Flaco flew for us all: the embodiment of freedom as rebellion

“The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion.”

— Albert Camus

My body feels as though I’ve volunteered for a scientific study; becoming a proving ground of sorts, evaluating various pieces of adaptive equipment as I put my own durability to the test, slipping, sliding, slogging and crunching over back roads whose fluctuating consistency becomes more unpredictable with each passing winter.

Every step marks a new adventure, never quite certain if I’ll slide sideways, turn my ankle or twist my knee in a frozen rut or sink in above my shoes, squishing along for several miles, obscenities providing the soundtrack of my discontent.

Deep in muck, submerged in thought, walking has become the go-to activity, especially since traditional winters have migrated somewhere else, limiting skiing and snowshoeing to a smattering of one-off rambles fraught with deteriorating conditions, often infusing the whole enterprise with more trouble than it’s worth.

So, I find myself down the road on a perfect afternoon — warm temperatures, little wind and glorious sunshine — in other words, it sucks, figuratively and literally, as the quagmire does its level best to exert its will on my feet, which too frequently require just enough of a steady yank to pull free, subtly destroying my lower back.

That I find this small restriction so infuriating gets me thinking about our notion of freedom and the desire we all have to do what we want, when we want and how we want, unconstrained by outside forces, whether governmental or environmental, each of which can be uniquely intrusive. While the historical perception of freedom has been bastardized with political ramifications — the Freedom Caucus or the Alliance Defending Freedom are designed to do the opposite — we continue to maintain a grasp of what it means in its purest form and, like Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart said of obscenity in 1964, we “know it when we see it.”

And many saw it quite clearly personified in Flaco, a Eurasian eagle owl who, after escaping his enclosure at the Central Park Zoo a year ago, became a spirit animal for the masses, soaring above New York City’s granite canyons from Greenwich Village to a favorite Central Park oak tree near 104th Street in upper Manhattan.

Once zoo officials abandoned recapture efforts after a few weeks, Flaco became a social media sensation, every flap of his majestic 6-foot wingspan recorded, his movements charted, and data compiled of his whereabouts at a given moment.

When he died last week after a collision with one of the Upper West Side skyscrapers that became his habitat, the outpouring of grief was a palpable illustration of how — even amid the towering concrete monoliths that permeate the urban landscape — we strive for an acquaintance to wild nature that goes well beyond simple observation, verging at times on the mystical. Ample evidence reveals that those of us with a connection to the natural world are usually happier in life and more likely to feel our lives worthwhile with enhanced positive emotions such as joy, calm, creativity and an increase in concentration.

I’m lucky enough to live in a place where encountering wildlife on my walks isn’t unusual but I’m still grateful for every loon, fox, eagle, coyote, beaver, moose and all the rest that enhance my life by just being there. After 40 years on this road, it’s still enthralling to stop when I see some critter going about its day and just watch for a precious moment or two.

I’ve always found owls especially beguiling and the goings on in New York City reminded me of what I like to recall as a relationship I had with a barred owl several years ago that lasted a couple of winters, as ridiculous as it was sublime. He showed up one late autumn afternoon, alternating between an apple tree behind the house and a limb over the compost pile, stayed until spring, even returning the following year.

Although seen in some cultures as a harbinger of death because of its nocturnal nature, owls also represent wisdom and knowledge and, according to mystic Inbaal Honigman, a visit from one points you to your own wisdom, an invitation to tap into your inner knowledge, perception and intelligence. I would go out and talk to him — he never answered — but he was completely undaunted, and I was able to get ever closer, eventually close enough to stroke his feathers while quietly making small talk. He still never answered.

Watching him regularly slam into the snow, I learned that he was hunting. Owls have incredibly sensitive hearing, allowing them to hear activity through several inches of fluff. Returning from a walk one day, I stopped by his tree and hung out with him for a bit while he swiveled his head, scanning the ground with his ear. Suddenly, he dropped silently, crashing through 6 inches of snow, coming up with a fat vole that he downed in a couple of gulps. It was stunning.

Since the beginning of the pandemic three years ago the world has closed in around us and consequently more people have rediscovered the emotional and mental health benefits of city parks, woodland forests or blue spaces like beaches, rivers and wetlands. Our psychological well-being, including a reduction of stress, anxiety and depression is enhanced by connecting with wildlife and the natural world.

Trapped in what arguably has become a far more dangerous world since 2019, with threats lurking everywhere, the profound exuberance over Flaco’s fleeing his cage, eluding capture and commanding the skies over New York for a year is completely understandable. He was flying for all of us — the very embodiment of freedom as rebellion.

Walt Amses is a writer. He lives in North Calais.