THE SUMMER OF GREEN HERONS

PART 1: HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

I was slouched down in my kayak, staring at a branch, when something seeped into my consciousness. Gradually materializing from the tangle of willow leaves was a large, rough nest about a foot across. It was a loose arrangement of twigs that resembled a flat plate.

I paddled under the overhanging branches and did what one must never do––I stood up in my kayak. That took every bit of concentration and nerve I could muster, but it was worth the risk. On that flat nest were 5 lovely blue eggs. (Some books describe these eggs as green or yellow. These were robin's egg blue.) All summer we’d been having hurricane force winds. How on earth do eggs stay on a flat surface when branches are whipping around in the air?

Given the threatening squawks coming from a nearby tree, it was clear that these eggs belonged to that really agitated Green Heron mom. I hurried home to read about Green Herons, a common bird that I had never seen before. Green Herons build nests on branches that hang out over water, a dream come true for someone with a camera and a boat. And as near as I could calculate, those eggs were due to hatch––drat!––while I was in Michigan.

For three and a half weeks I watched those eggs like Dr. Seuss’s Horton, then my husband stuffed me kicking and hollering into the car to head for Michigan. Four days later when we returned, the instant the car rolled to stop, I jumped out, ran down the hill, and paddled across the pond.

 What a relief to see the nest still sitting on its tenuous perch. I stood up about 4 feet away and was thrilled to see the eggs were safe and lovely as ever.

The next day, the eggs hatched. Some days it’s hard to deny your extreme good fortune. In the morning, a tiny hole appeared in one egg. By noon, it was a crack. By suppertime, a tiny, gnarly yellow foot popped out. My life was complete. We’d both had a long day, so I ran home, gulped supper, and returned to the nest. The first-born was splayed over the other eggs, half out of his own, taking his first nap. I went home to bed. I was tired, and I had no desire to see how far a mother heron would go to protect her young.

 

Don't you just love the back of a baby's neck?

Over the next day and a half, five healthy babies got the job done. The nest was full of naked, wet, transparent hatchlings. If you looked into a baby stroller and saw these babies, you might have to choke out the words, “What a beautiful child!” but they were beautiful to me and to their mother.

During the first week, the Naked Five turned into a ball of fluff. It was hard to imagine they would be fully mature in 4 weeks. A few days after hatching, 5 yellow swords appeared in the pile of squirming feathers.

And on the seventh day––they arose.

Tomorrow: Those difficult teen weeks.