Home Is With You

We drove up the snowy, winding road towards the cozy A-frame cabin. The back of the rental SUV was crammed with suitcases and photography equipment.

“Happy Anniversary, Winnie,” Harrison said, parking and turning to look at me, his wife of five years.

“Happy Anniversary,” I said, gazing into those intelligent eyes that I loved. “I really hope that we find what we’re looking for here.”

“Even if we don’t, at least we’ll enjoy nature and each other’s company. And this home,” he said, admiring it from the vehicle, “it looks like a storybook cabin.”

I agreed, especially as the soft dusting of snow was thickening as fat flakes continued to fall.

“Five years,” he said, turning back to me. “Can you believe it?”

“In one way it’s felt quick. But, in another...look what we accomplished.”

I was referring to our first book, Dialogue with the Barn Owl. It was his photography that stole your breath as you flipped through the glossy pages – even though I had grown into a proficient photographer as well. But it was my words, poetic prose, that added to the creatures’ stories. The combination did more than entertain and educate; it more often than not urged action – whether in the form of activism or donations to important causes.

“I thank the heavens every morning I wake up to your lovely face,” Harrison said. “And I thank the stars we found a school with amazing photography and creative writing programs.”

I smiled and said, “To think of how it all began…”

“I know the beginning wasn’t perfect, but I don’t regret a single thing because it brought us right where we belong.”

“Even the getting arrested thing?” I teased.

“Even that,” he said, laughing.

It had all started, for Harrison, with the owl.

The owl that had nested outside his window when he was growing up.

He couldn’t have been more than an infant when he lay in bed listening to the soft hooting of the night birds in that place between sleeping and waking. His first word, his father had told him, had been hoot - a response to the creatures living outside his bedroom window, an attempt to talk back to them. For a while, he had been sure they existed only on the cusp of his dreams, but later, when he asked his mother about them, she told him that they were real.

"Owls," she replied, barely glancing up from her newspaper. "You should look them up in the library if you’re interested in them."

Any excuse for Harrison to spend time at the library. At school, he didn’t have many friends, and he found himself contained in his own little world. He would spend most of his lunch breaks at the school library, browsing through everything he could find.

At first, this pastime was without much purpose. But the sound of those hoots outside his window gave him one, and he passed many happy hours buried in books. He learned all he could about the mysterious feathered creatures, unraveling every little detail. Each chance he got, he’d share his findings with his teachers and classmates.

Did you know you can see an owl’s eye through its ear?

Did you know that when owls fly no one can hear it?

Did you know that owls can turn their heads almost all the way around?

When he wasn’t reading or exploring the woods - searching for feathers, pellets, or nests that might hint at an owl’s presence - he was doing his best to transform himself into one. Slurping noodles at lunch, he'd pretend he was eating worms and mice. At school, he practiced his best owl shrieks, trying out the different subspecies - Great Horned, Snowy, Barred, and Barn. It didn’t do much to improve his relations with his peers, but he didn’t mind. As far as he was concerned, people were less interesting than owls anyway.

By the time he got to high school, his fascination with owls had transformed into a love of nature photography. Most weekends, he would trek into the woods or up one of the small mountains nearby, camera slung around his neck, and take pictures of anything and everything that he could find. Of his favorite work, his most prized photographs had always been those of the owls he managed to capture. It wasn’t often he was lucky enough to find them, but occasionally, if he waited long enough into the evening, he would catch a shot of one in flight, its wings spread wide against the moonlit sky.

"You should do something with your photographs," one of his professors urged him. “You have something special.”

But he wasn’t sure. He liked the idea of the photographs being just for him, his own growth as an artist captured in the frame. But eventually, he decided to share them with an online photography group. The only way that he was going to get better, he reasoned, was if he listened to what other people thought of his work. He began with a few of his favorite owl images.

It was beside that album of photographs that Winnie first saw his name; she couldn’t even remember when she had joined the group. Perhaps one of the many her mother had signed her up for when she had split with Winnie’s father and moved her to a new house and school district. Trying to keep her on the right track, she had been signed up for martial arts classes, piano lessons, and everything else her mom could think of to keep her busy. Winnie had done her best to find her place in those groups, but none had felt like home to her, not the way she needed them to be. Writing was more her thing, but it was a solitary activity that didn't fulfill her mom's idea of a normal high-schooler.

