Eagle sightings and the "Old Man's Cabin"

I love eagles, there's no doubt about it. I'm not the biggest fan of birds per se, but eagles are on the top of my list – all resulting from sightings and an amazing encounter in Virginia years ago.

One year while vacationing at the little cabin on the Potomac River in King George, County, Va., I began to notice bald eagles flying by on a regular basis. How I could have missed this all the years prior, I have no idea, but there they were – in full view of the cabin, soaring not too far from shore.

I was probably 13 or 14 then and dug out my Dad's binoculars, beginning a lifelong obsession with watching for the gorgeous, majestic birds. My parents said they probably nested at Eagle's Nest, about 3 miles southeast from us along the river. Eagle's Nest was originally the home of the Fitzhugh family over 300 years ago.

This is a photo of me at the porch entrance to the cabin in 1974, when the addition had already been added (far right). The six windows on the left are the front of the porch, which overlooked the Potomac River.

I was hooked on the creatures and spent the better part of my vacation watching for the young and mature bald eagles flying by the cabin – they added such enjoyment to our view of the river.

At the vacation's end, I decided to drive back with my sister in her car – our route consisting of heading east on 218 to the Harry M. Nice bridge into Maryland as we proceeded back to New Jersey.

Highway 218 was narrow and surrounded by lots of trees and in some spots, it was a steep drop off the side of the road. For the large vehicles of the 1970s, it was a very tight fit at times while driving through the tight curves. About 15 minutes after leaving the cabin and turning onto 218, I said to my sister, "I wish we'd seen those eagles just one more time," and right on cue, a bald eagle flew right down and hovered above the hood of her car.

Pris and I looked at each other and then the eagle and didn't say a word. Pris kept her speed right where it was and the eagle – it's wings spreading past the edge of the car – was facing us, inches from the windshield and us! We stared at him and he stared at us. His beautiful wings seemed to flap in slow motion. He was probably only about eight inches from the top of the hood.

If Pris slowed down or he sped up, we'd collide and would probably have died with the large bird crashing through the windshield – plus there were the deep gullies alongside the road that we might have crashed into. However, in what seemed like an eternity, but was most likely only about two minutes, the huge bird glided seamlessly up and over the windshield – out of sight.

We never forgot our special encounter with the eagle that day. It's probably the closest either of us will ever get to one, especially in flight.

That day began my love affair with eagles that continues to this day. Here in Missouri, we live on the Missouri River and are blessed to have a number of eagle's nests in various spots near where we live and travel. One spring day in 2012, I was thrilled to find four bald eagles sitting in a large tree overlooking the river, near the bridge. After observing them in the same tree for several days in a row at the same time, I decided to stop and take a photo. On the third day I stopped the car right on the bridge, aimed the camera out the window and shot several photos. They were gorgeous birds.

Still, nothing will ever equal the experience Pris and I had that day, along a thickly forested Virginia highway.

In addition to eagles, sharks teeth, Ilona Massey, the angel and the old boat, something else caught my eye and imagination near the river.

Every time we drove to or from the river, which required traveling 218 Highway, connecting to 641, now known as Chatterton Lane and vice versa, we passed an old wooden shack just before the road forked to Moreland to the left and Chatterton Lane and our cabin to the right.

There was always a very old man who sat on a chair outside the shack watching the small amount of car traffic go by. During the daytime he was always there, day after day, year after year. And he caused me no end of fascination.

The old cabin was decrepit and may very well have been an old slave's cabin as one year when we went to Fredericksburg during the winter months and drove down to the river, we could see an old, abandoned, plantation-type estate way back in the woods behind the old man's cabin.

I wondered endlessly what happened to that man who lived in the old cabin. What happened to his family, did he have children, a wife? What had he done for work? He seemed happy to just sit and wave to the cars. The story of his life and what brought him to the point of living alone in that old cabin was fodder for my imagination for years.

Eventually, on our 1974 trip, my mother stopped the car, got out and took a photo of the cabin, which was by then overgrown and even more rundown – the old man nowhere to be seen. Mom, being an artist, decided to paint a picture of his cabin with a few chickens running around the yard and gave it to me. I've carried that painting with me everywhere I've lived and remember the old man daily.

The "Old Man's Cabin" situated along 641 between the turnoff from 218 Highway and what is now known as Chatterton Lane. The photo was taken in 1974 and I believe the man had passed away by then. When he lived there, there was no vegetation by the door and the windows had been intact. The cabin no longer exists.

Whomever he was, whatever he did and wherever he ended up, the amount of loneliness he must have endured captured my heart; the amount of joy he appeared to have – acceptance to his life and happiness in the simplicity of his life, touched me as well.

I've never forgotten him.

I know he was older than dirt back when I observed him those 40+ years ago, so he's long gone to his eternal reward.

The shack no longer exists of course.  When Pris and I took our 2003 trip back to Fredericksburg and the river, we noted that the stretch of road on which his cabin sat, was completely overgrown – his old, wooden cabin no longer exists and you can't even tell where a man once lived his life.

I never learned his name and never met the man – but for some reason, he impacted me when I was a child and continues to be another part of a happy memory of our years on the river.