Grassland Theater

 As published in The Green Book

The bird divebombed Jill again. She covered her head, and a rush of air caught the fine hairs of her hand while dinosaur-like chicks hissed from their nest on the ground. Five wide-open beaks, she counted. And one unhatched egg. 

With the tricky part of the survey complete, Jill turned from the fluffy raptors and scampered through the shrubbery. Her boot caught a tangle of tall grass, and she stumbled as the harrier dove again. Its sharp beak and piercing eyes locked on Jill as it plummeted towards her, then pulled up at the last second.

Jill jogged from the nesting site and hopped over a pile of stones, her binoculars bouncing against her chest, as the bird soared in low circles overhead, its raspy screech echoing across the prairie. The nest vanished into the shrubbery, the chicks quieted, and Jill put more distance between her and the nesting site. The sharp awns of needle-and-thread grass grabbed her pantlegs as she marched, and mosquitoes clung to her head net as they searched for a break in the mesh. Jill pulled her water bottle from her backpack, slipped the spout under her protective veil, and glugged.   

When she reached the barbwire fence, Jill dropped her backpack and slumped to the ground. The harrier soared in easy circles and Jill’s heartrate began to settle. Leaning against the rotting fencepost, Jill pulled her field book and pencil from her pack. She turned to the page marked 53°1'52" N, -111°13'48" W: NOHA-1 and began transcribing memorized notes while the wind rustled the grass, a clay-colored sparrow buzzed from nearby, and cows mooed in the distance.         

   June 13, 10:43am       

   5 chicks, 1 unhatched egg       

   Zero cow activity       

   Momma was mad! Got out of there quick

Behind schedule, Jill turned the page to the next nest to be checked—a savannah sparrow with a mother not nearly as intimidating as the harrier—and skimmed her previous notes: 4 eggs, second clutch of the season, 8 cow patties, chewed shrubbery. She checked the GPS coordinates and reached for her phone, but as her fingers dipped into the pocket of her chest, she paused. Her pocket was empty. 

Jill jumped to her feet and spun in circles, her boots crunching dried grass and loose pebbles as she patted her pockets. With sudden realization, her head snapped up in the direction of the harrier nest. Momma Harrier watched Jill from low in the sky. 

Jill tried to look past the tall grass and low shrubbery to where the chicks waited, but the nest was obscured, the only indication that it existed being the pink flagging tape flapping off a nearby shrub, and the mother’s incessant circling. 

With muttered curses, Jill trudged in the direction of the nest, her eyes on the harrier. The closer Jill came to the telltale flagging tape, the more desperate the mother’s raspy screech became. Jill followed the path of trampled grass she had made just ten minutes prior. “I just need my phone!” she called, one hand over her head as she crouch-walked, scanning the ground for her phone. 

Squeaking hisses of the chicks filled the air as Jill passed the flagged shrub and entered unwelcome territory. As though coached by her babies, the mother broke from her soar, tucked her wings to her side, and dove. 

Jill ducked as the harrier swooped within a foot of her head. She careened upwards, pulled her wings in again, and dropped like a missile. 

“Where the frick is my phone?” Jill simultaneously kept an eye on the angry mom, watched the fluffy balls of hissing hunger, and searched for a piece of tech that should have stood out amid the hues of the grassland. 

As raptors yelled at her from ground and sky, Jill dropped to her knees and palpated the earth. She searched under shrubbery while prehistoric-looking beaks and eyes squeaked five feet away. 

A wingtip grazed the top of Jill’s head just as a glint of sun on screen caught her eye. She grabbed her phone that had been nestled between a rock and a hissing place, staggered to her feet, and sprinted towards the barbwire fence as the harrier continued to shriek overhead. As though reaching a finish line, Jill stuttered to a halt and let out a lungful of air while Momma Harrier went back to her casual soar. 

As Jill’s heart bounded, the phone in her grip flashed with flickering images. She dusted off a film of dirt on the screen and noticed her image mirror the movement. The bright red “record” bar lit the top of the phone, with the timer ticking away the seconds. Jill cocked her head, stopped the recording, and, easing to the ground, pressed play. 

The video started abruptly, a whirl of blues and greens of sky and grass as the phone tumbled to the ground, then became still as the recording captured the hidden world of the grassland. The background was bright blue, and blades of grass and small leaves took center stage. An ant appeared. It crawled up a blade of grass, its antennae tasting the air as it traveled, its knobby head and body magnified to look like a giant in its kingdom. A mushroom—slender stalk, brown splotches on white, and perfectly symmetrical gills under its cap stood in the corner like a work of art. A dark form appeared in the corner of the screen, shimmied as though doing a jig, and crossed the field of view with a hundred blurry legs, then vanished out of sight. Momma Harrier appeared, soaring overhead before exiting stage right, then coming into view again. 

Jill watched all sixteen minutes of the act, her eyes locked on the wonder in her hand. It flashed to another rush of color, then Jill’s thumb wiping away dust before cutting to black.