At the Vestal Place, eggs have already hatched. Great horned owls are some of the earliest nesters. Two fledglings fluffed in down perched on a log beam in the two story barn. They sat as still as the bronze owl andirons that belonged to my stepmother’s parents. But as we circumnavigated the barn, trying to see but not disturb the birds, their heads pivoted with agility as they followed our movement. Each new view found them staring at us with rich yellow eyes. They seemed entirely unconcerned by our presence though their parents had abandoned them at first sight of us.