Saturday, October 18--The Birds

When we woke up this morning, it was a bit breezy, but the sun was shining brightly—great weather for the office picnic scheduled at noon. I threw on jeans and a t-shirt and Jim donned shorts and a t-shirt. Luckily we both tossed fleece jackets in the car, because when we arrived at the picnic area’s pavilion (which is right by the seawall) the sun was gone, the skies were full of leaden clouds, and the wind was howling. Reminded me of the nor’easters that blew through while I was living in New Hampshire.

The grill was fired up, though, and lots of good food was coming from it. Brats, hot dogs, hamburgers, ribs…the works. We couldn’t load up our plates with sides, because everything was blowing off the plate before we could eat it. So there was a lot of back and forth—I’ll have a hot dog this trip, then I’ll go back for some pasta salad, then I’ll get a brownie, oh and those pickles look good, hey wait…are those spring rolls? Homemade Vietnamese spring rolls, with the pork and the rice noodles and the shrimp inside, just like we used to get at Pho Saigon in Fredericksburg. Even had the dipping sauce! Ah, the spring rolls. Delicious. But dangerous.

By the time I got to the spring roll, I had given up on trying to hold a plate in the wind. Finger food all the way now. I took a couple bites, then decided to walk out of the pavilion, munching on the rest, to where Jim was chatting with some guys from work. Earlier, I had noticed a dozen or so seahawks circling around, riding the wind, eyeballing the food on the grill and the small children on the playground. Now if you’ve never seen a seahawk, they are large, beautiful birds of prey, about two-thirds the size of an eagle. For weeks, I had been admiring their almost regal appearance as they soared around the base, screaming their seahawk battle cries. But I honestly didn’t give them much thought today—figured they were opportunists, like seagulls, waiting for food to hit the ground. Couldn’t have been more wrong. About six steps out of the pavilion, spring roll to my mouth, and there was a whoosh of feathers and a sudden gust of wind, unrelated to the storm brewing at sea, as a seahawk swooped in front of me. That was apparently his reconnaissance mission, because I barely had time to register, “Hey that bird was close,” before he was back again, this time making a grab for the spring roll dangling from my lips. Missed the spring roll, but he hooked my nose. In shock, I could hear Jim laughing hysterically in the background as the spring roll and I beat a hasty retreat back to the pavilion. They ought to have signs nailed to every flat surface of every pavilion warning unsuspecting picnic-goers of the aggressive nature of the resident seahawks.

The damage to my nose was minimal—just a very small cut which, barring some hideous seahawk-induced infection, will heal in a couple days. I’m grateful it wasn’t my eye he hooked. The psychological damage, however…let’s just say I won’t be watching the Alfred Hitchcock classic any time soon.