When Fog Meets Feathers: Finding Calm After Chaos - Sept 13, 2025

It was one of those foggy fall mornings where the world feels hushed, as if nature is waiting to reveal something special. I woke up early with the intention of renting a small power boat to cruise along the shoreline and photograph wildlife. Little did I know what the day had in store for me.

Before I even set foot on the boat, the day had gifted me surprises. Across the harbour, a kingfisher was fishing and chattering away, her voice echoing through the fog. She seemed to be telling me: don’t be afraid to speak up and claim your space, even when the world feels heavy and unclear.

Then, tucked away in the rafters of the boathouse, I discovered a barn swallow nest. The young ones were waiting patiently for Mom and Dad to return with food — tiny mouths open, trusting that what they needed would come. Their quiet message was one of trust and reliance on others, reminding me that it’s okay to lean into support and not have it all figured out.

My day seemed off to a perfect beginning. The fog had lifted somewhat and the sun came out.

After an hour of waiting, the attendant gave me a rundown on how to handle the boat, and off I went. Within seven minutes, I was spiraling into a full-blown panic attack. The boat was difficult to steer, constantly pulling to the right. Each correction only made things worse. Before I even made it past the end of the marina, I turned around.

Back on the dock, I explained that I couldn’t do it. My chest tightened, my mind raced, and tears started to fall. The staff were incredibly kind, sharing that they had felt the same way their first time. But by then, my emotions took over. I bolted to my car and had a full meltdown for half an hour.

I don’t know what came over me. Fear, lack of control, maybe both. But the wave crashed.

As I drove back, still shaken, the universe seemed to send me a lifeline. Two juvenile bald eagles appeared, perched against the foggy sky. I pulled over, grabbed my camera, and snapped a few shots. Even as silhouettes, they were a gift. Their presence was a reminder that even in the fog, when clarity is missing, strength and guidance are still there if you’re willing to notice them. It was as if nature whispered, It’s okay, Jennifer. We’ve got you.

I made one last stop at a nearby lagoon. There, nature truly showed up for me. Seagulls, crows, pigeons, black oystercatchers, mallards, and even another kingfisher revealed themselves.

Did you know? 

Kingfishers often perch on old pilings, docks, or posts near the water because it gives them the perfect vantage point to spot fish. From these high seats, they can dive with incredible speed and accuracy — sometimes hitting the water headfirst like little feathered torpedoes!

I'm sure this pigeon is thinking "Oh, great… another bird paparazzi. Where’s my seed payment?". LOL.

Did you know?

Black Oystercatchers often call back and forth while they forage along the shore. Their sharp, piping voices help them stay connected as they probe the rocks for mussels and limpets, almost like they’re chatting over dinner while keeping an eye out for danger.

Two double-crested cormorants stood tall with wings spread wide, heads lifted toward what little sun filtered through the fog. Their lesson was clear: embrace what’s given, even if it’s only a faint light. Open yourself to it and let it strengthen you.

Did you know?

Double-crested Cormorants often spread their wings to dry after diving. Even on foggy days, they stretch wide to absorb whatever warmth and light the sun offers.

Songbirds flitted through the brush.

And then, like a gentle teacher, a Great Blue Heron appeared, fishing quietly in the shallows. Watching the heron’s patience and precision gave me exactly what I needed: slow down, breathe, and trust the process. Precision comes from patience, not panic.

And on the opposite side of the lagoon, I spotted a Great Blue Heron fishing in the marsh. He looked absolutely spectacular framed by the fall colors. Beyond his patience and precision, the heron carried another message for me: Do not give up, try again.

As if the universe wanted one last word, when I finally returned to my car, I found pigeons scattered all over it perched on the roof, the hood, even the mirrors. It felt like nature itself was wrapping me in a feathery hug, a sign from the universe not to give in to the negative voices in my head. Just because the boat didn’t work out this time doesn’t mean I failed it was a reminder that I still have something to offer, and that nature will always meet me where I am.

That morning didn’t go as planned. My panic told me I had failed, that I was weak, that I should feel embarrassed. But nature reminded me otherwise. Every bird I encountered offered me a lesson — to claim space, to trust, to be resilient, to accept what comes, to be patient, and to see strength even when the way forward feels hidden.

I’ll get back on the boat someday. I know I will. But for now, I’ll be staying on dry land, camera in hand, heart open to the healing lessons that wildlife so freely offers.