EACH SPRING I ANTICIPATE the appearance of newborn ducks and geese in the wild. There’s something about these waterfowl that appeals to me. Perhaps it’s the cuteness factor. Or maybe it’s the reassurance that, despite the ever-changing chaotic world, some things remain constant. Eggs hatch. Ducklings and goslings emerge. And the cycle of life continues.
This year I was a bit late getting down to North Alexander Park in Faribault, a prime viewing spot along the Cannon River for an adaptation of Robert McCloskey’s children’s picture book, Make Way for Ducklings. The book won the Caldecott Medal in 1941 and is a beloved classic about a duck family in Boston.
On the recent day I went duck and goose hunting with my camera here in Minnesota, far from Boston, I found only goslings. No ducklings. I approached with caution. I’ve learned from experience that Canada geese are aggressively protective of their young. I already hold childhood trauma from enduring vicious rooster attacks. I don’t need to add to that.
And so I watched and focused, thankful for my zoom lens which allowed getting close to the geese without getting close. The young ones appeared to be at teenage stage, rather than vulnerable baby stage. Thus my trust of even the youngest rated zero.
I was fully aware that the geese were aware of my presence. People occasionally toss bread to waterfowl here (something I wish they wouldn’t do), so they may have expected a hand-out. Not from me. I was simply there to observe and document while dodging excrement, one of the hazards of stepping into a Robert McCloskey scene.
Despite the caution, despite the need to watch my step, I will continue to delight in this annual rite of spring which draws me to the banks of the Cannon River in southern Minnesota. Far from Boston.
When life gets especially stressful, as it has thus far in 2022, enveloping myself in nature allows me to temporarily escape reality. Who doesn’t need a break? Focusing on the natural world rather than struggles and challenges brings a sense of peace, of calmness and sometimes clarity.
This sprawling park on Faribault’s north side is home to many waterfowl, drawn to the Cannon River. I never tire of watching them, whether in flight over the water, in the water or beside the water.
Their numbers seem down this year, perhaps due to avian influenza. Still enough ducks and geese meander the shoreline and trail to make me watch where I step.
I even spotted a pair far from shore, under the bleachers at a ball field.
While I’ve never been fond of winged anything up close, I certainly admire them (except bats) at a distance. Mallard drakes, with their iridescent green heads, practically shimmer with beauty. And the hens are lovely, too, in their mottled brown feathers.
In the spring, ducklings and goslings draw my motherly eye. There’s something about a baby.
The Cannon River also attracts pelicans. And eagles. On a recent riverside walk, I saw an eagle trace the river, reverse course and settle low in a tree along the opposite shoreline. Too far away to photograph even with my zoom lens. It just sat there. I was hoping it would swoop down to grab a fish. But, when I left, the eagle still perched in that tree. Quiet. Still.
There’s something to be learned from observing waterfowl. How they sit. How they glide. How they navigate wind and water. How they adapt.
So I will continue these riverside walks, immersing myself in nature, discovering the peace and quiet that comes from connecting with ducks and geese, pelicans and eagles at North Alexander Park in Faribault.
TELL ME: Do you escape into nature? If yes, where’s your favorite place to go and how does being in the natural world benefit you?
FROM ONE HOLDING POND to the next, then to the next, they flew. The elusive egrets.
On a recent evening, I tried to photograph egrets at the Faribault Energy Park, place of dirt trails, ponds, creek, assorted trees, wildflowers and wetlands along Interstate 35.
A wildlife photographer I am not. But that doesn’t keep me from trying.
Randy spotted the egrets first, in the waterway near the small shelter just off the entry road into the park. I hurried toward the shelter thinking I would quickly get the shots I wanted. But, as I soon discovered, egrets are observant and evasive. Before I even reached the site or had adjusted my camera for action shots, the two egrets were in the air.
They flew toward the nearest holding pond. I followed, stood on the dirt trail, zoomed from afar and clicked the shutter button multiple times. When I moved, the egret of my focal attention took off. I was intentionally trying to respect the birds and remain unobtrusive. But I suspect, even if I had simply been walking the trails minus my camera, their behavior would have been the same.
By this time I determined that egrets are camera, or people, shy, preferring to just be left alone in their watery habitat.
They are an interesting bird. Long of neck, curved when they fly. Wide white wing span, which leaves me wondering how they possibly keep those feathers so snowy white. Thin black legs resembling sticks. Long, jolt of orange beak. And not exactly graceful in flight. Rather clumsy-appearing, in my opinion.
I wonder what those egrets thought of me, earthling far below or nearby. Without wings. And although my legs are long given my height, they are no match for an egret’s long twiggy legs. I can’t compete with their vision either. That I observed in the short time I attempted to photograph…the elusive egret.
TELL ME: Do you know anything about egrets and/or their behavior?
