I’d finished brushing my teeth. Glancing out the bathroom window I saw it a magnificent bird of prey, perched quietly on a tall tree at the edge of the woods. I keep a pair of binoculars at the ready for just such sightings they came in handy now. Oh, what a grand creature!

When it turned its head slightly to follow the path of a blue jay, a dark streak above the eye showed clearly. The breast and tail were light; what I could see of the sides of the body appeared gray. Most of the legs were covered by feathers as the bird sat in the bright sunshine of a bitter cold day. I hoped these markings would be enough for me to identify the bird. For now, I was just enjoying the sight of it.

The blue jay wasn’t alone in keeping tabs on the predator. A second jay was cawing from a nearby tree. The first one sat for a while, cocking its head at the much larger bird, then flew right in front of it to another tree. After a while, it flew back, again, directly in the line of vision of the hulking light gray ghost. Clearly, the jays wanted to harass the hawk, but it refused to rise to the bait.

Meanwhile, all around were goldfinches, chickadees and titmice. They appeared totally unconcerned about the sharp talons and ripping beak poised not far above them. They continued feeding at my many feeders, arguing among themselves, and moving rapidly from one feeder to another. A chickadee or titmouse would grab a sunflower heart then fly off to a tree to feed. The finches jostled one another then suddenly flew off to sit atop the tall fir near the house. There half a dozen swirled around, startling each other off branches before the entire lot returned to the feeders. Clearly they didn’t see themselves as brunch.

Indeed, they were so small that each one could serve only as an hors d’oeuvre to the larger bird. It would take more than a couple of finches to fill that stomach. Suddenly, a movement low to the ground caught my eye. A gray squirrel was cautiously moving down the trunk of a fir. The mammal was in the shadow, with the trunk of the tree between it and the hawk. I doubted that even the clear eye of the predator could see this movement. The gray shadow quickly hopped across the snow and under the low, spreading branches of another fir. There it could wait out the threat in safety.

Our house sits in an ideal spot for wildlife watching. The area immediately around it has been minimally cleared some tall trees removed for safety and sunshine in the front­but we’ve left or planted many shrubs with pathways of growth leading into the surrounding woods. Below, to the northeast, is a beaver impoundment home to herons, snapping turtles and many birds, as well as the beaver families who maintain two dams and several lodges. Visitors include otter, deer, bear, moose, fox and bobcat. The interaction and antics of the animals have provided us with many hours of pleasure.

The pleasure of this visit continued. After watching for a while, I ran into the next room and grabbed the camera. Snap! Got it! Yet the bird seemed content to stay for a while longer, so I quickly dashed to the camera bag and swapped lenses the zoom would really bring it in and allow me a better opportunity for identification.

For the next 10 minutes, I snapped and watched. The jays continued their mildly annoying tactics. Finally, the hawk had had enough. As I watched, it spread its wings, pushed off from the branch while adroitly turning 180 degrees, then flew off into the woods, threading its way between the branches as easily as I stitch together a seam. The jays discontinued their vigil and joined the small songbirds at the feeders below.

The pictures I’d taken were clear. The bird did indeed have a blackish crown and cheek with a clear white stripe over the eye. Based on the known size of the nearby blue jay, we estimated the predator’s length as two feet or more. Its light breast and gray back indicate it had to be a northern goshawk. A giant compared to the tiny chickadees and finches, it appeared regal and august as it sat above them, surveying the domain.

I hope I see it again soon.

By Susan M. Poirier, Master Gardener