In my new home, I often wake up to the calls of Canadian geese. This is a comforting and familiar sound.
When I was a kid, every Fall, flocks would land in the cornfield across from our house in Wisconsin. My brothers and I used to hide in the tall grass bordering the corn and wait for them. We’d watch them graze for a while and then, on the count of three, we’d run out, whooping and screaming, our arms flapping wildly, just to hear them sing and watch them all take flight again. In retrospect, it wasn’t very nice of us to interrupt their dinner, but maybe the farmers were glad we did it, because it helped to get more corn to their pigs and cows. Regardless, we loved doing this. It was almost like being geese ourselves, part of the flock taking off, taking off…
And their call was our concert.
Some people describe the sound that geese make as ‘honking.’ I disagree. Whenever I hear it, I think of rivers or creeks. Their voices are water and the air above bodies of moving water.
I think of the call of Red-winged Blackbirds in a similar way. I’ve described their songs in poems as ‘water coming up through cattail reeds.’ These handsome birds carry stillness in their throats, the water of ponds, soft ripples. The other night, Benjamin and I went up to the marsh in the nature preserve to watch and listen. Early Summer is mating season, and the boys were definitely putting on a show for the girls… flitting from reed to reed, flaunting their wings, and singing full-throated into the dusk. It was beautiful.
Another group of wet-voiced creatures joined the mating chorus— the tree frogs. Oh my! I have read that where there are frogs, there are robust ecosystems. Well, I am happy to report that our nature preserve has a clean bill of health. One little guy was crooning on a branch that hung over the pond, and he was so close, just under our feet that we could see the expand and contract of his throat. Take a listen:
At the end of the performance, we ambled back to the car. Just before the parking lot, we ran into a young doe. She spooked us more than we scared her. She stared at us long enough for Benjamin to take a picture, and then, quickly sensing that we were not a threat, she continued chewing as we walked past.
Ah, nature! We walk to it, and it takes us in every time.
