I just returned from a long weekend at Lightfoot Bay, a nature area located north of L'Anse in the Upper Peninsula. The following post was written this past Saturday.
Saturday Afternoon. I’m sitting on the porch swing looking out at the small bay named Lightfoot. Birds have been passing by in front of the porch: hummingbirds, seagulls, crows and eagles. I didn’t expect this much activity in the middle of the afternoon. The air is hot and the day would be uncomfortable except for the breeze that rustles the leaves.
We arrived Friday afternoon to this place in the western Upper Peninsula. The house, a restored hunting cabin will be our home for the weekend. It is quiet here. A dirt road leads to the house and the property is large enough to not see or hear the neighbors.
Eagles of all ages have been entertaining us since our arrival. They sit quietly in the trees and on the old dock in the water; their bodies still only their heads moving back and forth. The younger eagles are difficult to see with their brown mottled feathers blending in with the vegetation. The adults are much easier to find but are fewer in number.
Occasionally we spot one, two and, one time, three eagles soaring overhead. With the stifling heat driving small game and fish into cool hiding places, it is unlikely they are hunting. So I choose to believe they are flying for the pleasure of it. Well, at least for my pleasure. The birds glide up and down, wings extended, carried by the air currents. Attempts to photograph them in flights prove fruitless; they are simply too fast.
Instead I sit here on my swing, enjoying this afternoon of writing and awaiting their next appearance. This is reality television at its best.
