Evening Snacks

July 9, 2009

Last night as dusk approached, the river beckoned. It was a beautiful evening, warm, with a slight breeze, too nice to stay inside. I was anxious to see if I could find the cygnets about whom I had written on June 21, when they were first born. I had heard about 10 days ago that one of them had not survived. Would the rest still be living?

It was a great joy therefore to spot the family receiving an evening snack. I was so pleased to discover that this good citizen knew to feed them greens. She informed me that the stores here are quite willing to let her have lettuce that is past its prime. This family of swans seemed very comfortable with her and ate voraciously, even taking a leaf from her hand.


The little ones are obviously thriving, still with their fuzzy baby feathers, but definitely growing and healthy.


We continued on our walk, enjoying the magic of the sunset, intrigued to spot a duck among the clouds.
Turning reluctantly to head for home, we came upon yet another evening feast. This time the hostess was serving corn, and an eager crowd had gathered to partake! Several swans crowded around her including the bully who I described on June 15, this time well behaved and even eating politely from her hand.



The newest additions to our waterfowl were there as well, a very interesting-looking pair of Chinese geese.


Night had definitely fallen. Reluctantly we turned our steps towards home, but our hearts were light with the joy of watching mankind and nature interacting in such a mutually appreciative way.

LIFE LESSON

June 21, 2009
A crowd gathered to watch, coaching from the sidelines, cheering them on, heaving a collective sigh of disappointment when once again they failed. The cygnets were facing their greatest challenge since leaving the nest.
The two oldest had already been out for their inaugural swim with the cob (male) while the pen (female) had continued to incubate the remaining blue-gray eggs in the clutch. These early arrivals had developed enough strength to climb the bank and join their parents, following their instinct to preen, using the serrated bill that functions like a comb in caring for the approximately 25,000 feathers that they will develop.

The parents had chosen a place to emerge from the water that offered a bit of a ramp. The four youngest, now on their first excursion into their new world, had been left in the water as Mom and Dad and the elder ones groomed themselves beneath the low-lying sun. It was at this point that I joined the crowd who had gathered to observe this lesson in nature.


Left behind at the river's edge, the remaining four repeatedly attempted to climb the bank. As they struggled valiantly to attain the shore, the crowd who watched were clearly intrigued. I found myself muttering, “Why doesn't she help them?”, wondering if they would die from exhaustion before being able to get out of the water. At one point Mom moved a little closer to the edge, as if to encourage them. I thought she would reach in and help them up, but no, she returned to attending to her feathers.

As I pondered this lack of assistance, I realized that I was observing a life lesson in progress. The ability to make it to shore was a skill they needed to learn. In my humanity I wanted Mom to help, to intervene, to make it easier for them. In the long run perhaps she, with nature's wisdom, knew that such assistance would actually deprive them of the opportunity to develop the strength they needed to survive.

We watched as long as we could, and still they remained at river's edge; she watching, they struggling.

I was away for the week-end. Tonight I will walk down to the river to find them. I hope there will still be six little ones. If so, no doubt they will be stronger. If not... I will need to submit to the truth that nature is not always kind.

Much of my information was obtained from Ivory, A. 2002. "Cygnus olor" http://animaldiversity.ummz.umich.edu/site/accounts/information/Cygnus_olor.html.