Honestly, she might have scrolled past the album any other day, but something about the cover image made her stop. It was an owl in full flight. Its piercing yellow eyes seemed to cut through the frame and right into her. Her fingers hovered over the keys for a moment, wanting to add something. Finally, she managed to type out a compliment.

I love this first shot. Feels like it’s moving in front of me.

She hadn’t expected to hear anything back. At least, that was not the intention behind the comment. But soon, a response from the guy who had posted them popped up in her notifications. She clicked on his profile to have a snoop - and found herself caught, enthralled, by not only his work but with the few pictures of the photographer himself.

Those eyes of his - a striking hazel - were as piercing as the owl’s. As though he knew that she was exploring his profile, a message dropped into her inbox. From him.

Hey. Thanks for your comment. Means a lot.

A simple stream of syllables washed through her like an electric wave.

It had been a long time since she’d had anything close to a crush – her mother’s swift remarriage to her stepfather, Aaron, had been enough to ensure that she didn’t believe in true love anymore. No more fairy tales and happily-ever-afters.

Harrison was so far from her, nearly an eight-hour drive, but she supposed that it wouldn’t hurt to send him a little message back.

Before she knew it, messages were flying back and forth, conversation flowing as though they had known each other for years. Something about the distance seemed to make it simpler, easier for her to keep the fantasy of him in her head. If he wasn’t there, right in front of her, he couldn’t let her down. And after everything that she had been through, she would take it. All the interference from her mother, trying to get her involved in this-and-that, left her feeling more alienated than ever, but something about Harrison grounded her.

Winnie had always loved animals - a vegetarian since she found out where chicken nuggets came from - but it was only through talking to Harrison that she was really introduced to the idea of animal rights. He was passionate about defending the ground where his beloved owls bred and hunted, and the only time she experienced his anger was when he discovered a scientific study a college was conducting using barn owls as test subjects.

"I don’t understand how they can be so cruel," she told him after listening to him describe the nature of the experiments.

"It's completely unethical and unnecessary," he agreed. It was difficult to ignore the horrid images forming in his mind after reading the articles. "These majestic creatures born with the power and freedom of flight in these...jackets..."

That was the night she gave him her phone number; his passion - she wanted to hear what that sounded like.

Over the phone, she found herself even more drawn to him. His voice was deeper than she expected, and when he got excited, he got this little catch in the back of his throat as though he was doing his best to control himself and failing.

"I guess I never really thought much about owls," she admitted, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "Not until I saw that picture you posted."

"You liked it?" he asked, failing to hide his delight at the thought.

"It was gorgeous," she gushed. "I – I’ve never really known much about photography, but I could tell that was a good one. It even inspired a poem. I can send it to you later...if you want..."

Out of the corner of her eye, as she spoke to Harrison, Winnie noticed Aaron watching her. And it wasn't the first time. She initially wondered if her mother had put him up to it to keep an eye on her. But there was a feeling that she couldn't yet name behind his gaze.

"Who’s that?" Aaron asked as soon as she was off the phone.

"Just a friend," she replied, a little more defensively than intended.

Harrison was hers, and she didn’t want any part of her real life getting close to him.

Harrison and Winnie spoke most evenings after that. She would ask him about his day at college – he was a freshman – or his plans for other photo opportunities. He lived in the middle of nowhere, a far cry from her city upbringing. She could practically smell the pine needles and fresh, overturned earth when he described it. She became the first person he sent his new pictures to, and she found herself looking forward to every single one - a concrete version of the pictures he had spun inside her head.

"I would love to take pictures with you sometime," she remarked once, almost without thinking.

"You should," he fired back, his voice filling with excitement. "We’d do great work together."

"You could model for me," she teased him.

His laugh, warm and full, made her heart twist up into a happy knot.

"Maybe," he agreed.

After saying goodnight to Harrison, she headed for a shower. Aaron was hovering nearby, but she decided to ignore him.

Ignorance was bliss, right?

But, minutes later, he ambushed her as she tried to duck back into her room.

"You should be careful of that boy you're always talking to," he warned, his eyes trailing down to the top of her towel. "And you might want to reset your password."

"I'm fine," she replied through gritted teeth. "Wait...what?"

His thin mouth stretched into a smug smile.

"Leave me alone," she replied through gritted teeth. Clutching the towel tighter, she felt her face burning.

Thankful to be graduating soon and getting out of there, she brushed past him, locking the bedroom door behind her for good measure.

