Merry Christmas! Oh, my . . .

I could hardly sleep last night ~ I kept flopping about and every once in a while I reached out my feathered fingers to touch my two very brightly colored packages just to be sure they were still there! I have never received a Christmas present before! I always wondered if I had been forgotten. Pilgrim said that if I did not get a present it meant that someone else needed it more! . . . that actually I was being watched over very carefully and lovingly. It had nothing to do with my being good or bad it really had to do with need. Perhaps someone needed my gifts more. That thought always made me feel better but I do admit two presents are pretty exciting! This year word had gone out to the great stars that I was in need . . . in need of remembrance. Oh, it is wonderful to get a surprise gift!

Morning came, Pilgrim and I took one last look at our perfectly wrapped presents and we started tearing the paper off! How I love to rip and tear!!!! I grabbed the ribbon with my beak and pulled! What do you think I got? I saw Gizmo at daybreak pop his head out from under the air compressor shed with a brand new hat! It was a most distinguished tweed deerstalker hat! Goodness, he looked stylish! and so proud! Pilgrim got a special green knitted bag to carry her eggs in, and a most delicious looking seed cake!

So ~ just remember ~ if sometime you don't get a present at Christmas it is not because you have been forgotten, or that you are bad, or that you are not loved . . . it just had to go to someone in greater need.

I am flapping my wings for all of you for a perfectly happy Christmas day!

Until next time . . .

A Snowy Christmas Eve . . . a special night

It's dark now along the river bank. The moon is covered in snow flakes, there are no stars, and it is ever so peaceful. It's a special night. I am on my job as Air Traffic Controller. I am watching the sky for signs of unusual duck and goose movement. There is no wind except for some slight squalls coming from the north . . . something MAY be coming. In a most disgusted mood, Pilgrim went to bed early. I don't know ~ I think I hear something coming, and see a tiny red light in the distance. It's coming along the riverbank! It's MASSIVE ~ flying deer and some kind of strange vehicle with a man in red ~ oh my!!! He's dropping bright colored boxes and packages along the river bank! One was placed outside Gizmo's door ~ I saw his light go on. There are so many packages! He is turning this way ~ up over the mill and he dropped six packages!!! ~ MY NAME IS ON TWO!~ ~ Oh Boy! Oh I hope it's a seed cake ~ I want a seed cake! There is a nicely written tag that says I cannot open it until the 25th . . . I hope I can wait! I am going to go snuggle down deep in my straw and dream of a seed cake ~ maybe a knitted blue scarf or a red sweater!!!!  Maybe, just maybe . . .

Until next time . . .

Snow, Snow, Snow! . . . And I Am Bored!

Snow, snow and more snow! and I am bored. How many pumpkins can one goose roll?! Really!!! I did have a visit from Hazel, Miss Hazel should have gone to bed for the winter as all good chipmunks. She has gotten quite fat eating my seed cakes. The Woman With The Long Blue Apron confronted her about her obesity and she only put her paws on her fat little hips and said, "I like being fat. Fat is good especially when you have to sleep all winter without heat. Imagine awakening on a winter night hungry and cold! FAT IS GOOD!!!!! Hazel had to put in a new home under the corner of the mill where The Man With The Long Blue Apron sleeps. Her primery home was destroyed by a scruffy bratty little dog. Anyway, it works ~ she sits with us sometimes in the evening, watches the stars, and shares our corn. In fact two nights ago she decided to sleep with us . . . she is a soft little corn silk ball!

I NEED a job! It's a little limiting here. We have been having snow squalls. What is a snow squall anyway? Drusilla, Ms. Duck came by yesterday and pushed herself through the goat wire fence to visit (is this prison?!). She came up with a suggestion. Since I am not this winter in the creek perhaps I could direct duck flights over the creek during snow squalls and rain, and to the "forever" corn pile. She said several ducks have flown by mistake into tree branches. Sounds like the perfect job!

PERFECT!!! I will monitor the skies for incoming flights ~ and honk out directions. I shall flap my wings like semaphore. Sometimes during a full moon we have heavy incoming duck traffic. I shall flap my wings:

   "signal lamps for the creek runway!"

   "Excellent"

   "Alter your course to the starboard!"

