Monday I walked my 5-mile route in the early morning. I think I got to the Puget Park ravine around 6:30. It was dim light. About halfway up the trail from Ruston Way to Proctor, there on a branch right over the trail, no farther than the basketball hoop is from the free-throw line, was an owl.
An owl. An Owl! I’m not a great birder, but I could see the field marks well enough: facial disk, black eyes, streaked chest. This was a Barred Owl. Beautiful! A wonder! It sat there, tipping its head to look at me from many angles. We examined each other for maybe fifteen minutes. I took pictures with my phone. In the depth of the forest, with my little lens, the owl looked like this:
A far, far better look at a barred owl is this:
Later, listening to recordings of owls, I decided that this one must have a youngster. It didn’t have the busy, confident hooting call of the adult Barred Owls I heard on the birding websites. Repeatedly, like a kid, it kept asking one question. Not the resonant “Who?” but a scratchy, adolescent, drawn-out, whining, “Whyyyyy?” [In finding these audio snips online, I find that this call is made by adults as well.]
The Barred Owl is mainly an eastern bird, but its range has stretched into the west. It’s a closest relative, the Northern Spotted Owl, is native out here. The Spotted, though, is far more sensitive to change, doesn’t respond well to novelty, needs old-growth forest to survive. The Barred Owl, on the other hand, is more flexible. It adapts to most any kind of woodland. This young one’s presence in the Puget Creek ravine makes me think there’s a nest nearby, and that makes me happy.
I love old-growth forest, and think we should preserve all of it that remains. I love the existence of the Spotted Owl, though I’ve never seen one. I’m troubled at the thought that the Barred Owl might be threatening the Spotted Owl, as it’s more aggressive where the two birds’ habitats overlap.
In Tacoma, though, I would rather be a Barred Owl. Why? (“Whyyyyy?”) Because things change. The old-growth forests of Tacoma are gone. Living in the woods that remain requires the ability to adapt.
It’s the same for the church. The old-growth neighborhoods of Tacoma are gone. Longtime community stability is a thing of the past. These days it’s all change, all the time.
But rapid, drastic change was the order of the day back when Epworth was founded in 1889. Everything was changing, and fast! They had just cut the old growth forest and leveled the drumlins and ravines of this part of town. The Spotted Owls here didn’t have a chance. Neither did a church, unless it was formed for change. The Methodists were organized to move quickly. We planted congregations all across the new city. We didn’t plant churches full-formed, and we didn’t plant them identical, and we didn’t expect that they would all survive and thrive. We did trust, though, that our mission (God’s mission) would survive and thrive through enough of them.
And here we are. Living with renewed vitality, and renewed adaptability, we can embody the changeless wonder and beauty of God, right in the midst of this ever-changing, ever-precious city. Why? Because God loves it!
Leave a Reply