The name of the book that contains a collection of columns I wrote for The Roanoke Times in the early 2000s is entitled “Whispering Loud and Clear.” The title was chosen as being appropriate for the columns that were often based on the “Whispers” that – if we’re paying attention – we all receive in life. I believe that such moments often come as sweet affirmations – and/or potentially corrections and guidance – delivered in one form or another by the Almighty Creator who has spoken the entirety of our life into being.
One such moment, that arrived many years after the aforementioned columns were written, involved a Snowy Egret that “whispered” to my wife Caroline and me, in a most unusual way.
We were sitting that morning on a sun-drenched beach in Naples, Florida, enjoying the wonderful weather that one travels south for in February, if and when able. There was nothing otherwise remarkable about the moment – “just another day in paradise” as one might say.
But suddenly it was something more, as a large Snowy Egret came sailing down the beach from the south, then descended rapidly and landed unexpectedly right next to Caroline. And I mean RIGHT NEXT to her. The bird was so close that I half expected it to say, “Good morning, ma’am, nice view, eh?”
Caroline turned to me and, in a half whisper, gasped, “LOOK AT HIM!” And then, after a few more moments beholding the brazen bird, queried, “Do they DO this??”
“No,” I replied. “They decidedly do NOT do this… at least not NORMALLY!”
I’m no ornithologist, but as a lifelong saltwater fisherman, I am reasonably familiar with the normal behavior of egrets as relates to human encounters. Which calls for a minimum distance of 30-40 feet, whether you’re walking, kayaking, or biking – and they certainly don’t land within 3 feet of someone on their own accord. In fact, Egrets can be reclusive and are not even particularly social with other birds.
But this one was clearly all about us.
He stared into our eyes like he knew something we didn’t.
Maybe he did.
It didn’t take long before a woman down the beach walked with great intent towards us, stopping about 20 feet away. She bent over and in a hushed voice asked, “Would you mind if I took a picture? I’ve never seen an Egret do anything like that!”
Caroline nodded and said, “That’s fine.” And then added just above the noise of the small breakers, “Neither have we!”
The Egret took a short glance at the women as if to say, “Sure, no problem…” She took several photos and then backed away, smiling. She would later introduce herself so she could show/send them to us.
But the Egret wasn’t through just yet. He took two more steps so that he was now just inches away from Caroline. I was actually concerned for her safety at this point, wondering, “That’s a heck of a beak – do these damn things peck?!” But thankfully, if they ever do, this one didn’t.
Instead, it looked longingly at Caroline for several moments and then proceeded to walk around her as if he were sizing her up. He then stopped directly behind us, allowing the vantage to take the photo featured here, where he appears to be somewhat “strutting his stuff.” Except he wasn’t strutting. He simply stood there “visiting” for several more minutes – seemingly “taking in the day” and enjoying the scenery with us.
To say it was “extraordinary” doesn’t really capture the feel of it. A few people walked by, gawking at the giant bird who stared back at them like THEY were the peculiar ones. They likely assumed he was a pet, raised from the very day he pecked his way out of his shell.
In the company of this uniquely beautiful bird, all we could do was just keep smiling at each other (and at him) in both joy and perplexity. Finally, after giving a short nod of the head, he re-positioned his wide yellow feet, bent his backwards knees down towards the sand, and then sprang into flight in a burst of spreading feathers, spraying grit and hard flapping wings. He gained altitude as he angled down the beach in a slow, wide arch and then disappeared between two buildings. Our remarkable visit had come to an end.
“Wow,” I said. “That was truly amazing . . . I wonder why he did that with us?”
Caroline didn’t reply. She was still thinking – and, as it turned out, about the same thing I was.
Finally, she said it.
“It feels like Randy,” she half spoke, half whispered. I could see the tears gathering in her eyes.
“I have been thinking the same,” I immediately replied with a pondering smile.
Caroline’s beloved brother-in-law and our dear friend Randy Funkhouser had passed away a short time before our trip, and we couldn’t help but feel that he (or someone or some-thing) had arranged for this visit as an affirmation-a comforting whisper–that all was well. That Randy now knew Peace so far beyond our understanding.
In fact, the sense that he had been somehow present in the bird’s presence was so palpable for both of us that we have come to accept the moment to truly be a divine whisper and not a mere coincidence. But I guess that depends on how one defines “coincidence.”
Writer and Theologian Frederick Buechner defines it like this:
“I believe that people laugh at coincidences as a way of relegating them to the realm of the absurd and therefore not having to take seriously the possibility that there is a lot more going on in our lives than we either know or care to know.
Who can say what it is that’s going on? But I suspect that part of it, anyway, is that every once and so often we hear a whisper from the wings that goes something like this: “You’ve turned up in the right place at the right time. You’re doing just fine. Don’t ever think you’ve been forgotten.”
Coincidence… Whisper… Divine Providence… Call it what you will, it was just like Randy to send a calling card via an extravagantly eager egret on such a blessed and beautiful day.
