The Nest Cam

I will not project, I will not project...

A few weeks ago, a friend told me about Jackie and Shadow, the bald eagles nesting 145 feet up in a pine tree in Big Bear. They had three eggs that were soon to hatch.

So I decided to check out the live feed and was instantly hooked. Three eggs! I wanted to see them hatch. I wasn’t alone. There were, at one point, over 30,000 people watching, too.

Then I started reading the posts in the chat. The chat, as I understand it, is moderated by these nice people who oversee the cam and know a lot about bald eagles. The people in the chat, not so much. In fact, they all seemed a little bonkers. In love with the birds and full of emojis. I am paraphrasing here, but there was a lot of: Look how Jackie loves her eggs, she’s such a queen. Or: Shadow is the boss, bringing twigs for his princess.

As the date of viability neared for each egg, the temperature of the chat began to rise. Anyone expressing anguish about the eggs was silenced for their negativity. Frequently, the chat was closed for, essentially, getting too emotional.

When it began to be clear that none of the eggs would hatch, people started to lose it. And I started to get the feeling that with so many people projecting their own hopes for success onto these eggs, this whole experience was not going to end well.

A bird expert might say: None of the eggs is still viable and someone else might say: How dare you give up!

I kept thinking: She’s not giving up. It’s science!

But I was upset, too. I didn’t want to hear it. The older I get, the less tolerance I have for pretty much anything negative. I mean, I wallow in negative thoughts all the time, but I find it ever more challenging to confront the world with all its evils and disappointments.

Rewind.

About a year ago, two mourning doves made a nest on the lightbox on my balcony. It was flimsy—just a few twigs—and so when my dog ran out onto the balcony, he scared the birds, they took off, the nest fell, and the egg broke.

Needless to say, there was a lot of despairing in my household after that. But because I am a fixer—just fix it!—I decided to build the birds the Rolls Royce of nests. I had Tupperware. I had leaves and branches. I had string for lashing the nest to the lamp so that it would stay put in a tornado. The birds didn’t come back.

Fast forward to this year when my daughter announced there was a bird in the nest. I didn’t believe her, but in fact it was true. Later that day, the bird flew away for a minute, so I grabbed my step ladder and checked. A beautiful white egg.

Cue the nest cam. I bought it off Amazon. Had many conversations with my camera guy friend about how to set it up in the best place without disturbing the bird. I ended up Velcroing it to the inside of a window. Now I can see the nest but not as clearly as I’d like.

Do I wake up in the middle of the night and check the cam? I sure do. Even though it’s dark out, it gives me comfort to know this bird is there. In the morning, I check again to make sure it’s okay. I wanted to name it Sally, except there are two birds who take turns on the nest and I don’t know which is which. Also, I’ve been told that naming a thing is to love that thing. And I do not want to love this bird. Or maybe more to the point, I do not want to project all my hopes for EVERYTHING onto the success of this bird’s egg hatching.

And yet.

I think there’s a week to go before the egg’s supposed to hatch. I am trying to limit myself to one check an hour. I am keeping my dog off the balcony. And saying things to myself like: what happens in the Rolls Royce of nature is no cipher for what happens in your life. It’s not the catchiest mantra, but it will have to do.

Tune in next week when I share photos of baby birds or a dirge for what could have been.