The following piece first appeared on the now reposed website, Floodplains Magazine, in 2019. It is shared now on AFIELD Notes with limited edits for accuracy and impact.
Spring is a time for observation. After deer season ends and before the turkey gobble, I often change my focus from the year-round residents to the travelers, the migrators, the birds. This time of year, a camera and binoculars are all I need. I visited a local wildlife refuge in hopes of finding something rare, something novel, something interesting.
American Coot – A covert of coots feed in a calm cove on the western side of the lake. The simple birds make short dives to retrieve food below the surface. I do not know for sure what they eat, but judging by the rapid shake of their head above water, I presume it is a small fish or unsuspecting bottom dweller with multiple sets of legs. The coots climb out of the water along submerged branches for a break and to digest their latest meal. Compared to other waterfowl, coots look like constant adolescents who haven’t yet grown their full plumage. Maybe it’s their appearance that makes me see them as a bit comical. Or, it could just be the name.
Wood Duck – A woodie blasts off the water to my left and flies behind, but there is no mistaking his headdress and finely tuned aerodynamics. It is one of the most beautiful birds in the world and it lives in my backyard.
Canada Goose – I often take this animal for granted. I have heard it told that when the wondrous aerial V formation first returned to our region, workers left the factory floor to witness. Today, a pair, mated for life no doubt, dabbles among shallow weed beds. Their necks reach what they need and they waste no effort diving like the more erratic coots. Despite my best efforts to observe them, I find little intrigue in the ubiquitous.
Lesser Scaup – I see a scaup, which I presume to be the lesser version. I recognize the visitor by the perfect black to gray gradient along its back. He and his mate dive further from shore, I have to steady my binoculars on the window to watch them. They prefer the open water, wind in their wings, and waves against their chest.
Mallard – Where the deep green of the scaup’s head needs good lighting in the overcast Midwest spring, the emerald glow of a drake mallard produces its own brilliance. A mating pair dabble in a small pond, more symbol than bird.
Sharp-shinned Hawk – Overhead, the long tail and pointed wings of an Accipiter slide through the wind. I can barely judge the size in the air until it swerves into the pines and I have scale. The mallard below seems too big to be prey, yet perhaps the hawk has other ideas.
Seagulls – Numerous and uninteresting, I admit my ability to identify them falls short. They are everywhere, yet I am not able to tell which of them are unique. It’s my loss.
Hooded Merganser – Tiny white sails framed in black are blown by the breeze. Below moves a merganser. Striking stripes adorn the sides of this avian ship, while the chestnut color of the gunwales mark it a masterpiece hewn by a craftsman. Only when it takes flight do I realize it is meant for both sea and sky.
Bald Eagle – A juvenile eagle fights the pull of gravity and extends its mottled wings to ease the mind. It knows it will become something more, something transcendent, but it is not sure how to get there yet. I feel the burgeoning flow of its presence, but know that there is much more that it can do.
Chickadee – A chickadee braves the wind and flitters between bushes. His presence is comforting. It takes me to the small birds that visit my bird feeder each year and remind us all that somehow soon, spring will be here.
Crow – A crow shortens its wings and flies against the wind, cackling. I don’t know how they they do it, nor how other migrating species find their own routes, but I get the sense that crows always know exactly where they are going.
Eastern Bluebird – Coming into spring color, a bluebird bursts out by perching still. I am conscious of the value judgments that help these birds thrive and can’t help but wonder if their evolution led this way. What have we helped to form from our preferences? If the bluebird reacts to us, what about the trees, the bacteria, the planet?
Robin – What, I wonder, would the robin do without the worm?
Red-tailed Hawk – A Buteo oversees a hidden wetland. Of all species, it must be grateful for our impact on the environment. The hawk thrives on the lines and bare edges along our roads and property lines. No restorations are needed for this species, just open cuts through once thick forests and an army of lawn mowers.
Turkey Vulture – It must be the vulture’s first day back, the most punctual of birds. What does its alarm sound like, to get up and go? It must be deliberate, to return home at the same time each year. I think of my own home, my family, the focus of my favorite observations.
Red Head and Canvasback – Maybe the color of their feathers fool each other. Or maybe the difference matters not. A lone canvasback muddles along with several red heads. The closer I look, the more different they become. Like people. Yet, their similarities are overwhelming. Would that I could be so aware with individual people, we might all yet move together through life so peacefully.
Tundra Swans – Swans stand out. How they came to be covered in white remains a mystery to me, but they provide a reminder that species don’t stay constant. What we call a swan today, may yet be something altogether new in the eons to come.
Sandhill Crane – The call of a crane must have the ability to span time, it evokes ancient emotions in my body that my mind cannot quite remember.
Northern Shoveler – There is no mistaking this specialist. Tens of birds dabble along the shore of the refuge, not nearly as wary as their neighboring fowl. Do they migrate later? Do they notice their exceptional beaks? I know so little.
Bufflehead – The black and white blur sits motionless for a moment. I’ve become accustomed to identifying these birds on the wing, yet now they dive slowly, safely, and I enjoy the show.
Human Being – An older gentleman ambles his way down the dirt road. I see binoculars around his neck. I ask if he sees anything interesting. He explains that there are different bird behaviors here and in South America, different reactions to predators and food and he has seen them all. He enjoys the large birds and the small, the known and the new. He reminds me what I do not know. It’s all interesting, he tells me. Indeed.
