The last time I had heard great-horned owls calling, I was drifting off to sleep in a tent in British Columbia campground.

So, I was a bit perplexed as I fumbled for my car keys at the Liberty Lake park ’n ride one February evening. Plaintive refrains of “Who-who-whooooo-whooooo-whooooo” were drifting across the asphalt. They were coming from a stubby row of ornamental evergreens, where a great-horned owl was either advertising for a mate or defending its territory at the start of breeding season.

I cupped my hands around my mouth for my best owl imitation. Two owls answered back, hooting over each other.

“Love is in the air,” I thought as I drove away, picturing a pair of golden-eyed owls working on their nest, lining it with downy feathers plucked from their breasts.

I became a commuter in December, when my job transferred from The Spokesman-Review’s Coeur d’Alene office to downtown. The switch means that I spend about 90 minutes each day in a vehicle – mostly a car, sometimes a bus. Friends recommended books on tapes to make the drive go faster. I actually Googled “yoga while driving,” figuring that stretching would a good compliment to NPR broadcasts. I didn’t expect to be birding.

But the first day of the commute, I found myself watching two pairs of hawks soaring over Interstate 90. The next morning, I started counting hawks. Becky Kramer/SR More here.

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