Kismet
UPH Guru
The Crik...
(ok, creek), manages to evoke anew wonder at the world, and the good fortune I have to live above it. It runs through corn-fields and pasture down in the valley below the house. It is, or has become, a friend, a resource, and a harbinger of renewal over the years, and yet still supplies fresh senses of the richness of life.
Yesterday, I took Mick for a ramble in the fields that the crik divides. The Sun was shining, temps were in the mid-40's, and the winds at about 10 mph. I had no agenda, just the walk for me and the dog, to savor our environment. Winter has been long, and although I know Spring is here, it has been hiding for the last few weeks.
The ground was not-quite dry, but ok for walking as long as I remember to scrape off the mud when I got home. Mick and I entered the field about 200 yards from the bank of the water. The bank is about 6 feet high, and steep in most places, so the water can't be seen until one approaches it.
I noted some movement ahead, and noted, far distant, about 25 ducks had flushed and were giving alarm calls as they swept up from the water and bank, and flew, first away, then circling back, higher up, to curl around me and follow the low-land back to down-stream resting places. Mick and I were far from them, but perhaps it was us who moved them up to safer sites.
About a quarter mile on, as we approached and then paralleled the stream, I saw two Canadian Geese at the water's edge. I stopped Mick, seeing him notice them, and stood as the two birds fussed at each other, and muddled around the crik bank. They moved up on the grass above the bank. I heeled Mick and we approached slowly. The geese muttered to one another, then one spotted us and extended his neck to better be on the alert. The second bird settled down a bit, but moved as Mick and I approached. They walked a bit, stopped to examine us 100 yards away, then...finally...voiced complaint, and started the jog-trot into take off speed. They fought gravity, and achieved flight, and I told Mick "OK" for him to charge down in endlessly-optimistic pursuit. Honking with disdain, the geese flew higher and then leveled off at about 50 feet and showed me their command of their element, flying away honking (no doubt in annoyance...they certainly weren't scared) to less frequented spots.
Along a bit further, as Mick plunged into the snow-melt heightened water, two Sandhill cranes cranked out their cacophony, as they lifted up from another field a half-mile or more ahead of us. They flew and gave me profiles of the long necks and trailing legs, flying as noisily as possible. While I appreciate the occasional encounter, what nuisance neighbors they would be if they stayed within ear-shot of your home. They just don't shut-up. What happened to stealth in nature?
Mick and I turned back and retraced our steps. The crane's honking still reached us; seven of the ducks had circled around and were returning to their previous resting spot, and miscellaneous and sundry small birds-- song birds and grackles, blackbirds and such -- fretted back and forth in the skies near the woods and fields.
Spring was conspicuous.
The day before I had hunted pheasants at a game farm and had come home dissatisfied with the experience. This day...was satisfying.
The crik makes me rich. I'm a lucky person.
(ok, creek), manages to evoke anew wonder at the world, and the good fortune I have to live above it. It runs through corn-fields and pasture down in the valley below the house. It is, or has become, a friend, a resource, and a harbinger of renewal over the years, and yet still supplies fresh senses of the richness of life.
Yesterday, I took Mick for a ramble in the fields that the crik divides. The Sun was shining, temps were in the mid-40's, and the winds at about 10 mph. I had no agenda, just the walk for me and the dog, to savor our environment. Winter has been long, and although I know Spring is here, it has been hiding for the last few weeks.
The ground was not-quite dry, but ok for walking as long as I remember to scrape off the mud when I got home. Mick and I entered the field about 200 yards from the bank of the water. The bank is about 6 feet high, and steep in most places, so the water can't be seen until one approaches it.
I noted some movement ahead, and noted, far distant, about 25 ducks had flushed and were giving alarm calls as they swept up from the water and bank, and flew, first away, then circling back, higher up, to curl around me and follow the low-land back to down-stream resting places. Mick and I were far from them, but perhaps it was us who moved them up to safer sites.
About a quarter mile on, as we approached and then paralleled the stream, I saw two Canadian Geese at the water's edge. I stopped Mick, seeing him notice them, and stood as the two birds fussed at each other, and muddled around the crik bank. They moved up on the grass above the bank. I heeled Mick and we approached slowly. The geese muttered to one another, then one spotted us and extended his neck to better be on the alert. The second bird settled down a bit, but moved as Mick and I approached. They walked a bit, stopped to examine us 100 yards away, then...finally...voiced complaint, and started the jog-trot into take off speed. They fought gravity, and achieved flight, and I told Mick "OK" for him to charge down in endlessly-optimistic pursuit. Honking with disdain, the geese flew higher and then leveled off at about 50 feet and showed me their command of their element, flying away honking (no doubt in annoyance...they certainly weren't scared) to less frequented spots.
Along a bit further, as Mick plunged into the snow-melt heightened water, two Sandhill cranes cranked out their cacophony, as they lifted up from another field a half-mile or more ahead of us. They flew and gave me profiles of the long necks and trailing legs, flying as noisily as possible. While I appreciate the occasional encounter, what nuisance neighbors they would be if they stayed within ear-shot of your home. They just don't shut-up. What happened to stealth in nature?
Mick and I turned back and retraced our steps. The crane's honking still reached us; seven of the ducks had circled around and were returning to their previous resting spot, and miscellaneous and sundry small birds-- song birds and grackles, blackbirds and such -- fretted back and forth in the skies near the woods and fields.
Spring was conspicuous.
The day before I had hunted pheasants at a game farm and had come home dissatisfied with the experience. This day...was satisfying.
The crik makes me rich. I'm a lucky person.
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