No one knows how, where or when they met.
No one knows why they struggled the last two years: why they lost their little ones the first year and, seemingly, the desire to have more the second.
They didn’t know what happened to their former home when they returned from spring break in March. They stood forlornly in its former spot for two weeks, looking around, stunned, as if to say, “Hey! It was here when we left …”
And indeed it was there, but not the well-constructed abode they remembered. Although the neighborhood is a nice one, when they left early, a local gang of rowdies quickly moved in, trashing the place. Authorities figured the home was done in, and thinking the occupants weren’t coming back at all, knocked the rest of it down to force the gang out. It worked.
But they came home to an empty lot.
Then, one day, the very beginnings of a foundation appeared. And slowly, very slowly, the sides went up. And the home got bigger, fully occupying its former footprint plus some. They were careful about the interior; it had to be plush and just right. The whole construction project took nearly six weeks.
They settled in comfortably, leaving only occasionally to bring home a take-out fish dinner. We call it “nesting.”
Then, on a recent Wednesday, five little ones appeared. Round, freckled, warmed by both the sun and the fierce protection of their parents. And the wait began.
What happens next? Watch the story of the Catawba Nuclear Station ospreys unfold on our live osprey cam. We expect the eggs to hatch in the next few weeks.