   "Duck down! "

   "Duck overboard!"

   "Free passage!"

   "You are in danger! You are dragging your tail!"

I think I need a special hat and badge ~ BOB THE AIR TRAFFIC CONTROLLER!

Until next time . . .

Happy Thanksgiving!

It's snow time and I am very thankful I am NOT a turkey!

Our flock will never be the same but we must look forward. Pilgrim is less grouchy and Helen seems pretty content. I think by spring maybe we can be free to sail the creek again~sure hope so. Right now, I rejoice that I am alive and well cared for~I can smell the air, bite snowflakes that dance about. The Woman With The Long Blue Apron celebrated Thanksgiving with us today~it was such a feast: mealworms floating on water, escarole, seed cakes, dandelions, and corn. It was delicious. Later tonight the Mouse Snot family is coming~all right, I invited them. They usually come in the middle of the night to steal corn. The Woman With The Long Blue Apron even decorated our door with pumpkins. We are going to have fun rolling them around tomorrow. . . pumpkin war games!!!!She also said she going to decorate our home with colored lights!!!!! and a tree!!!! Well, honestly, I want a widescreen TV~~a BIG one. If I can't travel this winter I want a TV, no more looking through windows at night. This is going to fun!!!! The best part would be my other riverbank friends could come and watch too~~share corn. I am sooooo excited!!!!!

Until next time . . .

Just memories now . . .

My last blog seems to have been prophetic. We have experienced a terrible sad event and I feel it was my fault. 

We went down stream~~I know it was wrong but we were so caught up in the excitement and fun. There is always a wild excitement down stream. I had no idea that it would become such a sad catastrophe.

We left the Man With The Long Blue Apron for a while~~we didn't think we needed him, and he is a bit boring, and it seemed like so much fun. There were animals friends everywhere just "hanging out"~~then one particularly awful day everything changed. We~~all of us fur and feathered~~ were herded into a barn and one by one my flock was destroyed by a human with an ax. The smell of blood and death hung in the air. Two of my children were killed and all but Pilgrim and Helen died. And for what?! Why do humans have to kill? Where was The Man With The Long Blue Apron?!!! I heard screams and whimpering sounds. We huddled under some boxes hoping not to be seen I felt hope was fading~~my feathers were shaking.

Then in the distance I heard a voice calling my name~~it was the WOMAN WITH THE LONG BLUE APRON!!!!!!! She had found us. She put each of us in her car and drove us home. She held me tight. I could not even whisper a word. The first sight of home was so good~~we were weak from lack of corn. I could barely hold my head. She wiped my eyes, stroked my face, neck, and breast. And she kissed me. She saved us. She built a little home for us under HER bedroom window with a warm bathing pool and lots of corn. 

Pilgrim did not seem appreciative except for the corn. Couldn't she see what had happened and the danger? The three of us are safe now. She says she wants to be free. Right now I just want to eat corn and rest.

The Woman With The Long Blue Apron told us to come inside anytime if we were afraid. Well, last night I was, the nightmare came back to me. I started shaking and I wanted her so bad that rotated the door knob with my beak and with great difficulty mounted the stairs to her bed. I crawled ever so gently into her bed and spread my wings over her. It was the best hug I could give. She rested her head against my feathered breast and we slept in peace until dawn.

Until next time . . .

. . . leaving something behind

 

Every day along the river bank brings a new challenge. All of us try to focus on peaceful happy times... the times when every thing seems to fit just right. We know it never lasts very long . . . like a ripple on the water, everything is always moving and changing.

My friend, Olivia Frog, was just reminding me of how Eleanor Goose is doing. Now poor Eleanor had a shocking experience that scared her and us--it was frighteningly terrible. In the middle of a happy playful morning swim close to the water's edge, Eleanor touched her plump orange foot down on the creek bottom only to be surprised by a very quick grab to her toes. 

It was dreadful!--there was a big splash and a snap. Her sweet orange toes were held tight in something hard, cold, metallic, and very unforgiving. It would not let go, she screamed and cried--we all huddled about her. Cecil Turtle and Olivia swam deep under the water to see this monster.

It was a metallic monster with black teeth and a chain placed by an intruder. . . of the human kind.

