Memory Soars on
Bird's Wings
Albany Times Union 12/29/02 by Fred LeBrun
We huddled under
the awning over the freshly opened grave, seeking shelter from a blustery
spring wind and a cold misty rain. And the comfort so hard to find for
why we were there. My niece Daphne, a sweet child of 33, and her friend
Steve, in a small plane, heading for a vacation in Florida. A crash.
The dreaded call in the middle of the night, when you know before you
even fumble for the phone that the news will be the worst. The dull
ache that eventually becomes part of your life. But at that graveside
service deep in rural Renssealaer County, all of it was too raw, too
new for the long view. The finality of Daphne's passing was more than
we could get our arms around and comprehend. Maybe that's why we kept
looking and listening for signs her spirit was still with us. When a
solitary Canada goose flew low overhead halfway through the service,
and paused for a moment over the grave, we all looked up. Then we all
stared at each other with half smiles and silently mouthed the same
word. "Daphne." That was on a dreary May 2nd. After the service
as best we could, we all returned to the business of life.
Within a week I heard from my old friend Pete Dubacher, whose calling
it is to care for the wounded and disabled bird life at the Berkshire
Bird Paradise in Petersburg, NY. Peter was excited, but guardedly so,
and what he had to say served as a badly needed distraction for me,
so I got right into it. He had hatched a baby eagle on May 4. A Golden
Eagle whose coming to being is a testament to the triumph of life over
probabilities and adversity. First you have to know that Peter cares
for many eagles, golden and bald, at his sanctuary. They were flown
there from zoos or wildlife rehabilitation centers from Alaska to Arizona
to Wisconsin. Some were shot by hunters, or hit by cars. Part of Peter's
dream for his sanctuary always has been to raise healthy young from
disabled birds, then release them to the wild a sort of final dividend
affirmation. He'd actually done it once, in 1999, but other attempts
had been thwarted. Mating couples didn't lay viable eggs, or eggs, broke,
or young chicks died early on from a dozen problems. This golden eagle
chick's natural parents were Cara, a Utah Golden Eagle blinded by 40
birdshot pellets still in here head and neck, and Ross, a golden raised
in a zoo that had closed. Previous matings had shown that Cara's blindness
led to broken eggs. So this time, Peter took the egg produced by Cara
away from her and gave it to a pair of severely disabled bald eagles,
Zipper and Olympia, to raise. They proved to be doting, protective stepparents.
Wildlife artists and biologist Wayne Trimm came by and pronounced the
chick a female from its large size. Wildlife pathologist Ward Stone
came by regularly to ooh and aah at the baby. So did member of my family.
Then knew it was a long shot for the eagle to survive, so it got a lot
of prayers.
The eaglet didn't just survive, it thrived, getting bigger and stronger
by the day. Pete Nye, head of the state Department of Environmental
Conservation's endangered species unit, came by and banded and attached
a radio transmitter to it. Sixteen weeks and a day after the chick was
born, early on a late summer's morning a bunch of us stood at a respectful
distance as Peter Dubacher carefully peeled back the protective netting
over the enclosure that harbored the eagle family. Zipper and Olympia,
with broken wings and capability only of hobbling, were perched proudly
side by side. The eaglet, registered with the U.S. Fish and Wildlife
Service and officially named Daphne, took a few strong strokes and was
high in the sky. Borne on eagle's wings.
