Goslings & morels: Ramble with the Lady
Canada geese raised such a racket of honking on the south shore of the north old clay pit that I knew I would find goslings between at least one pair.
And I did. It just took a while to find the two goslings swimming tight to their parents.
So tight that I could not even get a passable photo.
But luck was with me this morning and I found several pairs of geese swimming on the south pit, including one pair with three goslings (above), nicely framed between them.
It seems like the rhythms of life, natural life, are on schedule. April 20 tends to be the date when I see the first goslings around the town pond. I have photos as early as April 19 from 2012, which, if f I remember right, was after the March with the absurd record string of temperatures in the 70s and 80s.
My sighting of my first morel last evening is very early for me. I would not read too much into that, other than I did some closer searching than usual last evening.
Typically, like clockwork, I find my first morels locally on May 5.
I found the one last evening at my surest morel spot. That inspired me to make a quick pass at my second best spot this morning. Nothing.
And if you noticed that I did not mention where, you noticed correctly.
Gorgeous spring morning as Lady, our family's mutt, and I rambled off this morning.
Robins everywhere. Some morning I am going to do an actual count on robins. Mourning doves cooing. Not as cold as I had expected, right around 39.
We flushed squirrels right away, which is earlier than most are out and and about.
At the ball field on the edge of town, at least two woodpeckers hammered away on the light poles. More on that another morning.
A rabbit doubled back over the railroad tracks and we crossed the side rail separating the town from the wildness of the town pond. Lady did not see it, which is probably just as well.
The usual mess of red-winged blackbirds trilled all round the north pit, even with all the racket the geese raised.
The first swallow I saw this year flew past as we walked toward the north pit. That was a nice touch.
Only a handful of coots remain, mostly swimming on the south pit. A few wood ducks flew off from the south pit.
Back on the edge of town, sandpipers sounded off by the grit area by the grain elevators. I only heard them and could not see them, even though I tried.
The chef/cook, who runs a food truck for migrant and nursery workers, was finishing up loading his truck downtown. Only faint wisps of savory fillings for tacos and burritos lingered.
Back home, Lady flushed a gray squirrel up the neighbor's slowly budding oak. Another squirrel crossed the road, which led me to see the black squirrel heading toward the church down the street.
Lady charged up the front steps, scattering mourning doves.
Routines of life. We can't help ourselves.
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