Easter goose

Before the days turned cold again, I sat here, looking off beyond the dock, to the little tuft of tall field grasses growing just where the pond water splits—half coming from behind the old oak woods, half draining our usually puddled lot of young Sugar Maples.
To a mound, where, every spring, a goose would sit on a nest of eggs, her head low, barely seen. While her mate swam in the shallow water, back and forth, beside her.

Canada Goose pair

By Easter, there’d be goslings, fluffy, yellow, and small—the perfect complement to egg hunts in the lush grass and baskets filled for little girls. From across the water, she’d bring them, six or eight swimming in a row, to feed on the tender green grass of the dam, her mate following closely behind.
But, each spring we’d watch, as this little family grew, day by day, with each crossing, smaller by one. Until, none remained but the mated pair, to move on and return the next year.

I always wondered about them, their defenseless young in a world that feeds upon the most innocent.
The unknown dangers they’d fought against—and lost.
Yet, each year, began again.


I watched, several springs later, the nest, more suddenly emptied than ever before.
As if they’d been taken all at once—the whole family, in the course of just one afternoon.
Shells broken and scattered.
Both goose and gander, gone.

From the thick, snarled grass of the field, far skirting the edge of the pond, she stepped out onto the paved surface of our little country lane.
Behind her, six or eight, walking in a row, to feed on the tender grass--
and never touch the water of the pond.

beside the dock, from below,
rising to surface of pond

click to enlarge!

Common Snapping Turtle, Chelydra serpentina

Dolls and Easter Dresses

Time for turtles

She lumbers through the yard.



Her speed is nothing on land.
In fact, were it not for her quick turns to snap as I approach, she’d be an easy mark. Her shell barely covers her muscular legs and long tail. But her relatively long neck aggressively lunges forward—the accuracy of her sharp, powerful jaws, nothing to be tested.



She may well be one of the five I saw in the pond just a few days earlier. Now, dragging her heavy body, full of eggs to the perfect spot to dig a hole and leave them.


I remember, years ago, when this time of year meant softball for my girls—on a neighborhood team that held its games at the township field.
It was game night, and we gathered with all the other parents to watch our home team and cheer them on. A “real” game, with real umpires and… bleachers--
when, in the middle of an inning, the field Ref all of a sudden stood tall, raised his arm and suspended play.

While onlookers puzzled at the pause, he pointed off into right field.


A very large lump was marching determinedly across toward a little girl, absorbed in the game, in center field.
Play resumed when she decided to leave.
The snapping turtle, that is.

It was 2 days earlier. last year, that I also found a large snapper in this spot.
I wonder if she chooses the same path each year.



Thanks to Mrs. Nesbit for hosting ABC Wednesday!

Wild Saturday Night

Sometimes I scare myself, walking in the dark around the pond.
At night, it becomes a very different place, filled with different sounds,
illuminated only by the moon—and my flashlight.

Back in a shallow corner, the toads are trilling again. I can see their small bodies in the distance, sitting on clumps of algae—projecting their songs across the water into the night.


And, at the shoreline, a pair of steady white eyes that are caught in the beam of my light, as I scan the surface. Probably deer, unsure if they should bound into the safety of the woods--for I know they drink at this shallow, and follow the many prints they leave on these trails.

The water is already lower than I had hoped, for April. Spring rains that filled it to bursting a few weeks ago, have already found their way to a muskrat hole and emptied a foot of depth. But the edge areas are walkable now, and nighttime hides my stalking figure from what lives here.

They seem to have no fear—at least of me—as they summon others of their kind. American toads.


Or is it, that the force that has drawn them from land to this water is stronger than fear.
I dim my light, and unseen figures raise their voices, joining the appeal.


A splash...and a swirl startle me.
Probably, the muskrat, who crosses these shallows underwater, is equally alarmed--
surprised to see my large spotted boots so close to her watery front door.
Little ripples disturb the smooth surface,
as last year's bullfrog tadpoles
and small fish scurry past my toes.



In the reflected light of the full moon, I can see now that the water beside me has been interrupted -- a large mass of algae protruding above the surface. Almost as if I wasn't standing there at all, a huge snapping turtle, barely identifiable beneath her mossy shell, drifts closer--her feeding, the swirling I thought to be the muskrat.
This enormous turtle, that, in daylight, plunges beneath the surface when I approach from yards away, now, calmly searches the muck around my boot for dinner--or perhaps, intends to snag a distracted toad.


An unusual sound, muffled and throaty, draws my eyes to the opposite bank. I watch with my light as she leaves, the dry grass rustling as her small form moves away from the pond toward the oak woods.
She pauses often to look back at me as she trots off—
her glowing eyes, amber.

Animals of the night have eyes that have a mirror-like surface, the tapetum lucidum, which intensifies what little light there is available. When a flashlight or headlight of a vehicle reflects off this surface, the eyeshine of a characteristic color is sometimes seen.

My rural, southern education, part 1

I came across Momma in the grass behind the barn.

If I had to describe this place, the description would not be complete without mention of our snapping turtles. And every time I see one, up close and personal, I’m instantly reminded of an early adventure in our southern Ohio home, years ago. It was the beginning of my education.

Of course we immediately recognized their presence in the pond. What we didn’t recognize, until having a local excavating contractor come for an estimate of some repairs to our dam, was their potential as a food source. And apparently, we were quite envied to have such a fine “crop” paddling around in the muck!
Snapping Turtle Soup—I’d heard of it, but never had tried it. (And never really wanted to, until everyone’s interest in our turtles made me think I might be missing out on a great treat!)
We had offers to come trap them,
offers to come shoot them,
offers to come fish for them—
I began to realize we were sitting on a veritable gold mine! And, I began to be concerned that the word would get out…we had snappers!
I’m not what you would call a hunter-type. For the most part, I’m very content to shop for my dinner, unless, for instance, I cross paths with a wonderful something-edible. Something edible that I don’t have to kill, myself.
The fates were smiling on me that day in May, fifteen years ago. Returning from a shopping spree at Walmart, girls in school, the day to myself and my errands, I was first on the scene of a snapping turtle’s misfortunate meeting with a semi.
How much more perfect could this be? Fresh turtle, on my way home, the afternoon wide open—we’d have soup for dinner!

(to be continued, go to part 2)