Flying Geese

The house where I live is directly in the migratory path of several hundred Canadian geese. They honk. Loudly. Madly. Daily. Lots.

I took a picture of a V of them flying very low a few months ago. I thought, gee, it's amazing how they choose who is the leader, etc.

I walk by a field sometimes. Once, last year, I took some family members walking. There were little greenish brown things everywhere that looked like the aeration cork leavings. Some of them looked like they were growing mold. I was trying to figure out what they were, and we discussed amongst ourselves and came to the determination that what we were looking at were goose droppings. They were EVERYWHERE. You couldn't just walk normally, you had to pick and choose your steps carefully. The rain would come away and wash them, but you just had to think....man. There were a lot of geese here, really recently.

This is important because I had never seen the makers of these two and a half inch long squiggles in all their flock-y glory.

I'm also into quilts. Something I learned this winter is how to make "flying geese" to make piecing easier. An example, courtesy of blockcrazy.com:

The point is to be able to sew the bigger triangles to the smaller triangles, keeping the bigger triangles intact.

Today, I saw the flock. There were about three hundred of them. I was amazed that several people walked by and didn't even notice that they were squawking. I guess that's what happens when you've lived in the flight path for awhile...you don't even notice they're there. But I noticed. I was enthralled. So many birds! (I don't really generally like birds. But en masse, they're pretty cool.) I wanted a picture, so I took one.  You can't really see it here, but their heads are bobbing, and it looked like they were eating grass as fast as they could. It was as if they were honking, "Hurry, hurry, we need to eat." Every once in awhile, they would get really quiet and one geese would honk out the same note in intervals, eight or ten times. Then they'd all get loud again.

Clearly, I was distracted from my walk. Right before I had spied them, I was thinking, "Self, it was very foolish to come out without a coat. You are cold. Maybe you should turn around. Your hands are gonna freeze soon."

Key: green = field; brown spots = tree; grey line = chain link fence, white line = soccer nets, orange = the geometric shape they were making; little black dots = an approximation of a goose (as best as I can do in knockoff Paint with my limited skills and patience.)

They ranged about. This is their progression. It's unnatural, because there was something that happened to instigate steps two and three: I decided since they weren't marine mammals, it was ok to creep a little closer to take a picture. I actually did more than that. I took a video. I didn't post it here because it's a little shaky and I didn't want to make y'all sick. But it was amazing how they just kept eating, but fanning out a little further. I confess, I had never in almost twenty years wanted to run so much as I wanted to run right then. I wanted to see them all flap away because of me. I wanted to see the glory of the huge cloud of them rising up in the air. I do not recall an instance where I ever remember feeling more felt like a wannabe lioness than I did in that moment.

I didn't want to disturb them, though. I didn't know how long they had been there, or how long they usually give themselves breaks for. Cold forgotten, I decided there was still some light left in the sky, and I wanted to observe, so I hid by a tree and sat and watched them for awhile. My hands started to freeze. They honked and honked. I was beginning to inwardly lament my choice: I needed to get some cardio, but I also wanted to be present in case they decided to take off. After about ten minutes of tree-spying, I decided that I could just walk around the field. There is a fence around most of it, so I didn't think they'd feel too threatened. During the time I watched them by the tree, this is how they spread out and contracted.

I walked about and walked about, patiently. I kept waiting for them to take off. Now, it seemed that a few of them were playing...they weren't as earnestly eating. It had been approximately forty minutes since I had originally spied them. On my next rotation, I cautiously approached. I decided I wanted one more picture. This is what they did in response....all facing away from me.

And my inner lioness roared. I knew the geese were tired, but readers, I simply could not help it. I ran at them, full speed ahead. I felt free. I felt wild. I felt large and bold and powerful. This feeling was intensified, as there was a huge thunderclap and I spied three hundred white bands as they lifted their wings, exposing their hind markings, and flew away in two separate groups, wheeling in the sky, honking louder than ever. I was right in the middle of them. The air whooshed around me.

And then, in the space of less than a second, the field looked like this:


I felt awed, triumphant, and, yes, I did feel abashed and guilty soon after for disturbing them. But I don't really regret it. Sorry, geese. I knew I'd probably never have another opportunity like it, and I just wanted so badly to watch their wings beat madly as they all rose up in unison. I will never forget how it looked, or how I felt.