Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Wildlife observations from along the flooded Cannon River in Faribault June 25, 2024

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An egret flies over the Cannon River by the barely visible dam at North Alexander Park on Friday evening. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 21, 2024)

WILDLIFE SENSES, understands, picks up on nuances that we as humans often fail to notice in our heads-bent-to-our-smartphones, busy scheduled lives.

A blue heron perches on the edge of a tree along the Cannon River by the park-side dam. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 21, 2024)

The recent flooding is a prime example. I saw countless cellphones raised to record floodwaters and rising rivers. I carried my 35 mm Canon camera, drawn just like everyone else to document the historic natural event unfolding before me along the Cannon River in Faribault.

An egret and blue heron seem to be checking out the river as a red-winged blackbird sits among the grasses to the right. That’s the Faribault Mill in the background, railings for the park-side dam in the foreground. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 21, 2024)

But I also noticed the wildlife. They, too, were observing. Watching the water. And watching people invade their river habitat by the hundreds. I sensed how uncomfortable the egret, blue heron, ducks and red-winged blackbirds were amid all the human chaos. So many people and so much traffic.

Flying high above the flooded river. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 21, 2024)

I expect they longed for quiet. Peace. A respite from the attention. A return to normalcy. No more peering eyes. No more crowds gathering.

A bullhead partially emerges from shallow water on dam’s edge as it tries to swim up the floodwaters. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 21, 2024)
Another bullhead attempts to swim up river. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 2021)

And then there were the fish, primarily bullheads, but a few bass, attempting to swim up through water that was rushing down, spilling over the edges of the dam by North Alexander Park. The fish appeared determined to make it to the other side, to the quieter waters of the widened river. It seemed a losing cause to me. But who am I to discourage a stubborn bullhead? If anything, it was fascinating to watch.

A duck family swims in the shallow floodwaters next to the top of the dam. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 21, 2024)

Finally, I observed a mama duck and her brood aside the top of the dam. They began edging, descending toward the river. Foolish ducks, I thought, judging the mother mallard. And then I voiced my concern out loud, “Stop, you’ll drown!”

The ducks move toward the deep river. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 21, 2024)

I can only imagine the thoughts of that mother and her six ducklings. “Did that woman really say that, warn us to stay out of the water lest we drown?” If ducks could laugh, the seven of them would have chortled, chuckled, carried on and then shared what they’d heard me say. Quack. Quack. Quackity. Quack.

A mallard drake swims in the Cannon River, nowhere near the female duck and ducklings. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 21, 2024)

But it was my husband who spoke for them. “They’re ducks, Audrey,” Randy said. “They can swim.”

An egret stands watchful and tall, next to the water rushing, roiling over the dam. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo June 21, 2024)

Uh, yeah. He was right. But it was the mom in me emerging, the protective spirit that, in that moment, did not separate wildlife from human so focused was I on the dangers of the swollen, swift-moving river.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling