“Protecting historic green space protects more than history. It protects habitat. Shade for the owl. A perch for the hawk. Open ground for the caracara. Sky for a young eagle to grow into its crown.”
– Ramona D. Miller
On October 9, family historian and cemetery preservation advocate Ramona D. Miller witnessed something extraordinary at historic Woodlawn Cemetery in Fort Myers: Three Crested Caracaras patrolling the grounds. The falcon relatives are typically known to inhabit prairies, rangeland, and other semi-open habitats in the deserts of Arizona, the Texas coastal plain, and the prairies and pastures of Central and Southwest Florida. But a cemetery near downtown Fort Myers?
Miller was raised in nearby Immokalee, an inland farming community in Collier County where Crested Caracaras are relatively common, yet Miller had never noticed one, let alone three, before that October day.
“A black cap like a crown. A bright face. Long legs built for walking the earth,” explains Miller, who, upon spotting the unusual birds of prey on the grounds, raised her phone to ask Google for help identifying them. After learning their name, she realized that her spirit had already given them meaning: Survivors on sacred ground.
According to the Black Cemetery Network’s website, Woodlawn Cemetery in Fort Myers is “a historic burial ground that holds the remains of African American families from across Southwest Florida, including residents of Immokalee who were denied burial access in Collier County during the era of segregation. The Woodlawn section of Fort Myers Cemetery (owned by the City of Fort Myers) was created around 1915 as the area used for Black burials during segregation.”
As a descendant and advocate working to preserve historic Black burial grounds, Miller recognizes the importance of documenting what exists on this land, both historically and ecologically. After learning that Crested Caracaras were threatened in Florida, she shared her photo with Audubon Florida.
Days before seeing the caracaras, Miller spotted a subadult Bald Eagle. As a beekeeper, she frequently sees and photographs Northern Cardinals, hawks, and Blue Jays. But seeing the first caracara was special. She hadn’t just seen a beautiful bird: She had seen a survivor, holding on as the open spaces it needs keep shrinking.
Crested Caracara populations have declined in parts of their U.S. range, owing to shooting and habitat loss, but in other locations, they seem to be holding steady.
“Their populations around here have been doing fairly well, and I have been seeing them in more and more places in Collier County that I never did before,” says Keith Laakkonen, an avid birder and director at Audubon’s Corkscrew Swamp Sanctuary in Naples. According to eBird, a handful of Crested Caracaras have been reported over the decades in the cemetery’s neighborhood.
Miller says that preservation is not only for the dead: It is for everything still living on that ground. Woodlawn Cemetery remains a sacred site of memory, lineage, and community history. It also serves as habitat. In addition to paying more attention to the birds on those sacred grounds, she has started adding her sightings from the cemetery to eBird, where bird sighting data is curated, archived, and shared with a variety of users for conservation and education purposes.
“I guess I am being initiated into birdwatching,” she concludes.
At Audubon, Birds are our superpower. Their beauty, songs, and personalities capture the imagination of people around the world. Through birds, we aim to inspire new constituencies—and future generations—to act on behalf of birds and people.
The next time you pass a quiet old cemetery, a church lot, or a forgotten field, slow down. Study the trees. Pay attention to the birds. You might just see something special.
