At Trustom Pond National Wildlife Refuge, I crossed paths with a man named John. He’d just walked the shoreline, eyes scanning for the elusive Snowy Owl. I paused before telling him what I’d just learned from a volunteer at the Welcome Cabin—that the owl had passed away.
It hit harder than I expected.
While I’d been away at a week-long meeting, two Snowy Owls were found dead—one in Rhode Island, one in Massachusetts. Wildlife biologist believe the cause was avian influenza. The H5N1 strain is now suspected in wild birds across the region. I hadn’t known any of this when I set out to the Napatree Point Conservation Area the day before. I only knew that the wind stung and the shore felt lonelier than usual. I walked the perimeter, where I found an eerie stillness— there were remains of birds that wouldn’t fly again. Dozens. I have never seen anything like it.
Today, then, is not about the Snowy Owl I never found. It is a tribute to survival. The wind was fierce, the water wild. Yet the birds I did see pressed on—hugging sheltered coves, flying low to escape the worst of it. They adapted. They endured.
And so did John as he paused for a moment behind nature’s windbreak.
As we talked, I told him, with a smile, “I took your picture, you know.” He chuckled, unaware that just hours earlier he’d unknowingly stepped into the story I was already trying to tell. There he was: a retired farmer, standing square against the wind, sturdy and still as a lighthouse in the storm. His silhouette gave the landscape meaning—an emblem of quiet strength against a backdrop of loss.
That single frame changed everything. Without John, it was only shoreline and sea spray. With him, it became a story of resilience, of the human spirit echoing the wild world around it. In the absence of the owl, I found grace in another form.
Thank you, John. And thank you, Snowy Owl—wherever your spirit now drifts—for reminding us that wonder often lies not just in the finding, but in the seeking.
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