Connecticut Audubon Society

Owling With Sam
By Andrew Griswold, Director
Connecticut Audubon EcoTravel
This article originally appeared in Connecticut Audubon News, Fall 2002

There is no better way to see owls than through the eyes of a three year old. My three-year old son, Sam, his mother, and I live next to a 650-acre woodland, where in the spring the often raucous calls of newly fledged great horned and barred owls frequently drift out from the oaks and beeches.

This one particular evening in April was unusually warm and the “great horneds” were close to the yard. I suggested to Sam that we see if we could call one in, and the mere mention that it would involve the use of a flashlight was enough to grab his attention. After a few well rehearsed hoots, the owl flew into the yard and landed close by in a tree not yet leafed out, giving us a great view. Just to be sure that Sam was seeing the owl, I asked him to show me where the owl was with the flashlight. No doubt, he had located his first owl!

Before long, the hooting had attracted another young owl, and soon after a third started calling from the fringes. For about 20 minutes we enjoyed the playfulness of the young birds practicing and exploring their own vocal prowess. They each eventually moved-on, down into the little valley below the house, and in the quiet that followed, Sam enthusiastically asked if we could “do it again,” as only a three year old can.

I had little hope of being able to create such a performance twice, but we headed on down into the valley and the direction of the last silvery calls. Placing ourselves in a spot where the view above was open, we gave a few hoots, and to my surprise the response was nearly instantaneous. One of the owls flew in and perched in plain view just above us.

Again, Sam, with the flashlight, was able to bathe the owl in the misty light of his “torch”, just before the owl again flew over our heads. He followed the owl to its next perch and just in the edge of the beam of light, something caught our eye. At first I thought it to be a moth, but its slow downward rocking was not that of an insect. I put my hand out and cradled it, bringing the prize down for Sam to see, his eyes wide with wonder. As the owl had made his last pass over us, from his belly fell one of the softest feathers you can imagine. A gift. Perhaps a peace offering; now residing in an old peppermint tin marked with the letters “G.H.O.” so that from time-to-time Sam and I can reminisce about our special evening together.

Just the other night, Sam, now four years old, suggested “ Let’s go owling, Dad, so you can catch another feather for me to put in the tin.” I guess he is now going to expect this from me every time. Children have incredible expectations of their parents.