The path from March to May always twists and turns, fraught with weather surprises.
At the Friedman Memorial Forest, April snow is heavy and winter’s hush has returned to the woods. Shark fins of bright green skunk cabbage pop up through snow by the brook, looking implausible, a page from a kids coloring book. No tracks cross the four inches of white on my path – all the smart mammals have slept in. Hmmm. Across the isolated beaver swamp too, not a creature is stirring. I suspect that in each of the twenty or so Great Blue Heron nests a parent bird is hunkered down, keeping eggs warm. Today it’s a full-time job. My socks and gloves are wet and cold too. April’s alarming change in weather won’t take away from May’s glory, but this walk in the soft snow is rare and special.
A Red-Tailed Hawk does an extended fly-by of the rookery, a long, hard, but fruitless recon. Many eyes follow. A heron stands four feet tall yet weighs only five pounds. He can live up to 24 years. You learn a lot about survival in that time. Once hunted for feathers and cruel fun, herons thrive now from Baffin Island to the Galapagos; while they cautiously avoid people around here, they can become nonchalant in a busy harbor. If you are like me, you generally experience the south end of a heron going north. Looking across this marsh through a telephoto lens is a treat.
Just a few days along, Spring has returned. Hidden in plain sight across the swamp a stately, motionless hunter in a gray suit has success, and a jealous neighbor stares. Swallows, Red-winged Blackbirds, and crabby Geese share airspace with humming dragonflies. Sociable Painted Turtles que up on a log in the sunlight. Do they have assigned spaces, or is it first-come, first-serve? Even the volunteer trail crew, led by Andy and Ada, shows up with smiles and loppers. This year’s winding path has finally taken us to May.
The rookery gets busy now. A heron does a laboriously wide turn, like a 737, before alighting to regurgitate food for chicks. Must a big bird land upwind like a Cessna? Any flights of fancy here should include the Pterodactyl; a Great Blue Heron flies with such deliberate dignity it transcends time and space. No bird looks as prehistoric. Why do usually solitary herons hang out grouped in a nesting colony? It affords some protection from predation, and dead trees are usually found together anyway, but we don’t really know. They’re not talking. I’ll treasure my snow day, but in the Friedman Forest, Great Blue Heron chicks won’t leave the nests for several months – bring your binoculars.
George Jacobi
Great post George! I didn’t realize there was a rookery back in there 🙂
Love this post. Felt like I was standing right there with George taking it all in and wondering about similar marvels.
Love great blues! I Florida they are not as shy as they are in CT. I read somewhere that their squawk as they fly away from being disturbed was used as the sound of dinosaurs in Jurassic Park. Interesting piece of useless info.
Enjoyed your poetic descriptions George!
How lovely this post is–I fel as if I was there with you.