A PLACE CALLED HOPE: BIRDS OF PREY RESCUE

At 7:00 PM on June 15, the local Birds of Prey Rehabilitation Center held an educational event at Parmelee Farm in Killingworth, CT. The name of this particular organization is "A Place Called Hope" and their  new facility is located on Pond Meadow Rd. in Killingworth. This is a link to their website where you can learn more.  http://www.aplacecalledhoperaptors.com/  

The evening was  a lot of fun and very educational. The attendees were able to see 2 different types of hawks and two owls. We learned what the different birds of prey are and what their habits are in the wild.

Here is an excerpt form their website that tells about what this organization is all about.
"We are licensed wildlife rehabilitators who have joined together to create A Place Called Hope, Inc. for injured, orphaned, sick or non-releasable Birds of Prey. We are made up entirely of trained volunteers who devote their time and talents to helping to get these magnificent birds back into the sky. Sometimes release is not an option for a bird who has suffered certain types of injuries that make it impossible for them to survive on their own in the wild! We hold special permits obtained by the State of Connecticut and by NS Fish and Wildlife Services that allow us to keep and care for these birds provided we share them with the public through educational programs. We are a non-profit 501 (c) organization which means we are run entirely on donations of time and money."
We were encouraged to take pictures and to ask as many questions as we wanted. Great advice was given on how to help protect our friends in the wild. Here are a few photos I took from that evening.

Please visit their website and learn how you can help!  http://www.aplacecalledhoperaptors.com/  

Hurt Hawks...... A Poem By Robinson Jeffers   http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hurt-hawks/


The broken pillar of the wing jags from the clotted shoulder,
The wing trails like a banner in defeat,

No more to use the sky forever but live with famine
And pain a few days: cat nor coyote
Will shorten the week of waiting for death, there is game without talons.

He stands under the oak-bush and waits
The lame feet of salvation; at night he remembers freedom
And flies in a dream, the dawns ruin it.

He is strong and pain is worse to the strong, incapacity is worse.
The curs of the day come and torment him
At distance, no one but death the redeemer will humble that head,

The intrepid readiness, the terrible eyes.
The wild God of the world is sometimes merciful to those
That ask mercy, not often to the arrogant.

You do not know him, you communal people, or you have forgotten him;
Intemperate and savage, the hawk remembers him;
Beautiful and wild, the hawks, and men that are dying, remember him.

II

I'd sooner, except the penalties, kill a man than a hawk;
but the great redtail
Had nothing left but unable misery
From the bone too shattered for mending, the wing that trailed under his talons when he moved.

We had fed him six weeks, I gave him freedom,
He wandered over the foreland hill and returned in the evening, asking for death,
Not like a beggar, still eyed with the old
Implacable arrogance.

I gave him the lead gift in the twilight.
What fell was relaxed, Owl-downy, soft feminine feathers; but what
Soared: the fierce rush: the night-herons by the flooded river cried fear at its rising
Before it was quite unsheathed from reality.

Robinson Jeffers