Falcon’s flight offers a life lesson
Sharing binoculars and a telescope, a steady stream of onlookers recently gathered near UC Berkeley’s 307-foot-tall Campanile, all focused with excitement on an upper balcony. The two peregrine falcons who’d hatched there May 22 were readying for their first flight.
About 40 days old, the sisters already were teens. They’d exchanged their baby down and anxious eyes for flight feathers and keen vision, toddlers’ feet for razor-sharp talons. They’d been raised in a well-educated neighborhood and fed by doting parents, both accomplished hunters. Soon, they’d be full-fledged peregrines, the fastest animals in the world.
I, too, was drawn to the unfolding scene but not just to cheer on young Fiat and Lux, named in a campus social media contest. I hoped to find solace in the falcon family and to learn to let go. My daughter, 20, flew the coop three summers ago, but still hasn’t found her wings.
When I adopted her in Siberia, my 1-year-old, like the falcon chicks, had white-blonde, feather-light hair, dark, anxious eyes and restless legs yearning to learn to walk. Before we left the Russian baby house, she’d taken her first unsteady steps, her fingers squeezing mine.
In a loving nest, in a good school district, she grew into a talented, 6-foot beauty, gifted in art and sports. As graduation neared, she chose a Southern California college for its costume design program and top swim team. The school seemed a perfect fit, and she felt ready to go.
But more nosedives than ascents marked her trajectory. A broken heart kept her from finishing the first semester, then came a four-car accident, a stubborn illness, speeding tickets, depression and a string of bad choices. She ditched her major and left the swim team.
Last fall, mid-semester, she dropped out altogether, not telling a soul for weeks. Rather than return home, she’s continued to struggle and is often out of touch.
At Berkeley’s bell tower, liftoff for Fiat and Lux didn’t go so smoothly, either.
Fiat, the first to leap, had trouble landing and wound up in a swaying tree just outside Stephens Hall. Then she disappeared overnight, only to be found later in a campus redwood grove, hanging out with a dangerous flock of older crows, too inexperienced to defend herself.
Meanwhile, Lux was stuck on the balcony, balking, napping and wailing, failing for days to figure out how to squeeze her growing wings through openings on the balustrade in order to fly.
Their mom responded with all the right moves — some that were reassuringly familiar to me.
The only one to recognize Fiat’s distant cries, she swooped through the crows and freed her from the wrong crowd. When Lux wouldn’t budge, mom placed a treat just beyond her grasp. To teach Lux to think for herself, she hid from her incessant pleas while keeping her slightly within view — and grabbing some precious time alone.
She and her mate positioned themselves close enough to monitor the fledges’ early flights, but far enough away to foster independence. Yet, they stayed alert for hunger screams, delivering meals if the youngsters were starved and stranded on a nearby rooftop.
Sadly, the birds’ best efforts couldn’t save young Lux, who flew one day onto the deck of Evans Hall and, scared and trying to escape, died after slamming into a glass window she mistook for open sky. All too aware of my own daughter’s close calls, the news hit hard.
Today, Fiat continues her flying lessons, circling the tower to gain altitude and build wing muscle. In Southern California, my daughter got a job promotion and has returned to workouts at the pool.
When we’re out of touch, I still hold my phone over my heart like a defibrillator waiting for activation. But when her texts pour in, I now often silence the ringer, hiding a bit from her crises, like the mother falcon. My flights to Southern California are regular, but less swooping. I’ve done my best; it’s time for her to make her own way, as Fiat soon will, starting a new life many miles from home.
Unlike adult falcons, though, who chase their grown kids out and don’t recognize them if they ever return home, my welcome mat will stay put. Even after my daughter is fully fledged.