“Have
you seen any chicks, yet?” I asked my walking companion as we pulled on our
jackets and shoes in preparation for a spring weekend walk by the lake.
“Naw,”
he said, with a wave of his hand, “It’s too early for that, yet.”
He
lives much closer to the lake than I do, has many more chances to check that
out than I do. He’d know better than I would.
We
stepped out into the warm sunshine and my disappointment melted away. I might
have to wait awhile to see the babies, but I was sure to see some other birds,
anyway.
We
followed the path to the water’s edge. Around us crab apple trees were flush
with sweet smelling baby pink blooms, and the green grass was thickly dotted
with the golden buttons of a million dandelion heads. As we approached the
lake’s little viewing platform, I could see a black bird fluttering around the
trees ahead. I peered through my binoculars. He was black and slick as midnight
except for the vivid flash of bright red and yellow on his shoulder. It was the
red-winged blackbird! He’s one of my favorite birds! I love to see him in
spring. But don’t let that throw you. I have dozens of favorite birds. This
blackbird, though, was acting a little bit unusual, though. Usually they flit
from tree to tree or land on other high areas, when they’re not bobbing along
on the bulrushes. This little fellow came to a landing on the fresh, green
grass and hop, hop, hopped along as though he were simply out for a little
stroll. He actually let us get quite close, and we had just begun to think
something was wrong with him, when he took off in a flurry of sheen and color.
Finally!
The water’s edge! I leaned over the cold, steel railing and skimmed the water
with my binoculars. In the water and along the shores I could see the
glistening emerald green heads of the breeding male mallards. They’re at their
greenest and “emeraldiest” this time of year, as they prepare for fatherhood.
Among them were the plainer, brown lady mallards with their distinctive blue
wing bands that do such a good job of setting them apart. The duck heads seemed
to change from green to various shades of blue and even almost purple as they
moved around in the sunlight. And in a couple of places on the water’s surface
I could spot the bright crimson of the red-necked grebe. All was peaceful. The
perfect spring afternoon.
We
followed the shoreline of the lake, camera and binoculars in hand. Mother
Nature had a lot to say, that day, and the air was alive with her voices. The
blackbirds trilled sweetly from the lake’s marshy edges. Ducks quacked back and
forth and even chased each other playfully around the water, splashing and
crying out noisily as they pleased. The grebes cried out to each other, their
distinctive call echoing out across the water.
We
stood on the grass by some young trees watching some sparrows pick something
out of the grass. A male mallard made a gentle quack and glided out of the
reeds nearest to me, and paddled out onto the water. I had startled him.
Suddenly
there was a great tumult and splashing in the reeds right in front of me. The
water plants bobbed and swayed under the movement of something beneath them. It
sounded big, but there’s nothing dangerous around here. I am incurably curious,
so, naturally, I had to try and see what was going on. Gingerly, I tip-toed
down on a rocky patch of shore, clear of reeds, and craned my neck around the
bulrushes just in time to see a female mallard paddle away - - followed by a
whole flock of sweet, tiny, downy little babies! Too soon for them? Guess not!
We
continued around the lake, taking in everything there was to see and hear. We
were nearly at the far end, when we suddenly heard the loud, distinct Honk!
Honk! of a Canada Goose. We looked around because there hadn’t been a single
goose in sight since we arrived here. And, frankly, we still couldn’t see one.
Suddenly
he burst over hill and soared, wings spread wide, directly over our heads. He
glided smoothly over the lake and landed in the water with an excitingly big
splash!
We were
nearly all around the lake when I glimpsed the mallard family again. They were
hugging the shore. I peered around the reeds for a closer look. Mama duck saw
me looking and took me for a threat. She began quacking loudly and firmly, and
stretched her wings out, sheltering her children. All the little ones
immediately began scrambling for hiding places in reeds. No arguments. No
questions. One intrepid little duckling who had dared to go a little further
out on the water than the others, straggled behind. His mother quacked
frantically at him and he skittered across the surface of the water at a very
impressive speed! Then, all at once, they vanished. Silence. Like they had
never been there.
At last
we stood on the lookout and gazed over the lake for one last look before going
back inside. Here were the mallards, there was a grebe, the goose was over
there…and yes I can hear you, too, little blackbird.
But
what was that moving slowly through the water a few feet of the platform.
Black, soggy and, perhaps furry. No beak. No wings. I could see a long, dark,
skinny tail as it dove under water. A minute later it resurfaced near the reeds
where I could have a closer look. I was right! It was definitely a little
muskrat! Something new for me to watch for this summer. Will he build a lodge?
Maybe turn up with a family? We’ll see. It will be a surprise.
Because
that’s what the lake in spring is all about - - Surprises!
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