The Flight of Arctic Terns: Lessons in Life, Love, and Letting Go

When I was a young man, I wanted to run away from my oppressive job and live in the Jemez Mountains. I still joke that if I ever disappeared, my family should look for me there. I’ve always felt connected to the wilderness and Nature for that matter, even as a young boy.

I would spend my summers fishing, hiking, or sitting in the woods by myself. I would watch the squirrels and look at the different plants. I started reading books on medicinal herbs and I read books about people that lived in the wilderness.

When it was time for college, I found a small tribe of like-minded people and we worked hard to get the first recycled plastic bench installed on campus. We convinced the college to do a trial run using paper straws instead of plastic ones in the cafeteria. We did all this in the early 1990s, ahead of the conscious effort we see now.

I learned a lot in college and I made it a point that if I ever had children, I would expose them to the joys of Nature and everything she has to offer.

I’ve been blessed with a wonderful son and daughter. Both are different personalities but they love Nature. My daughter, at 17, still catches frogs and loves insects. When we moved to our current house she found a nest of baby mice and nursed them for a few days before they went to a rescue organization.

My son took a birding class for Boy Scouts a few years ago and fell in love with our winged friends. He feeds them every day and can identify birds by song. He knows the difference between a song sparrow call and a white-breasted sparrow call. He’s smart and inquisitive and does well in school.

My son applied and was accepted into a pre-college program at Yale University, a first for anyone in our immediate and extended family. Of course, I’m very biased but my son is a bright and compassionate young man. He signed up for Green Technology and AI/Robotics courses and was looking forward to being on campus and taking “serious” classes.

We got up to New Haven, CT a bit early the day we had to drop him off. We decided to explore the area and saw that there was a small park called the Sandy Point Bird Sanctuary. All four of us wanted to go check it out. My partner was hoping to dig for clams, and my son wanted to see if he could swim a bit.

Instead, we walked along the sandy shores looking at all the birds that were nesting there.

We saw Oyster Catchers, Plovers, Arctic Terns, and many other bird species. They were calling and squawking and there was so much activity. We loved every minute of it.

Then I saw something magical. I quickly grabbed my phone to record the scene.

I watched Arctic Terns hover over shallow water, dive down to catch small fish, and do it over and over again. Sometimes they caught fish, and other times they missed.

I watched them for several minutes.

I was scrolling through my photos and videos later that evening in bed when I came upon my Arctic Terns video. I looked at it again and realized something profound.

It was perfection in action.

There, on that beach, I watched perfection and beauty. The perfection of the chaotic dance of life and the beauty of all Nature.

To eat or not to eat.

To grow or die.

To love and to mourn.

To triumph or to lose.

For that brief moment, I saw where I was in the web of life. I saw the radiant tendrils weave their net together in the sky, the terns, the beach, and myself.

I was in the middle of the cycle of life, Nature, existence, and reality.

Cycles have haunted me my entire life. Ever since I was a young boy I was able to see birth, death, and rebirth everywhere I looked. I remember seeing the top of my head in the bathroom mirror when I was six years old. I could barely see over the sink to wash my hands.

At thirteen years old, I stared into the mirror at a young puberty-ridden boy and muttered, “I’m going to die one day.” I knew at that moment that I would grow, mature, reproduce, and then one day die.

I thought about what I said for a long time. I talked to my friends at school about it and they thought I was crazy.

Who the hell thinks this way at 13? I should be thinking of girls and cars, like normal teenage boys. They said I didn’t act like a teenager, I was like a reincarnated 50-year-old man, who came back to rain on their parade of fun.

Yes, I’ve always been 50. I’ve always seen the long game, the cycles within cycles, and the connections. Why couldn’t my friends?

If I had a chance to go back to 13-year-old me, I’d say to myself, “yes, you’re going to die, so make this the best life you can live.”

We’re hugging our goodbyes.

“I love you Dad.”

“I love you too Son.”

A mere seconds later he disappears up to his dorm room and we walk out of the gated courtyard to our car. My son, my baby bird, is practicing his flying. He’s flapping his wings, dancing around the nest, and getting ready to take flight.

“I’m next!” My daughter says. She’s going to her pre-college program next weekend and can’t wait. My other baby bird wants to jump out to the nest and spread her wings. She’s ready to soar.

On the way home my partner and daughter fall asleep in the car. In the quiet time that I have to myself, I can’t help but draw parallels to the Arctic Terns and my family. My partner and I were diving for “fish” to feed our growing chicks. Now, they’re ready to fly away and build their nests. I can’t help but think about how our nest is getting emptier a little more every day.

One day both my son and daughter will be gone, and it will be my partner and me. We’ll grow old together and one day our cycle will come to an end.

To every birth, there will be a death and a rebirth. There will be generations changing hands in glory and sadness as the cycle begins anew.

Yes, I’m going to die one day but until then, I’m going to soar over this gorgeous creation and catch a fish or two. I’m going to make this the best life I can live, while I still can.

After all, what else is there?

Coffee Chat With Tom

For Sentinel Supporters and above, get a peek into what Tom was thinking when he wrote this article.