Eleanor cried in fear, in panic, and in intense pain, it was overwhelming. I told everyone to be calm--we must be calm to think of what to do. What could we do? . . . did any of us have the strength to release her from these metallic jaws? Cecil, the strongest tired and failed.

Morning became afternoon . . . fear and pain grew. Soon darkness would come and another intruder would come and sadly take her life. WHERE was the Man With The Long Blue Apron?! It seemed hopeless, her life would be lost. We brought her corn from the corn pile and put it before her. She had no interest. Lewis Trout came by and tried to massage her little orange toes. 

Alas we realized the only way for her to survive was to surrender a portion of her lovely foot to that metallic monster. It was the only way, the hope for her to survive. 

We gathered about her and announced she must pull away with all her strength-- and let her precious little toes go. Eleanor was horrified! It was the only solution. Sometimes we have to let go of a part of ourselves in order to live. It is a very hard thing. Sometimes these things are obvious like this but sometimes they are very small. Well, we have to let go of our feathers, sometimes a tail, or maybe a parent or a friend. But it must be done with courage and the belief that in the end all will be well, it will happen to all of us. Eleanor refused--we had to swim a distance away and maybe let her go. She would soon become resigned to her situation and give up. Eleanor couldn't bear it--she called out to us. We kept our distance. Then suddenly with a flash in her eyes . . . and enormous spirit, strength, and courage she started to pull and pull. We called out encouragement, Olivia watched the progress under water. Then suddenly there was a great gasp--a pop, a snap, and a tear! Eleanor was free! . . . ALIVE and with HOPE. SHE WOULD LIVE! We gathered about her tight. Cecil packed her foot with mud and herbs. Tears flowed from her lovely blue eyes, she would never be the same. Eleanor was a new goose, strong, braver than any of us. She would be forever admired for her spirit, her courage, and her beauty.

And . . . Olivia and Cecil vowed they would forever monitor the water's edge for metallic monsters.

Until next time . . .

They left early as the first ray of sun came over the trees . . .

At first light they were gone and it seems a bit lonely. We had been watching Miss Helen Phoebe for weeks ~ building her nest, laying eggs, and patiently tending her eggs. We watched every day . . . Miss Helen had built a lovely nest on the side of the old mill above the light. She is a most conscientious mother . . . keeping her nest in proper order. Every year she has two families. Very early each morning, she flies about catching bugs for her babies. She is an inspiration to us. Her family of three babies are so patient and quiet when she is out and about. Everyday they have gotten bigger til they just couldn't fit in the nest and were forced to take turns perched on the very edge. We all knew they would soon be gone . . . time to leave the nest. It was hard to watch. She took them one by one guiding them over the edge and down from the nest on to the grass, then a short weak flight to the creek for their first drink. I watched the last one alone in the nest, waiting for her to come, trusting she would come, trusting her to lead her to a new place . . . a new world filled with adventure and danger. It's hard to see them go this was her last family for the summer. Now it's time to gather all the little birds and move to a place of rich food and warm breezes--plump bugs, flowing water, with family all close by. The last gathering for summer before everyone is gone except me. It's going to be sad not hearing her songs or her baby's chirps. One just has to grow up and accept the adventures that will come and live carefully, contentedly, sing songs to the morning light. 

Miss Helen has never fussed about what others are doing ~ she just keeps to her business and never worries. I hope she will return next year. Some wonderful spring morning I will hear her sing.

It's past midsummer, the cicadas are noisy and my family is growing! They are learning to enjoy the corn pile and how to call to the Man With the Long Blue Apron, and nap in the sun in the soft green grass in the afternoon under the mill window.

Until next time . . . 

Our feathered armada . . .

A wonderful day in the sun!

My flock family and I have been having a wonderful summer sailing the creek in our feathered armada. We have had calm paddling, lots of fresh greens, and fat worms. And we are all molting . . . feathers everywhere. We are a bit in disarray but such fun for the goslings to play with. They are growing everyday ~ I must say they look rather prehistoric with bare wings and down where there should be feathers. MY FAMILY . . . isn't it wonderful!?

