#merlins

Florida Wildlife; vol. 11, no. 8. January, 1958. Illustration by Wallace Hughes.

Today's bird is the Merlin. Merlins are small falcons, between the size of a kestrel and a Peregrine. Merlins are a very widespread raptor species, with populations on every continent except Oceania and Antarctica. Like most other falcons, their diet primarily consists of other avian species.

Merlins are perhaps best known for their usage in falconry, becoming popular falconry birds in medieval Europe. In this time period, what bird you could possess for hunting was indicative of your social status. Generally, the larger the falcon, the higher the status, gyrfalcons, which are the largest falcon species, were reserved for royalty. The smallest of falcons, the kestrels, were for the lowest of social classes. Though merlins are small, they weren't necessarily for the peasantry, they were known as a lady's bird, Mary Queen of Scots was an avid falconer and through her imprisonment continued to fly her merlin. In falconry there are also different names for various birds, with kestrels known as sparrow hawks, merlins known as pigeon hawks, and Peregrines known as duck hawks, in order of the size of their prey, or quarry.

Merlins have all the signature signs of a falcon, with their malar stripes to protect their eyes from glare and the tubercle in their nares (nostrils). The tubercle is a bone baffle in the nostrils that most falcon species have to allow breathing at high velocity dives, though they do not need it in the way a Peregrine does, as merlins only go about 30 miles per hour while a Peregrine has diving speeds of up to 240 miles per hour.

If you have any questions about merlins, falcons, or any other birds of prey, I'm happy to answer to the best of my ability!

Once a month, I am anemic. Drop sore, freckles faded, sleep past sun rising. Bird excessively molting her feathers, I must wait it out, despite the stripping down, the plucked, small version of me.

Low iron and I lay low, still, tears full of sodium. I can’t give oxygen to certain thoughts. Potential walk in the park lies in a banana, potassium purposed, my plumage dull brown and grey, but I rest in the camouflage.

Weakness is in the uterus, you could never do battle say those who emerged from the very wombs they curse, never knowing my raptor nature, where my true wingspan and size reside in my heart. Hunter, gatherer. Does nature or nurture sustain the bridge between life and death?

To endure is the hardest thing. Take a pill, eat a liver, make a black bean soup, all the remedies are offered like folk charms against fatigue. I find the best physic to be spite.

Tell me about tenacity. Brass, piss and vinegar, a feisty merlin fighting all those enormous ospreys in migration. And loving a child, a partner, a friend, family more than the discomfort discounts, to keep flying despite the soreness.

I’m so tired and soft and exposed to the elements today. Yet, I know what mettle is. I may lose iron like this, but I know the ancient irony of the hawkish dove.

My feathers have come back in and I find my second wind to swoop, to hunt, to spy.  I pause to scratch and peck out these words, despite my lady hawk ways.  This molting is different than all the others, I think to myself, so I will find a new place to nest while I begin a new phase.