I have witnessed numerous women take pleasure in tossing morsels of food to the horde of Muscovy ducks and egrets that jockey for position outside the prison dining hall.
Still, I myself never felt compelled to feed the fowl until the day an ungainly sight soared over the fence.
I had just returned to Homestead Correctional Institution, a women’s prison in South Florida, after two agonizing years at an incentivized prison in central Florida. The incentivized camp failed to deliver on the promises of “enhanced opportunities” and “quality of life” I’d heard from a promotional video.
Instead of pleasurable outdoor time where birds swooped lazily above a small lake and turtles sunned along the bank, I was relegated to walks on pavement surrounded by concertina wire-laden fences. Stepping off the bus at Homestead, to the trill of birds and lush greenery, felt like coming home.
Sure, the incentivized facility boasted a gameroom complete with an Xbox, PlayStation and multiple large-screen TVs. But the prison grounds were devoid of the flora and fauna prized by this small-town country girl. Homestead’s natural beauty would always trump tech.
On my way to orientation after returning to Homestead, I spotted a group of service dog handlers pointing excitedly. There, just under the portico leading to the property room, stood a strange bird with thick legs and an impressive hooked beak.
I walked toward the group.
“What do you think it is?” one woman asked.
Having grown up in rural Wisconsin, I was no stranger to wild game birds. My mind sifted the possibilities: Quail? Grouse? Partridge? Pheasant? I discarded each of these. This bird was too large. Besides, the rounded rump ended without the tell-tale feathers I remembered.
Curiosity drew me closer to the creature.
“Does anyone have a cracker or cookie?” I whispered.
Someone handed me a palmful of dog kibble.
As I extended my arm, the bird, in turn, cocked its head. “Take off your hat,” someone behind me said. I duck walked forward, sans hat.
An array of aquamarine, teal and midnight-blue jewels covered the mystery bird’s crown. A line of wispy feathers, protruding antenna-like, elicited a memory: “Kevin!” It reminded me of the colorfully plumed, flightless bird in the animated movie “Up.”
Wicked claws clicked with each of its tentative steps. Its first darting peck into my palm was exhilarating. One by one, the brown nuggets disappeared. My happiness grew.
A faintly familiar sense of normalcy settled upon me — as though I were a regular person enjoying a day at the park.
I didn’t know how long the bird would stay, but I looked forward to seeing it again. As I stood, a passerby shouted, “Oh, look, it’s a baby peacock!”