I think we may have company along the riverbank . . . a new home has been made at the edge of the water, a risky spot. It's right where the sweet flag used to be and below the nettles, and quite large. Who  could fit in such an opening? No one has seen the owner. I guess we will have to wait and see. Lewis Trout will be checking and of course Gizmo's hummingbird drones from his underground command center. I wonder if they will be friendly?

Until next time . . .

Was that a hummingbird?

FINALLY, Gizmo is back perusing the riverbank for fresh leafy plump greens. He looks GREAT!!! ...

his coat is thick and shiny and that tail! . . . luxurious! He wouldn't tell me where he has been, must have been pretty nice. He has beautiful muscle definition: his hair well greased, those pert ears and deep brown eyes. (Wait til Miss Prunella sees him!) He gave me a long stare and said he had been on a special mission. "MISSION"! for what? He has expanded his quarters under the the air compressor shed ~ he has dug deep and put in extra rooms with passages which he says are secret. Don't we all share here along the riverbank? . . . guess not. He says he has a plan to keep us all safe. He has been busy carrying strange objects into his hole. 

 

While my goose family and I were gathered at the corn pile, Gizmo whistled to me and winked. What does this mean?! He demanded I stick my head down his hole (I really hope I didn't get fleas!). It looked pretty nice ~ he has rewired his rooms and all new moss carpets with touches of lemon grass. In fact each room has a different herb scent ~ woodruff, clover, bayberry, wild mint, honeysuckle. Where did he get the money for all this!?  . . . it's beautiful! He has watercolor paintings on the walls of what looks like metallic hummingbirds!

Gizmo was bubbly with excitement: he said he has two metallic hummingbird drones! He wants to be  the first to monitor the riverbank from the air. From his underground "command center", he will be keeping track of us, watching for predators like Renard  Smythe "the fox",  checking all the best spots of greens to eat, checking blackberries for ripeness, checking for fresh corn, watching for the return of Sorelle and his gang of rats, monitoring the goslings ~ now wait a minute! Is that right? Gizmo says

 he must be modern in a time when there are so few uninhabited riverbank areas where we can live.

Gizmo says to keep watch because he will be. In fact, he will be looking in the mill windows! The Man With The Long Blue Apron may not like that idea.

"Gizmo, where did you get these? Do they really work? Don't you need a license for these?" ". . . how could anyone suspect me, I'm 'just' a woodchuck!"

Next time you see something buzz your head and a slight breeze touches you ~ it could be a hummingbird watching.

Until next time . . .

What a surprise! . . . I'm a . . .

It happened! . . . I have a family! It was not planned but then sometimes some of the very best things in life are a surprise! Charlotte had been laying eggs for weeks and then she just sat down and waited. I was not encouraged, after all, she had never been successful at hatching. They usually just rotted away. Then, on a very sunny hot morning it happened! The shells cracked open and there were three rather naked precious very yellow baby goslings. I am not sure I am the father but it doesn't matter because they will be MY family. We are all excited!

Charlotte was very clever to hide her eggs from evil predators like Renard Smythe known as "the fox". It has been a decade since we had any baby goslings. I and my flock have a new mission to protect and care for these babies. It takes a very dedicated compassionate flock to raise a gosling!

Our first long venture was to introduce our goslings to the Man With The Long Blue Apron. He was thrilled and immediately brought premium deluxe cracked corn to sprinkle at their feet. What a proud day!!!! Now we must surround them with love, support, and protection and teach them the ways of the riverbank. When it rains Charlotte tucks them under her wings ~ safe, dry, and warm ~ and we gather around Charlotte and sing. 

Here is my song, to the tune of Home on the Range:

Oh, what a wonderful home

Where I am not alone,

Where my flock honk all day,

Where the water is clear,

Where we often see deer,

Where we swim and we splash as we play.

Chorus:

Home, home on the creek!

Where the ducks and geese often stay.

Where people are nice, sprinkling corn when there's ice,

Where we swim and we splash when we play!

When along through the years,

Wanting young goslings to be here

Like the gander who lives down the way, 

I honk for some eggs and dance til the light,

Singing songs through the night

Where we swim and we splash when we play!

Home, home on the creek!

Where the ducks and geese often stay.

Where people are nice, sprinkling corn when there's ice,

Where we swim and we splash when we play!

Will you help me name these three precious goslings?

Until next time . . .

