Connections: I’ll Fly Away
An osprey apparently forgot that he was supposed to be headed north in time for the first day of spring, or Fish Hawk Day, as old-timers here call it. Instead he hovered over Lake Arenal — a surprise greeting on our first afternoon in Costa Rica.
Ospreys are romantic birds. They mate for life and return, if they can, to the same nest year after year. They dive claws-first into the sea to grab fish with their talons, which doesn’t sound very romantic, but if you remember their species’ near demise in the 1960s (because DDT thinned their eggshells, making reproduction terribly difficult), you can see something beautiful even in their hunting skills.
Ospreys are romantic birds to me, personally, because I was introduced to them when I married for the first time and came to the East End in 1960. For the next decade or two our family was among those who put up poles and platforms to encourage ospreys to nest again; we watched intently every spring for their return.
Chris and I went to Costa Rica a few weeks ago to see the birds of the rain forest, and before the trip was over, I had added about 30 to my lifetime list. It was a long-delayed dream come true.
But the vacation was also a rare chance to really relax, and I made the most of it by leaving my computer and cellphone at home. My husband, who is even more of a workaholic than I, even though his work is all volunteer these days, had his iPhone at the ready and that was enough of a connection with the world we left behind as far as I was concerned. (I turned on the TV once in the hotel, just in time to learn that Hillary Clinton was to hold a press conference to explain her use of private email for official business when she was secretary of state, but that was my only screen time all week.)
It had been nearly 20 years since Chris and I had truly gotten away by ourselves, and I came home feeling invigorated and, well, young. Traveling has meant visiting friends or family in the past, and though we love them all dearly, such visits are often more of a workout than a relaxing vacation, especially when young grandchildren are in the mix.
One of the most accomplished people I know used to annoy me by declaring that everyone needed at least a month’s vacation every year. Who was he kidding? How could he, a renowned physician, pretend that he took a month off every year himself? And, furthermore, how could he claim such a thing were possible for the rest of us, who work hard for a living? Later in life, though, he and his wife seemed to fulfill his goal by renting out their summer house in Water Mill for the month of August and disappearing to France.
I’m afraid I am not about to follow suit with yearly monthlong jaunts to Costa Rica, but I don’t think I am ever again going to feel guilty about time off. Vacation guilt is an old habit that I am finally ready to bid goodbye.
By the time we got back to the States, rain had washed away much of the snow, and the snowdrops were beginning to show their heads in the yard. I hope our Costa Rican osprey has made his return migration north, as we have, and that we’ll see him around these parts soon.