THE SUMMER OF GREEN HERONS

PART 2: THOSE PESKY TEEN WEEKS

Since a green heron goes from egg yolk to responsible adult in four weeks, it doesn’t get much time to wallow in adolescence. It has places to go and feathers to grow. First come those spiky practice feathers, then the adult finery. When those lovely emerald feathers come in, the young ‘un needs to preen away the baby fuzz. That is a lot of work. It’s fortunate they have a long, flexible neck and tweezer beaks.

When you’re built like an ostrich, you’re not exactly aerodynamic. Watching 10-day-old Green Herons learn to walk is like watching the Flying Wallendas do a show after Rush Limbaugh has slipped something into their breakfast shakes. They tumble through the willows, grabbing a twig just in time. They walk out on a branch until it bends, flap their wings furiously, and stumble back to the nest.

Mom is still providing meals at this point, and the babies raise a hullabaloo when she comes in for a landing.

As I paddled to one side of the tree, they’d scamper to the other side. I’d row around, and they’d hurry back. But within a day or two, they simply ignored me and went about their business.

There is so much for a Green Heron to learn in the weeks two to four. Flying. Procuring food. Procreating. Avoiding predators. About that predator thing––one morning there were just three herons in the tree. I searched the branches, the nest, the ground, the pond. No trace of those little ones. Sad to report they never were seen again. A raccoon, coyote, or hawk had a tasty dinner. It's not always easy to deal with animal behavior; sometimes they act just like humans.

Tomorrow: Green Herons, Part 3: Whatcha Doin'?

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.

SIT A SPELL

If I walked away from this place with a million bucks and a yellow, 4-WS ’88 Prelude, the most valuable thing I’d take with me is the ability to sit still.

By nature I run, even from the car to the grocery store. I love to run. In the past, I’ve been busy from sunup to sunset, like those tourists who bolt from the car, run to the rim of the Grand Canyon, look down, and run back to the car. “Check off the Grand Canyon, Evelyn!” That’s how most of us travel and sadly, how we live.

Sitting in my kayak for hours on end, I’ve learned to sit still and let  the world come to me. It brings me sights, sounds, and experiences that I would have trampled if I were still on the move.

Look a little closer, sit a little longer.

I had looked at the tangle of willow trees on the far bank of our pond for days and not seen anything unusual. But I looked one more time, and this time a large bird was scurrying along the shore, partially hidden. I saw just enough to make me say out loud, “That! is! a! penguin!” Seeing penguins is one of the Diagnostic Criteria for Commitment in Iowa County. That evening, I risked mentioning the sighting to my husband. He’s been down this road a few times. He smiled.

The Ioway Penguin

 You know those color blindness tests in which a hidden object emerges as you pay more attention? Well, for the record, when a Green Heron squats close to the ground, subsuming her long legs, she is indeed shaped a lot like a penguin. How many Greenies had I paddled by over the years as I kayaked? If I hadn’t been sitting still, an entire world would have remained unknown to me.

Look a little closer,  sit a little longer.

If you row up to a row of painted turtles a log, they will bail overboard one by one. If you cruise the pond slowly day after day and coast up to them so slowly you’re barely moving, they will give you the benefit of the doubt. And if you do this all summer? They may allow you to place a hand on their shell.

Look a little closer,  sit a little longer.

I have one particular memento that reminds me to sit still, be patient, and pay attention. It was just another bullfrog photo, but I was playing around and zoomed in on the eye. I hoped to see some interesting details––little froggie rods and cones, perhaps. What I saw was––me! In my kayak taking his picture. Reflected in his eye.

Kayaker in a frog's eye

Frog-eye cheat sheet

 I looked back at other old pictures, and there I was in quite a few eyes. Then my husband looked at my favorite photo of our grandson. Wallah! Reflected in his big, blue eye was the photographer, his Nonna.

Look and look again. You might see a penguin or get a frog’s eye view of yourself. But first you will have to

Look a little closer, sit a little longer.