Beth Ferrier’s Blog

Here in Saginaw it’s been an uncommonly cold and wet spring. Even the most loyal Michiganians have been crotchety about the weather. We had frost again earlier this week! It’s probably a good thing that this cold has slowed me down, I would have been into serious planting mode if not for it.

We never know what we’ll find when the flood waters recede. One year an aluminum canoe was left behind. With no registration marks it was impossible to return. It sat for years in the side yard, waiting for what, I’m not quite sure. It finally found a home with a friend of a friend.

It’s when the water remains only in the low spots that it gets really interesting. Fish become trapped, making for easy pickings for the predator birds. This majestic fellow made an afternoon of it. Quietly perched at the water’s edge, every few minutes his head would snap down and up, another small fish sliding down his gullet. Watching him move, it’s easy to see how science can suggest that herons are ancient birds, a just feather away from being a dinosaur.

Yesterday one of these fellows showed up at my pond. I was so startled to look up from my desk to see the heron at the pond that I jumped out of my seat and scared him off. Since the fish have been in hiding for the better part of the week, I’m guessing that it wasn’t his first visit. I’ve only seen evidence of four of the seven fish. That doesn’t mean that the other three aren’t there, but I’m guessing that at least one of them became sushi.

As the last of the water sinks into the field, large walleye thrash about, no exit in sight. Our dog used to think it was his responsiblity to locate each dead fish and roll in it. He finally learned that rolling in stinky stuff always resulted rejection from his people and a humiliating bath.

This year a band of turkey vultures showed up to clear the field. Huge and ugly as sin, at least a dozen of these buzzards perched on the peak of the neighbor’s barn. From there they took turns swooping over the field, returning to the barn to brag about their finds. Not at all menancing, they looked more like a bunch of frat boys, shouldering their way into line and squawking about their conquests.

While our field has been fallow for some twenty years, our neighbor leases his for planting. It is finally dry and warm enough for planting. As the huge tractor turns over the soil he is escorted by a troop of seagulls, wheeling and diving, feasting on the newly exposed worms.

This entry was posted on Thursday, May 21st, 2009 at 9:46 am and is filed under daily life, general silliness, warm up writing. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.