On March 24, right on schedule, ospreys returned to Branford; in Pine Orchard, at the Washburn Tract; and along Route 146. The osprey, "eagle of the sea," is nearly the size of an eagle and is identified inflight by a white belly. The wings, which span nearly 6 feet, are brownish-black; heads are white with a dark crown.

I first spotted a pair, flying with bits of dried grass, to rebuild last year's nest. Once they are attracted and successfully nest for a season, osprey return to the same site each year. Nests, a cup-shaped composite overlooking a pond or bay, are made up of branches and plant matter, together with other materials, such as bones, driftwood, and seaweed.

Three weeks later, another pair turned up at a platform in the Vedder Tract, busily building a nest. Twice the male brought a branch from a high stand of trees nearby; each time, he playfully landed on the female's back.

Osprey are known for rituals of spectacular flights, in which the male soars up to 1,000 feet in the air with a fish in his talons, showing it off to the mate. In April, when I attended the Watershed Conference in Washington, D.C., I met ornithologist Paul Spitzer. He described the ospreys' courtship flights as "fabulous" - the male hovering, and diving; then screaming and soaring. The female begs for the food, fluttering her wings, and the male devotedly feeds her.

They lay three to four eggs. During the years when the birds were endangered from DDT, Spitzer found the shells too thin; they broke before embryos matured. Now that problem is resolved and Paul can speak of the beauty of the eggs, which are "covered with cinnamon, umber, and lavender spots. They shimmer when first laid."

By the end of incubation, the eggs look like "old scuffed shoes, they've been turned by the female so many times." She sits on the nest almost exclusively; the male brings food. I often witnessed the female crying her song to the male, as she sat on the nest. It seemed forever before babies appeared. At first, I assumed she had to lay a second clutch; but now realize that the eggs are small; chicks weigh only about two ounces when born. They simply weren't visible at first.

During the last few weeks in the nest before they fledged, the young osprey worked hard to prepare the wings. I watched the father teach the largest youngster - presumably the first egg hatched. The young osprey waited as the father demonstrated, lifting and fanning his wing. Then the little one tried. The tiny wing rose jerkily, still bent, and flopped back down! He tried again; that was enough for that session. Eventually, over weeks, he and a sibling flew.

The mother must have been relieved, after being so attentive for months. While the youngsters were growing, she had her "hands" full. There were times when she patiently held her wing up, stiffly open, serving as a wall so the babies could wriggle around and stretch without falling.

Perhaps it is that level of devotion which leads the female to spend the other seven months each year independent from the male and domesticities.

This spring after they returned, it snowed heavily for two days. Spitzer was intrigued; said ospreys in snow is unusual. We celebrate the presence of these forgiving birds, who were once nearly extinct, now returning to the lands we are entrusting back to them!