but it's right here, fully accessible to the

(03:59):
raven river otters, whose paths pattern the meadows and cliff
sides all around. This little eglet is so young, and
already she's wandered out of her nest. How could her
parents let her out of the nest so soon? She
looks at me keenly now, without any fear. I want

(04:20):
to nustle her on my neck. I want to pick
her up and return her to the circle of grass
and the wings of parents who surely will come back soon.
But maybe they won't. Maybe she's abandoned. Maybe I should
take her to our house. I bend to lift her,
my eyes on hers, my hands are outstretched before I

(04:44):
stop myself, my love could kill her. So I turned
back home, sadly, leaving her to her fate, and wondering
perhaps I'm not much different than her parents, letting their
young leave too soon. Later that week, when my daughter

(05:12):
and son left for Bristol Bay, I did not cry.
We protect our children as long as we can, from failure,
from hurt. We teach them about danger and survival. But
if we cannot let go when the time is right,
even when the time is wrong, who will protect our

(05:35):
children from us? Because I am dangerous too. I know
the wild beating in my own chest, the dark drive
to survive, the instinct to cling, to crush, and to steal.
So I left the eaglet in the grass that day,

(05:58):
but I tried to kill the sparrow. I did. My
kids protested, but I was resolute. The day that he
woke me. That early morning, I climbed a ladder and
hung fly paper beside the window, hoping that God would blink,

(06:19):
the bird would catch and would all be free. But
he didn't. A month later, the bird still flutters at
the window, cheerfully clear of my trap, and the eglet
is still there near his nest nearly doubled in size now,

(06:40):
and a thousand stormy miles later, my children returned to
the glad circle of our shore. Despite my narrow heart,
every sparrow home. Surely we live in a universe bent
toward love, But why so indiscriminate in its mercies. The

(07:04):
next morning, we eat breakfast together altogether, watching Tubby at
the window amazed. When we're done eating, I go out,
climb the ladder and pull the last fly paper down.

Speaker 2 (07:22):
The story of motherhood from Kodiak Island, Alaska. Here on
our American Stories. Le h Habib here, and I'm inviting you
to help our American Stories celebrate this country's two hundred
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(07:44):
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