Recently, during a hiking trip to Lake Conestee Nature Preserve, I encountered an American Bittern, beautiful, well camouflaged, a relative of the many herons I see at the park. I startled it as I walked across an observation deck access-ramp over beaver pond water, where it was hiding underneath. My encounter with the bittern stirred some old memories, causing a déjà vu moment which I could not pinpoint at the time.
Then I remembered.
It’s a story I have written about before, I am certain of that. But I have searched my blog, my hard drives, my backups … and I cannot find it. So, I will retell it here, the only caveat being the potential for a faulty memory. I will do the best I can.
It happened several years ago, sometime after I moved back to Greenville County in SC from Charlotte, North Carolina, where I had been working. In Charlotte, I bought a 2000 Toyota Solera, which I came to treasure over the years. Whenever it was time for maintenance, I took it to the local dealership. One of those early morning visits to the dealership was the setting for that old memory.
When I arrived, I drove into the entrance of the shop, a 20-foot-high structure, wide enough to hold three cars across. The shop was still closed and would open in 15 or 20 minutes. No one was inside. It was daylight out. I pulled into the building and immediately noticed that the concrete floor was covered with feathers.
That seemed odd.
I got out of my car and looked around a little. Lying on the floor was a beautiful bird, about the size of a mourning dove, maybe a little larger, apparently unconscious. It had flown into the building and then, realizing its mistake, it tried to fly through a large closed window on the left side of the building. I know that because as I approached the bird, it came to, saw me, panicked, flew up and crashed into the closed window again, falling back to the concrete floor. From all the feathers spread across the floor, I got the impression it had done that a few times.
The bird lay there motionless.
I thought it might be dead. I knew if I didn’t do something, the next car that came along might run over it, and squash that beautiful body.
I walked over to it. This time it didn’t move. It had a very sharp beak with a chunky body, quite similar to the shape of the American Bittern from my recent photos, posted at Gab.com. The coloring was lighter, and the markings were much more muted, but, thinking back, it certainly could’ve been a distant cousin to the bittern.
I looked down at the bird, just lying there. I had to do something. Even if it was dead, I couldn’t leave it there on that cold concrete floor.
I bent my knees and reached down to pick it up.
As soon as I touched it, those little eyes popped open.
Using both hands, I scooped it up and stood there, looking down at that double handful, wondering if this cute little creature was going to start pecking me with that sharp beak.
Right outside the building was a tree, surrounded by a recently mowed patch of grass. I headed for that patch of grass, hoping it would not be a painful trip.
The bird managed to hold its head up. It twisted around and looked up at me, right at my face. That was an interesting sensation. Just remembering it, I feel drawn back there. It was as though the bird knew what I was doing, and made no attempt to peck at me or to escape my hands, which it could’ve easily done, because it was just lying there, cradled inside my open palms and fingers.
I walked over to the tree and gently placed the bird in the soft grass, pointed away from the building. I certainly did not want it to fly inside the big opening and go crashing into those windows again.
It lay there in the grass, like you might expect to see a bird on a nest. It was conscious now, but it did not move at all. Perhaps it was still stunned. I watched it for a few moments and then went back to my car.
Other cars were arriving. The shop opened. I drove inside to have the scheduled maintenance done. Once the service technician had the information he needed, I went to the restroom and washed my hands furiously, concerned that I might catch some disease from the bird I had helped.
The work was not going to take very long. I decided to wait at the shop. They have a large waiting area, with free coffee, vending machines, and a bank of computers connected to the Internet. But before I headed over to the coffee machine, I decided to take one more look at the little bird. I walked through the dealership to the front door and looked out there where I had left it.
The bird was still in the grass. It had not moved.
Now I had a bit of a dilemma. What if that bird is so severely injured that it cannot fly? Can I just leave it there? I don’t think I can. That would not feel right.
I went outside and walked over to the bird, still sitting there, like on a nest. It appeared to be wide awake, just not moving. I stood there on the asphalt drive a few feet away, looking down at the bird and thinking, “Are you okay?”
The bird turned its head toward me. For the first time, it stood up on its legs. Maybe it was all right after all. And then it happened; the bird stretched its wings, took a couple of steps, lifted off, and quickly flew out of sight.
My feelings were conflicted. I was glad the bird was okay. But I was sad that my encounter with it was over.
That was a very long time ago. I can vaguely recall thinking about that morning on a number of occasions. I wrote the original story, posted it, got lots of nice comments. But I guess it eventually just left my mind.
And then a few days ago, another similarly shaped bird appeared to injure itself, scrambling from under an access-ramp, and then stop to look up at me in the oddest way, making me feel some sort of connection with it, triggering a feeling of déjà vu. That bird was okay too. And it gave me a few opportunities for photographs.
But most notable for me, it gave me the chance to recall and relive a special smile-provoking moment with another beautiful bird from years ago.