Imprints

“There are some people who leave impressions not so lasting as the imprint of an oar upon the water.”

-Kate Chopin

As owlets develop, they don’t instinctively know who or what is an owl. So they see who is taking care of them and accept them as their own kind.

This is called imprinting and I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately.

It is not just owls, by the way, but many birds and animals imprint. Have you ever watched a cute video of an abandoned duckling waddling behind a human in a carpeted living room? Or a baby goat slip-sliding down a hardwood floor hallway in someone’s house? It is the type of video that tugs at our heart and compels our finger to double-tap the thumbs up button.

Owls are particularly vulnerable to imprinting with humans because we share big eyes on a wide face. Most birds, animals, and mammals have eyes on the sides of their heads. But human and owl eyes are front-facing.

I was away for five nights on a work trip, so it was exactly a week before I could check for the owls. When I did, I found mom and one of her babies. As usual, the mom was indifferent to me, but the baby eyed me uncomfortably.

I didn’t stick around.

The next day I found only owl mom and I heard owl dad quietly vocalize close by.

Overnight a storm blew through and in the morning two trees were down. The rain-soaked elm leaves in the forest were downcast, looking double in size, and covering tree limbs.

I found zero owls.

This was bound to happen.

Tomorrow I leave in the morning for another work trip with a second night of storms on the radar.

So why mention imprinting?

As the babies grew into juveniles and the owl-paparazzi lost interest in them, it was of no consequence because the owlets imprinted with each other.

I feel that my recent owl observations and photos are changing. I anticipated the day I couldn’t find them sitting like chickens in trees.

And I am a little sad to feel a lost connection, but I hope to find them again.

Perhaps I did not imprint with them, but they imprinted on me.