 

Oh where are you Mother?!

In this beautiful spring time when everything is coming alive and green, I start to get a little homesick for my egg. Sometimes I want to just pull myself together into that white shell and rock back and forth or roll around. And . . . I wish I could find my mother and father. When I came out of my shell they were gone. They never got to see my beautiful blue eyes, my orange lips and webbed feet~~feet everyone envies. I do look quite regal in an armada of feathered friends paddling the mill race. They never saw me swim for the first time, or hear me honk, or flap my wings or sing. At first I thought the man with the long blue apron was my father but he has a short neck, he can't float, has no orange lips, and sadly no feathers.

Well, last night when the moon was bright and it was all quiet I composed a song. Maybe if everyone sings it~~my mother will find me.

To be sung to the tune of On Top of Old Smokey:

I'm just a white gosling, I've never been bad.

I search for my mother: I search for my dad.

   Yes, I am an orphan, which oft is okay,

   But I need the love from my parents today.

When I broke my egg ope' inside our warm nest

I thought with my parents I'd surely be blest.

   But life can be hard, yes, and life can be mean:

   My mommy and daddy were not to be seen.

If I could but find them, I'd flap wings with joy,

I'd wiggle my tail like a little goose toy.

   I'm sure my mom loves me; oh, why would she not?

   I'm handsome and gallant, and never a snot.

If I could but find her, my it would be sweet!

Then I'd know for sure that my life was complete.

   And as for my daddy, with candor I speak,

   I feel he's a gander with a handsome beak.

What happened while nesting? Oh, where did they go?

Did some big fox eat them? Please say it ain't so!

   I feel in my feathers that they are not gone.

   That they're looking for me, from dusk until dawn.

If I could but find them, oh how we would play!

We'd honk old-time goose songs throughout the whole day.

   We'd swim in the mill race, we'd dive in the pond,

   We'd eat some dried corn, and we'd finally bond.

We'd sleep in our nests snug, when daylight is done,

We'd sleep in the knowledge, our family is one.

   Oh, where are you Mother? Oh, where are you Dad?

   My life without parents is terribly sad.

If you read this poem, please come find me here.

I'm Bob, your sweet gosling, I'm Bob, your sweet dear.

   My people are gen'rous, they feed me real well,

   If you come to live here, they'll treat you just swell.

So that is my story, it's straight from my heart.

I hope you can find me, and-never we'll part.

   A goose needs his family, through thick and through thin.

   Please come home and find me. Oh, where have you been?

My song I must close now, my sad tale is done.

Please Mother and Father, come home to your son!

Until next time . . .

Always go deep on April first . . .

That much dreaded day, April first, arrived with cold pink clouds passing quickly through the tree tops along the riverbank. Far off I could hear mass songs of feathered friends singing to the morning, a morning that may be the last for some of our finned friends. No feathered friends have checked out potential nesting homes--seems late to me. Pilgrim, my very dearest friend, has already laid an egg.

   Back from her winter home, Miss Harriet Blue Heron, looking very fine in her long gray feathers, came this morning for the first day of FISHING SEASON. Well, for her it is survival and she is thankful. We understand. When she catches a little fish, we all bow to that fish who gives its life.

   FISHING SEASON, oh dear. . . . Lewis Trout has gone deep but not before he did his best to gather his young inexperienced trout friends to safe areas away from clear pools. "Fishing" . . . what a terrible word. An activity that is said to be FUN--not to Lewis. Lewis got caught once by a terrible smelly man wearing long green boots wading in the creek. Cecil should have bit him! Lewis was caught on a line with a very sharp hook--it painfully pierced his lip. Lewis fought hard, he leapt in the air, he flailed. he was mercilessly grabbed by a hard calloused hand whose face was grinning with a bit spit drooling down the corner of his mouth, and thrown without respect onto the riverbank TO DIE! He lay gasping for air, losing strength fast, gills fighting for breathe, heart beating hard . . . he flopped and flopped and with one last chance effort flopped back into the creek. He was weak, in pain, bleeding, lip torn . . . just dreadful! He still bears the scares of that awful day. "Catch-and-release"--and it is all for FUN?!--poor Lewis.

   Remember avoid open clear pools and always go deep on April first.

Until next time . . .