"Osprey's Landing"

As I sat at the tranquil water’s edge looking across St. Inigoes Creek, one question kept returning to me: Where were the ospreys? A beautifully constructed nest stood high on a pole in the middle of the creek, but its owners were nowhere to be seen. The empty nest became the quiet focal point of my painting—and eventually gave Osprey’s Landing its name.

My husband and I were staying in southern Maryland during a painting trip near the place where the Potomac River meets the Chesapeake Bay. I chose St. Inigoes Creek because it represents another stop in my Flow Series, which traces the journey of water from my backyard through Maryland’s streams and rivers and eventually to the ocean.

Our waterfront Airbnb was idyllic. Gardens surrounded the property, colorful chickens wandered nearby, and the broad creek sparkled in the sunlight. The shoreline grasses swayed in the breeze while the setting sun cast golden-tangerine light across the brilliant blue water. Flowering branches reached into the sky, framing the empty osprey nest in the distance.

It also seemed that the owners of the property were meant to cross paths with us. The wife was an artist and the director of a local arts council. Her husband was an investigative reporter whose work focused on environmental and humanitarian issues—including contamination from PFAS, a group of persistent chemicals sometimes used in firefighting foam at military facilities.

Coincidentally, I was in the midst of creating an enormous environmental art series about the connections among our waterways. We had chosen their home without knowing any of this. Discovering that our hosts shared so many of my artistic and environmental interests felt like fate.

As I painted the creek and absorbed the peaceful surroundings, noisy military helicopters began circling overhead, repeatedly interrupting my zen. A quick look at the map revealed that we were near Webster Field, an annex of Naval Air Station Patuxent River. Fortunately, I managed to return my attention to the painting: the shoreline grasses glowing in the evening light, the delicate pink flowers overhead, and the gentle waves washing against the bank.

Then another sound broke through the stillness—loud, insistent squawking. I looked up into the tree behind me and saw three bald eagles! I was thrilled to see our magnificent national bird, although eagles are not always welcomed quite so enthusiastically by their feathered neighbors. Bald eagles sometimes steal fish from ospreys and may prey upon eggs or young birds when the opportunity arises.

While painting the water, I noticed something else that seemed unusual. Patches of foam were washing along the shoreline. Our host explained why foam in this particular area raised concerns for him. He said it was PFAS used for firefighting and training at military installations.

PFAS are often called “forever chemicals” because many of them break down extremely slowly and can persist in water, soil, wildlife, and the human body. Research has linked exposure to certain PFAS at particular levels with potential health effects. The encounter made an invisible environmental problem suddenly feel immediate. Water connects everything—and whatever enters it may travel far beyond its original source.

Maryland later tested surface water and oysters in and around St. Inigoes Creek, the St. Mary’s River, and the Patuxent River to investigate the presence of PFAS. The study detected PFAS in regional tidal waters, but the concentrations and estimated risks from recreational contact and oyster consumption were significantly below the state’s site-specific screening criteria. The findings were reassuring, while also reinforcing the importance of continued research and monitoring.

Our hosts also shared pieces of the property’s past with us. They gave me sea glass and an old brick that had washed onto the beach—small objects believed to connect the shoreline to centuries of human activity. The area once stood along trading routes used during Maryland’s colonial tobacco era, and fragments of old bottles, jugs, pottery, and building materials still occasionally emerge from the land and water. History speaks loudly from this property. All you have to do is listen.

Eventually, I solved the mystery of the missing ospreys. Ospreys in the Chesapeake region generally migrate south toward warmer parts of the Americas in late summer and return in early spring. Adult pairs often return to the same nesting location year after year, with the male commonly arriving first to repair and enlarge the nest before the female returns. Rebuilding becomes part of their annual courtship and preparation for a new family.

Ospreys typically lay two to four eggs, with three being common. Both parents help protect and feed their young. Bald eagles and other predators can pose a threat, so the adults must remain vigilant. After roughly seven or eight weeks, the young ospreys begin to fly—sometimes rather clumsily at first. They continue relying on their parents as they strengthen their wings and learn to fish. Eventually, the young birds migrate independently. 

In Osprey’s Landing, the golden-tangerine sunset touches the water, shoreline plants, and flowering branches with warmth. The empty nest stands patiently against the horizon, waiting for spring. In the lower right corner, however, the exposed roots and deeper shadows introduce a darker note—a reminder that even the most beautiful landscape can hold unseen vulnerabilities.

That contrast lies at the heart of my Flow Series. I want to celebrate the astonishing beauty of our waterways while also drawing attention to the forces that threaten them. I have faith that dedicated reporters, scientists, environmental advocates, and ordinary citizens can help turn the tide. It is never too late to begin healing our world.

I will continue doing my part—one painting and one story at a time.