Honk if you like geese
One of our blessings in the Miami Valley is the geese. In flight, that is.
On the ground, they are pain in the behind. It’s unfortunate no one has litter trained them.
I was about to say that “not too long ago” a flight of Canadas was a rarity. Then I realized I was speaking of the days of my youth. The wife points out that my youth is not “not too long ago.”
I can also remember when the white-tail deer ranked with hens teeth and the wild turkey was an unknown to the Midwest.
It’s nice to remember some things have gotten better under our stewardship.
Rivers no longer burn in Cleveland. The air is somewhat cleaner in Cincinnati. The water dumped in the Great Miami, Little Miami and Stillwater rivers by municipal sewer plants is way cleaner than 30 years ago.
And Canada geese, white-tail deer and wild turkey are again part of the Miami Valley fabric.
All that was brought to mind when I looked up the other day.
Four flocks of Canadas skated just above the chimney tops heading from the river to a corn-stubble field. Geese, like politicians and pundits, just can’t stop honking their own horn.
As they finally cleared from sight and sound, another call was heard — this one from far above the chimney tops.
The pitch was sharper from the V that seemed to fly along the bottoms of the clouds. These seemed bigger birds than Canadas.
There was no way to tell for sure at their height. What my eyes could not identify, my ears could.
Unmistakable was the distant sound of trumpets. Trumpeter swans flying high, wide and handsome — which is about the only way we in the Midwest see them.
Several years ago, I hiked through an East Coast wildlife preserve and gazed in wonder at the Canadas that carpeted the sloughs.
That amazement was dwarfed when I heard a rush of wind behind me. I glanced up in time to see a trumpeter pass four feet over my head. It was as if I was standing in the flight path of 767. How could something that big stay aloft, much less fly?
Seeing a swan swim among the geese is akin to watching a battleship cruise past destroyers. And there they were on that January afternoon, cruising across the Valley, looking down from on high.
Their strong, clear trumpet call reminds us we’ve done a few things right.
They may toot their own horn, but seems as much for our pleasure as for theirs.
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