A Flurry of Activity

We are in a war with our Canadian Geese. Like most wars, this began with a misunderstanding: they think that since we have 2 goslings we must be an invading goose family. This was all fine and good when the goslings were inside and their cries for attention were muffled by house wood and insulation, but now that we’ve begun to bring them outside to a makeshift pen to chomp on grass and enjoy the sunshine for an hour or so, things have taken a dramatic turn. Up until recently the Canadian’s have been friendly neighbors, glad for our company and for the corn we deposit on a slate rock by the pond shore. The male has been very watchful and chivalrous toward his mate who sits most of the day on her nest. But once they heard our goslings’ sounds, what began as curiosity quickly escalated into low flying harassment. Richard and I are both very strongly imprinted on Ginger and Mary Ann (yes, those are our goslings' names) and whenever we leave them alone in their pen and walk away EVEN FOR A MOMENT they begin squawking and keening and crying bloody murder. This tends to attract the attention of parent aged Canadian Geese and thus the back and forth Pearl Harbor maneuvers from our (THEIR) pond to the top of our (THEIR) hill. Our neighbor Royce commented that they either want to adopt our gosling or kill them. To exacerbate the issue, Richard and I have chosen this time as the perfect opportunity to build a 10’ by 4’ wooden pier that we’re erecting by the pond shore. I think the male thinks this is some kind of big nest; I saw him raise his wings at it and flap away last night while his wife was dining at the rock. Ah well. We shall weather this storm. Once the goslings go inside, all seems to revert to détente.

There’s been a lot of activity here this week and little time to write. Richard and I, along with our contractor/friend Keith, spent the past few days beginning to insulate and frame part of the upstairs of what had once been the hayloft to a rather large stable. All the various inhabitants of this house have never thought of turning over that space which seems like a huge waste. It’s a great feeling having our ideas, which have gone through many changes, begin to take shape as reality. Most of the week was forming a 2 X 4 frame structure inside the existing barn beams which we’d like to keep partially exposed and then filling that framing with 16” pieces of 3” solid foam insulation. Once Richard and I got the knack of it, we flew like a well-honed machine. I have a love/hate relationship to construction work. There are times when I’m amazed and grateful at this new talent I’m learning; “Me a carpenter?” I think. But then there are other times when this elation of reinvention holds no sway and my impatience sets in or my focus goes to the mess, the fiber glass dust and sawdust in the air that permeates not only the space we’re working in but the entire house, and a darkness descends over the land. In those times I think Lizzy Borden had a very good thing going. But this phase of construction and mess is over, not to begin again for a week or 2. That will entail electrical work and sheet rocking. Joy! Rapture!

Richard’s off for a real estate weekend and I’m watching over the various flocks. I’m also about to launch into a heavy cleaning of the house to make our abode ready for a guest this weekend. I’m sitting out on our screened in porch serenaded by birdsong, being watched over by our cats, and watching the skies change from clear to cloudy.
I walked up the hill for the first time in a week last night at dusk with Richard and the change in the countryside is astounding. The meadow is green, the trees are leafed, all is full and stretching out and showing off. I felt like transchanneling Walt Whitman. The earth was ALIVE!!


UPDATE: I was in the midst of cleaning the upstairs, popping my head out the window to see how the goslings were doing and they would be at the edge of the pen, beckoning me back, while the Canadians soared by overhead. I’d coo something out to the kids and go back to cleaning. Then on the third look, I was greeted bu the site of the 2 Canadian Geese landed, striding about next to the pen, surveying the surroundings. Oh great, I thought, what now? My heart’s pace ratcheted up a skosh as I grabbed a broom, arming myself for a skirmish, a skirmish I’d just as soon avoid. When I came out our back door the 2 adult geese turned to face me, and out of the pond, out of that docile, idyllic, floaty atmosphere, they looked pretty intimidating - big and beautiful. God, they’re beautiful. As I neared, the gosling spotted me and squealed their delight, the adults began hissing. No flapping wings, no attack mode, just a low hiss from both of them, like vipers. Oh great. I put the broom out in front of me which brought on more hisses, but slowly I was able to maneuver so the gosling’s pen was between me and them. They positioned themselves to either side of it in a kind of “V” action. With me in such proximity, the goslings had now calmed themselves and began swimming around in their little pool, oblivious to all the drama taking place. I OK Corralled the geese a bit and all 3 of us waited for the other’s next move. What now? Feeling in a poultry mood, I ducked down behind the pen and took a deep breath. I’m sort of a spiritual grab bag when it comes to some idea of Higher Power or Creator, but I just turned the whole thing over to God. “I don’t know what to do with this situation,” I said to whomever was listening, “so you take it.” I stayed squatted down and focused on the bobbing, splashing antics of the wee ones. Finally, one of the adults, I’d guess the female, turned and began slowly walking away, every once and awhile checking back over “her” shoulder. The remaining adult, let’s call it “him”, watched her go, perplexed it seemed. He turned back to me, gave a last half-hearted hiss, and followed her. And that’s when the Jehovah Witnesses showed up. A carload of them. And as the geese walked away back to the pond, I was invited to an “End of the World” symposium up in Burlington. The “witnesses” would have gone into a lot more detail about the upcoming event, but I put the kibosh on the proceedings when I informed them that I was gay and happy about that and that Richard and I had been together for 15 years. After that the subject shifted back to geese and they soon went off to save someone else.

When I recounted the goose showdown to Richard later, he felt that the sound of keening young instinctively sets something off in the adults, and that when the keening calms and quiets, the adults are in turn calmed and assured. I came to the conclusion that the geese were acting as representatives of their version of child’s services, come to check out reports of gosling abuse. Satisfied that there was nothing of the sort going on, they went back to nesting, after giving a firm warning of their seriousness surrounding the issue. It was a close call. I’m grateful for the cease-fire. I look forward to the negotiations we have planned over cracked corn at dusk near the slate rock on the pond’s shore. It’s so beautiful at that time of day. All the things that seemed so important during the day, that you got yourself so worked up about, seem to fade away with the fading of the light. I’m going to risk being optimistic in this instance and look forward to the day when we can gather together there, 2 different species, and laugh over tales about our respective young. I’m sure we’ll be able to agree that they grow up so fast.