Reflections from the Swamp
Dear Reader
Welcome to fall
It has been several months since I last wrote to you. Summer has always been a time when we break with routine, travel, relax, and enjoy the outdoors. September marks the official start of a new year, when we return to school, work, and our daily routines. I hope you had a great summer and are ready to embrace autumn.
Coady Creek has dried up due to a parched summer, resulting in dry riverbeds with shallow pools, which offer the only refuge for aquatic life. Without the beavers plugging up culverts and retaining some water behind dams, the marine life could have entirely disappeared. The moon no longer reflects across the pond.
The drought has left an empty basin where the pond used to be, with a small puddle supersaturated with minnows and frogs, easy prey for the kingfishers and herons. Beavers are unable to plant branches in the pond bottom for winter food, and lily pads lie on the mud drying out like laundry on a line. It reminds me of those documentaries of droughts on the Serengeti plains in Africa, where deer and zebras have to share a crocodile-infested water hole with lions and predators. Water is such a source of life.
Being the only human in the area who speaks Gooslese, I usually converse with the lead goose and catch up on the year’s migration plans. I call the goose George, and we converse on a first-name basis. I usually have these conversations with George when my bride presents me with the obligatory lists of things to do around the house. An escape to the pond for essential meetings with George always takes precedence. I’m not one to shirk my responsibilities to the nature community at the pond.
George is fairly spiritual and often talks about the Sky Bird sending messages about the timing of the great migration and rapture.
I told George that I wouldn’t be visiting him in North Carolina this winter because we are boycotting travel to the US due to insults and trade disputes. He said he wasn’t into politics and didn’t recognize geographical boundaries; however, he did recognize many areas as being unsafe for geese due to hunters and thought I should support efforts to restrict firearms used to kill vegetarians and geese in particular. This comment was embarrassing as I do indulge in eating vegetarians, both feathered and furred, regularly. He went on to complain about illegal aliens, such as mute swans, who dominate ponds and are aggressive toward geese and ducks. George rambled on about making swamps great again, rounding up swans, phragmites plants and sending them back to Europe.
George went on to complain about young geese and their changing values. “Back in the day, we would faithfully answer the call of Sky Bird, return to the lakes and ponds, and raise our families. Now, many youths want to hang around golf courses and parks, defecating everywhere indiscriminately and annoying humans. Many are too lazy to fly very far in the fall and hang around local rivers looking for handouts of grain from humans. Where will all this lead? What about our culture and traditions? We geese used to be the national bird! Now humans have picked some obscure gray jay that nobody ever sees. I want to make geese great again.
I find it fascinating that many swamp species believe in deities that resemble themselves. Geese squawk about Sky Goose calling them to migrate, and frogs croak about the Big Frog urging them to bury themselves in mud and preparing themselves to miraculously resurrect in the spring to the choirs of singing frogs.
Beavers are all Lodge members who believe The Great Beaver wants them to block culverts and streams. Hell will come if they don’t dam the nation. The other swamp dwellers see the beavers as the custodians of water and are disappointed that beavers are helpless to maintain water levels during droughts. They all seem to respect each other’s cultures and way of life.
Humans are educated and would never create gods in their own image. We have progressed in science, moving beyond mythology to reason and logic. Note to self: I’d better do some more research on this one.
My grandfather used to tell me the angels would come at night in the fall with buckets of colourful paint and decorate the trees. I no longer believe this, but I still can’t shake the beautiful imagery that comes to mind when I walk through the woods and enjoy the trees with their glorious foliage.
Enjoy the fall, listen for the call of the Sky Bird, or your own higher power, and celebrate with the trees as we all move with the seasons.
Best wishes
