Lazarus, the red-tailed hawk, has reached the end of his journey with me. Or has he?
Early October was when our paths crossed. His path was leading him 6 feet under because he was a goner. My path was giving me an avenue for much learning about this hawk and his fight for survival.
Lazarus had suffered from external injuries such as broken wing feathers. Internally, damage from parasites had needed mending. His desire to survive had fought through his obstacles. The spunk he possessed had inspired me to go above and beyond with his treatment.
The pen was Lazarus’ safe place, his very own Higher Ground. A place of peaceful solitude, a resting place, perhaps just a place where nothing had to be rushed, allowed him a complete recovery after the molting of his feathers. My schedule involved a lot of travel, so I had recruited a good friend, Brian, to care for Lazarus while I was away. My time away allowed a bond to grow between Brian and Laz.
Brian and I had seen the spirit within this bird of prey. His regained strength was noticeable when he clasped the glove firmer each day. Laz would greet each of us in anticipation of his next nutritious meal. Lazarus’ improvement gave us fulfillment. His flights grew longer. Lazarus’s physical changes showed evidence of his rebuilding. We’d remember numerous occasions when conversing with a hawk didn’t seem crazy after all. The rekindling of life, whether bird or man, gave new meaning to everyday activities.
Lazarus’ freedom day transformed into a reunion for friends keen on observing his initial flight returning to nature. We had opened the gate. Several moments passed before Lazarus had realized he could fly away from the pen. With a few flaps of his restored wings, he had flown to a nearby tree. His return to this wilderness location occurred quietly. Seeing him casually settled on the tall pine had produced satisfaction in the crowd. A few waves goodbye, and some pictures of his departure signaled the end of this bird’s restoration. Lazarus’ finale with humans had taken place. Or had it?
My last thumbs-up to Lazarus served as a salute in two ways; the happiness of his complete recovery, woven into the blues of us parting ways.
Over the past months, my whistling to him, Laz meeting me at the gate at mealtime, his chomping his beak with anticipation, all were thrills given as our bond had grown strong. The bond that had formed would now dissolve, as no physical interaction between man and hawk would keep it flourishing.
When asked if Lazarus still soars the valley near Higher Ground, subconsciously I go to the part of my brain that contains all the images and memories of my favorite hawk. There’s the image on a frosty October morning when Staci and I had picked up a lifeless bird. Lifeless, except for what had radiated from his eyes. Another picture etched in my brain is the selfie I took with me and Laz. He flew within inches of my right shoulder. He perched on his favorite limb beside me just to hang out, to say thanks, to just be with me. That moment, in Colorado’s wild, a hawk’s presence revealed my own untamed spirit’s goodness.
His rehabilitation period was for eleven months, from early October to the following September. Atrophied muscles slowly strengthened back into a powerhouse for providing sustained flight. His wing’s damaged-beyond-repair feathers molted, and new high-functioning flight feathers replaced them.
Feathers previously eaten away by parasites revealed bare patches of skin, exposing him to the harsh elements of Colorado. The eleven months of time allowed for healing. Newly grown feathers have now covered Laz from head to talon. He’s even taken on a much darker tone as he’s matured. People shown the before and after pictures of Lazarus had sworn it’s two different birds.
It was. One picture showed him on the verge of death. His body was so lifeless that he could barely stand. The other picture showed him on the fringe of a new frontier. His eyes blazed. The fire spread through his reconditioned feathers. He felt ready for life’s challenges.
The day before Lazarus was transported to Brian’s property for his future care, proved to be bittersweet. . Resting on the ground was one of his red tail feathers. That feather has become a special ornament on my fishing hat. A part of Laz goes with me now on my continuing journeys in the wilderness. The red tail feather now adorning my hat is proof of the connection Lazarus and I share.
Do I truly see Lazarus in the valley? It’s a fun conversation topic with people. Folks around Westcliffe know me as that ‘ hawk guy’. They’ll comment about seeing a hawk who didn’t seem afraid of them. Maybe they were walking by one in a field, or they saw one perched on the light pole at the town post office. Is that possibly your bird? I can truthfully answer, yes, that’s my bird.
My favorite bird is the red-tailed hawk. Just what they represent to me. So if you see that hawk, just remember you are looking at my hand-picked choice of all the feathered friends we get to enjoy.
Should the question focus on whether it is indeed Lazarus, then my response would be no. So much vast open country in Colorado and neighboring states, he could be anywhere. It would be exciting news to know where Lazarus would choose to call his home territory.
I remember a few years ago my son called me with his exciting news. As luck would have it, I was in this Wet Mountain Valley enjoying the view of this spectacular range of mountains. I remember it so vividly because of the substance of my son’s phone call to me as I was driving.
“Dad, Jill and I have something to tell you!” my son Jordan announced. Those words over the phone send a father’s brain into overdrive. “What’s up?” was all the response I could give.
“We wanted to share with you before telling others. We are getting married.”
The bond I have with my son is precious and strong. So strong that he wanted me in on one of his proudest days.
I’m still celebrating.
I bring up my son’s good time with me because of this.
Reasonably, my tenure with Lazarus has ended. Or has it?
Late in the afternoon, I’m once again enjoying the never-tiring view of the Sangre de Cristo range of mountains. This rewarding view is being seen as I sit in my favorite chair resting on my front deck.
From the valley floor south of me, high in the bluebird sky, blows in the unmistakable sound. “Kkrrrrrrrrr”, the sound fills my ears with a sweet-sounding proclamation of an approaching red-tailed hawk. He’s soaring effortlessly in the warm thermals, circling with the air currents that keep him aloft. My eyes watch him as he dances high above. Such a gift God has given me to be in tune with and appreciative of his awe-inspiring creatures. The hawk has intentionally removed himself from the thermal and is flying towards me. Still several hundred yards away, but I wonder. I give my best version of a red-tailed hawk’s call, hoping for a response.
“Kkkrrrrrrr”, I whistle. Immediately I’m met with a hawk’s cry from above, but coming closer. “Kkkrrrrrr,” I almost knock the chair over as I stand and grab onto the log railing of the deck. “Kkkrrrrrr,” I repeated. “Kkkrrrrrr” comes an immediate answer. I quickly took my phone from my pocket with my free hand and started recording a video. Could it be?
It was highly convenient that my grasp still clenched the log railing as I almost fell backward. The hawk is less than 100 feet away, showing off its maneuvering skills. He is darting and catapulting in the air, showing off his God-given abilities. Witnessing this extraordinary aerial event at Higher Ground; my breathing and possibly my heart stopped.
Flying even closer now were not one, but TWO hawks, circling together! They performed acrobatic interlacing with their flights. One would dive and the other followed. Flapping of wings in unison signified that they were a team. These hawks appeared committed to each other forever.
I’m still celebrating!