AFTER WHAT SEEMED an especially long, cold winter in Minnesota, spring is emerging. And although the calendar confirms that with the vernal equinox on March 20, I need only look around me to verify this change in seasons.
Several days of gloriously warm weather, capping with 70 degrees on Monday, meant lots of time outdoors in the warmth and sunshine. And nature, mostly nature.
I especially delight in following the packed dirt roads at Faribault Energy Park. Even with its location next to busy Interstate 35, the park provides, for me, a preferred place to immerse myself in the outdoors. I love the wide sky, the prairie feel of this landscape.
As I began my walk around the on-site ponds that attract waterfowl aplenty, I hear first the overwhelming chorus of birdsong. Red-winged blackbirds, perched high atop a cluster of trees, trill a song of spring. I welcome the music.
On two of the three ponds, I observe ducks and geese—mostly geese—rippling gracefully across the open water.
The water on the pond nearest the energy plant remains frozen except along the fringes where an angler catches and releases bass and bluegills. It’s a good place to fish with kids, he says, or for someone like him, a kid. I laugh.
As I follow the paths and walk along main pond’s edge with camera slung around my neck, I notice the remnants of seasons past interwoven with signs of spring.
Dried leaves, sumac, grasses, cattails, berries, milkweed pods, pine cones, even a bird nest tucked low in the crook of a tree, remain from months earlier.
But now, amid all those visuals of autumn and winter, spring pops. Red dogwood colors the brush.
Pussy willow buds open, tracing a line of mini cotton balls along slender branches.
I take in this seasonal change. With my eyes, then my camera. And I listen to those blackbirds in concert, interrupted by the occasional applause of geese against the background music of I-35 traffic.
It’s good to be here, to experience the beginning of spring. To connect to the earth along muddy dirt roads. To feel, hear and observe the transition of seasons as we step into spring in southern Minnesota.
“DUCK, DUCK, GRAY DUCK!” If you’re not a native Minnesotan, you might stop me right here and protest. “It’s Duck, Duck, Goose!” you likely would correct. And then I would protest.
A few years back, in October 2017 to be exact, a tight end for the Minnesota Vikings initiated a game of Duck, Duck, Goose following a touchdown. Ohio native Kyle Rudolph was quickly corrected. Here in Minnesota, we term that children’s game Duck, Duck, Gray Duck. Not Goose. But Gray Duck. That set off a storm of conversations in which many a Minnesotan defended our name for this game which involves participants sitting in a circle, tapping each other on the head and calling out “Duck” or assorted versions thereof. The child pegged as the “Gray Duck” then tries to catch the person who is “It.”
Duck thoughts fly through my head as I consider a scene on the Cannon River in the heart of downtown Northfield Sunday afternoon. There, among the drake mallards with brilliant iridescent green heads and the hens in their unassuming shades of brown, were four white ducks. All white with brilliant orange beaks and webbed feet.
I was thrilled to finally see these white ducks Randy has previously spotted flying over Northfield on his way to work. These, he said, are not domestic ducks given their propensity to fly just like any other wild duck.
We can only guess at their origins since we are uninformed, except when it comes to Duck, Duck, Gray Duck. Perhaps the white ducks resulted from a genetic mutation. Or the mixing of wild and domesticated. Whatever the reason, these waterfowl drew our interest.
I wondered if the other ducks would exclude/shun/avoid the white ducks. As I watched them walk across the ice and swim in patches of open water, I observed no ostracization. We could learn a thing or ten from those ducks.
EVERY SPRING, I FIND myself drawn to pond or river’s edge to watch the goslings, the newborn offspring of Canadian geese navigating the shoreline and water.
They are just so darned cute. Downy yellow. Sometimes huddling in a circle of sibling closeness.
Still in the protective care of their parents. And, yes, geese can prove fierce when safeguarding their young. I steer clear of these young families, preferring to frame family photos from afar.
While River Bend lies a long ways from McCloskey’s Boston Public Gardens pond setting, the universal appeal of ducklings spans the miles between Massachusetts and Minnesota.
Whether in a city, rural area or nature center, downy babies in the care of their parents create, at least for me, a sense that all is well in the world. That no matter the worldwide challenges—especially during a pandemic—no matter the community and personal challenges, the cycle of life continues.
Every spring I make way for ducklings and goslings, celebrating their arrival by documenting their arrival. With my camera. But even more, by framing them in my memory during this season of spring.
…but they are smart enough to realize that words mean nothing to squirrels either. And if there’s corn available, as in this front yard along Fifth Street in Faribault (across from Trinity Lutheran Church), they will partake.
My question, though, is this: How did these ducks find this food? The house is not located anywhere near a water source. Did one of them fly over, spot the corn and call the family? I can never figure out this ducks wandering away from water thing.
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