Lisa's Bald Eagle Documentary
For speaking engagements inquiries:
Due to Lisa's documentary, writing, publishing schedule from January through September, Lisa only takes on assignments in the immediate area to Rochester during these months.
Media Inquires and Journalists wanting to accompany Lisa in the field:
Please send an email stating your interest, publication or media outlet, and dates available.
Other Guest Opportunities:
From time to time, Lisa does bring outdoor writers, photographers, and those interested in eagles with her. Email her.
Lisa has several wildlife programs from 30 minute to full day classes prepared for schools, corporates, organizations, and in her gallery.
This documentary is in progress now. The book won't be released until a future date.
2017, Year 13 Dancer & Daedee: Ties that Bind
1/1/2017. It's almost impossible to believe I'm back. I woke up and knew today was the start of another year. It's my 26th wedding anniversary and all I can think of is: my story isn't finished and what's happened in Whitewater isn't fair to the wildlife or those who arrive after me. Yeah, I know, 'life isn't fair. I've heard it a thousand times.' Maybe it's not fair because the playing field is too wide, too vast, to be patrolled.
It's January 1, 2017. I'm back. Whatever that matters, to whoever and to what I represent, finds. I'm back to finish to my story, not for me, but for the future generations who deserve the right to stand on the ground where I am. Not be bullied; harassed, scared away so evil can stand here, I refuse to leave this way. I can't shake the words of that dispatcher, still, after over a dozen years, "A woman in the woods, alone – you're just asking for trouble."
I am here to tell a story. Perhaps I'm at a place where the truth matters more, at least to me. I know I can only be one voice for all the wildlife I find, one tiny voice that can hardly dispatch words loud enough to get a return echo; ever since my lungs stopped working like they used to. Ever since every breathe mattered even more, thereafter. I remember the day it started, I mean the day they stopped. I remember the day I had to give every bit of concentration, every thought to inhaling, to exhaling. I remember the doctor telling me the inhalers could kill me. I remember choosing between using them or not.
I remember believing I wouldn't see the end of summer and then a breaking point and a turn. I remember my sister dying a week later, and how I still feel she stole my death to keep me here, because she would do that. Ever since that time, I've worked hard to maintain a balance, because I know my lungs won't ever, and never will work again, not like they used to. I know my sister can't come back again, not come back in real life –– only dreams. She can't come and not leave this time, only in dreams, without me. I can still look and still see eagles. I believe she's up flying with them. CONTINUE READING