Talking with Harrison the next day, he sensed that something was wrong.

"Are you alright?” he asked her with concern. He hadn’t even met her face-to-face, and he seemed better at reading her than most of the people she had spent her life with.

"I’m...I’m fine," she replied. "I just...need a break from here, I guess."

He paused for a moment.

"Come visit me."

"What?" she replied, almost laughing at how absurd it was. She was so far from him, and they barely knew each other.

"There’s a protest at this college not too far from me...this weekend," he explained. "We're demanding that the school end the torment of owls in their experiments."

Winnie said nothing, trying to formulate a response in her head. She couldn't go but knew she wanted to.

"I was going to attend by myself, but I know you wanted to practice taking photos. Maybe you could even write something about the event? We could be a great team...really make a difference, you know?”

"Uh," she blurted. "A difference..."

"Yeah...a difference."

Winnie's gut reaction was to say no, but then she remembered the way Aaron looked at her. She realized that the thought of staying there another weekend was far worse than taking a risk on seeing a stranger.

"I’ll be there," she replied, mustering as much confidence as she could.

She could hear his smile on the other end of the line as he replied. "I can’t wait."

The rest of the week, she did her best not to chicken out. What was the opposite of chickening-out? Owling-in? That’s what she would do. Certain that everyone would think she was crazy, she decided to keep the truth of her visit secret. And she still wanted to keep Harrison to herself. Having someone to call her own, even as a friend, was everything she hadn't known she needed.

After leaving a fictionalized note, she set out on her adventure. And with every rumble of the bus beneath her, she grew surer of what she was doing.

When she arrived and noticed Harrison already waiting outside of the bus for her, she could hardly keep the grin off her face. There he was. In real life. Those eyes as striking as they had been the first time she had seen them in that profile picture. She smiled, shyly, through the window. Then all fear seemed to fall away as she descended the steps, one at a time, and landed on solid tarmac.

"Winnie," he murmured, as though seeing her there in front of him was more than he could have imagined.

"We have some barn owls to save, don’t we?” she remarked, beaming at him.

He lifted the camera slung around his neck and pointed it at her.

"Do you mind if I take a picture of you first?"

"Hey, I thought you were going to be the one modeling for me."

She teased him but struck a playful pose.

"Here," he remarked, holding the camera out to her. "What do you think?"

She peered down at the picture and felt her throat tighten. Her eyes, her smile, they seemed different than they had before, some transformation in them compared to the person she had been when she left home.

"I like it," she replied. Her words seemed an understatement for how she really felt, but it was the best she could manage at that moment.

He lowered his camera and looked at her. His eyes seemed to penetrate deeper than the lens of the camera, and she shifted from foot to foot.

"Are you okay?" she finally asked.

"Yeah," he replied with a nod. "I really am."

"Good, because I need you to come save some owls with me," she said, a lightness to her voice she hadn’t heard in a long time.

"It’ll be a hoot," he replied, the corners of his mouth twitching.

Her eyebrows shot up. "Did you really just-"

"Yeah, I really did," he replied, flashing her a mischievous grin.

And although neither of them knew it then, that photograph would be the start of something they would both look back on for years to come. With the distant, rising sounds of the protest calling, they reached for each other's hand and turned to the future, eager to embrace the world.

They say a person needs just three things to be truly happy in this world: someone to love, something to do, and something to hope for. Tom Bodett

Now, here we were, married. Both secure in the homes we found in each other. I packed snacks and filled water bottles, eager to explore the nearby trails, while Harrison read a letter inside a welcome basket featuring sparkling-wine and artisan snacks from the homeowners.

Welcome, Winnie and Harrison. We hope you enjoy your week away and make wonderful memories while you’re here. This is not something that we share with all our guests, but we are great fans of your work. I have only seen a snowy owl here once. Atop a windswept hill, the bird’s fierce yellow eyes were visible even at a distance. I stood there shivering for a long time, savoring the moment, until it spread its ghostly white wings and floated soundlessly out of sight. Here is a list of places you may like to start your search. Thank you for all you do for our precious creatures.

“That’s sweet,” I said. “And this house is perfect.”

I went into the suitcase, still unpacked, in the primary bedroom and brought out our book.

Placing it on the counter, I said, “Let’s make sure to sign this and leave a nice note before leaving.”

Then Harrison took my hand, warm in a cotton glove, and we began our next adventure.