Osprey Tales

The third egg remains quiet, still as before, unmoved.
It will not hatch.
Nothing more to be said.

Harriett is busy feeding baby.

Her mate has provided plenty of food.

This fish appears to be a striped mullet—a “jumping mullet,” as we call them in Carteret County.
Easy to catch.
Plentiful.

Our sole survivor looks healthy.
Eyes open.
Head lifts—drops—lifts again.
Beak open wide.

Harriett leans in—small pieces.

Instinct.

And this small life—
against the odds—continues.

4/30/2026……….. 6:00 PM

What happened to Harriett’s firstborn was brief.
I did not see it.

It happened between glances.

One moment—life.
The next—absence.

It was an eagle.
The eagle—the one nesting across North River near the Harker’s Island bridge.

It had to be.

Harriett did not miss anything.
She did not fail.

A hard truth.

In the world Harriett lives in, not everything continues.

She does not search.
She does not question.

She settles over what is still here—
one chick, alive, moving,
and one egg, quiet, waiting.

Below, Homo sapiens look for answers.
A reason. A cause.

They assign meaning.
They search for fairness.

Harriett does not.

The river moves.

The wind shifts.
The light changes.

And life—moves forward.

Top of Form

Bottom of Form

Something has happened.

This morning, at 8:15 AM, there were two.
Small. Alive. Being fed.

Now, at 11:30, there is one.
The third egg remains unchanged.

What has happened, I do not know.
My heart aches.

The sky is blue.
There is a cool breeze.
The sun is out, warming.

Everything seems unchanged.

Harriett sits.

The river moves.

One less life in this world.

The light is flat. The day is dark. The air is heavy, and the sky has lost its color.

Rain and more rain have fallen. Letting up now, but the wind continues.

It moves steadily, persistently across the surface, creating whitecaps and restless waves.

The air carries a constant sound. Low, steady. A fluttering rush over water. No other birds are out today.

Harriett’s platform is steady, unmoved. The nest—built with expertise—holds its shape against the wind.

Harriett remains.
Low in the nest.

The eggs—and her chick—are beneath her, protected from the elements by instinct refined over generations.

Harriett does not require ideal weather.

Her head lifts occasionally. A brief scan. Then down again.

Her mate is somewhere on the river, fishing. Working in uncooperative water.

There are no Homo sapiens out today. No cameras. No notebooks.

Harriett absorbs the weather.

Uncomfortable. Continuous. Necessary.

It has happened.
The first egg has hatched.

A newly hatched osprey. Weak, fragile, eyes barely open.

It is a miracle. In a world of miracles.

The chick moves. Its head lifts, then falls. Effort. Rest. Effort again.

Life has begun.

Harriett stands over it, then lowers herself again, quietly, as she has done many times before.

Is there more to come? I think so.
But this one is special today.

Below, Homo sapiens react. Voices rise. Cameras move quickly now.
“There it is!”

But Harriett ignores them. She settles, covers, protects.

http://northriverosprey.ddns.net:8000

It has been 34 days since her first egg was laid.

There is movement now—subtle, unseen, but certain.

The wind shifts. The river moves. The sky changes throughout the day.

Inside the shell, the miracle is unfolding.

Is it time?

Harriett lowers herself slightly, feeling the small changes beneath her.

The eggs are warm.

It has been 34 days since her first egg was laid.

There is movement now—subtle, unseen, but certain.

The wind shifts. The river moves. The sky changes throughout the day.

Inside the shell, the miracle is unfolding.

Is it time?

Harriett lowers herself slightly, feeling the small changes beneath her.

The eggs are warm.

Today, about 3 o’clock, Harriett’s mate was on duty, covering the eggs, as is his custom.

As usual, he planned a short shift.

Then Harriett arrived. Fish in talon.

Harriett—see her bracelet—is bringing him a fish.

There was a moment. Wings adjusted. Space negotiated.
He was surprised—and, clearly, pleased. He accepted it. Of course he did.

Then Harriett stepped in, resumed her position, and settled over the eggs with practiced ease.
Order restored.

This is not unusual, but it is noted. Harriett is fully capable of providing for herself—and, when necessary, for him. The system is efficient. No explanation required.

Below, Homo sapiens observes. Some will interpret this as a gesture. A gift. A sign of affection.

But this is not sentiment.
This is competence. Survival.

The Homo sapiens discuss roles. They debate fairness.

Harriett brings a fish.
Her mate eats.
She returns to the eggs.

No discussion. No interpretation. No confusion.

The days move quietly now.
Time is passing—slowly, exactly as planned.

Incubation continues. Thirty-five to forty days. A system eons in the making.

Harriett takes in her surroundings. The wind has shifted southwest. A warm breeze ruffles her feathers and draws faint ripples across the water. The river moves with the tide—steady, predictable.

She remains alert, settled over her eggs, turning them carefully from time to time. Nothing is rushed.

Her mate arrives on schedule. Fish in hand. Today, a good one. Deliveries have improved.
Harriett accepts and is pleased.

Below, the Homo sapiens return, as they do. Cameras ready. Voices lowered.
“They have returned,” Harriett observes with quiet confidence.

She looks down briefly, then back out across the water.

Routine holds.

Everything is proceeding as planned.

http://northriverosprey.ddns.net:8000

3/29/2026

Harriett sits quietly.  Nothing escapes her notice. She is thinking about the weather, the wind, and fish.

The North River, Carteret County, N.C., flows quietly behind my house, moving with the tide. The sun is shining. The sky is cerulean, blue. White cumulus clouds hang low, with streaks of cirrus drifting above. The sky deepens to cobalt overhead. A couple of seagulls drift by, unhurried.

Throughout spring and summer, Harriett’s mate will bring her flounder, small drum, and croaker if all goes well. She’s looking forward to speckled trout and bluefish as the water warms. And sometimes a menhaden—her favorite.

Ospreys like fish that are easy to catch, near the surface, easy to grab, easy to carry, and worth the effort. No cooking required 🙂

“What’s this?” Harriett asks, as she is presented a pinfish—small, spiny, full of bones, not much meat. She studies it.

“OK,” she accepts it quietly. “I hope he’s not proud of it.”

Experience has taught her not to be overly critical.

The Homo sapiens return daily to document progress. The humans whisper below.
Harriett listens.

“They believe quiet makes them less visible.”

She watches them and wonders if they realize —They are part of the story.