Snowbirds
Wild Geese
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
- Mary Oliver
I awoke at 3:30 this morning to a chorus of geese winging across the night sky. I lay there listening, and in my heart I was soaring with them, high above this autumn land.
Every fall I feel the tug as the days get shorter, the nights colder, the weather drearier. I miss the warmth of summer, the long evenings, the bright early mornings, the long days to wander through the hills, the mountains, the ocean beaches, the green and growing forests and fields, sharing picnics and shedding worries.
Trees swayin' in the summer breeze Showin' off their silver leaves As we walked by Soft kisses on a summer's day Laughing all our cares away Just you and I Sweet sleepy warmth of summer nights Gazing at the distant lights In the starry sky - Chad and Jeremy
Those places are still there, but our visits are shorter this season, wrapped in layers of clothing, hats and raincoats, as the weather becomes colder, windier, rainier, snowier, far less inviting to my wimpy attitude and sun-seeking thin skin.
A friend of mine renamed next month as GOvember, the time to go follow the sun. As the sun gets lower on the horizon at midday, I dream of following its beckoning beacon, going south for the winter so I can rise in sunlight and warmth on a sandy beach or under a desert palm.
Dark and silent late last night
I think I might have heard the highway call
Geese in flight - James Taylor
But the geese are heading to their snowbird home. They have two homes: a summer home in food-rich taiga under the midnight sun, and their snowbird home here in our food-rich fields, valleys and farmlands, far warmer than the now-frozen tundra of the dark Arctic northlands.
Years ago I spent several summers up north, where a June night lasted just an hour on each side of midnight. Vegetation and wildlife exploded in growth in that brief window of opportunity; mosquitoes carried away your blood if you let them. I was at Denali in mid-September as the first snowstorm blanketed the land. We used a dogsled to return to the train heading south. I kept going south, flying back home to Washington, basking under its blue October skies and golden leaves.
The leaves are now leaving us too. Cut off from their summer home, they fall into a bed of colorful beauty, returning to the earth and the end of their life as they know it.
Like the leaves, I find these days of change to be a time to sit by a fire, be warmed with hot chocolate and a good book or movie, and wrap up and cuddle. We embrace the season as it calls us to rest and reflect, to grow closer, cozier, and more comfortable in our retreat. The Danish have the word hygge, a focus on warmth and connection with loved ones this time of year.
The off-season is still a great season to get out into our woodlands and wildlands, to warm our bodies from the inside as we explore the winter wonderlands outside. We can go see the geese at home in the flats nearby, as they gather in the thousands to celebrate the life we have, the warmth we have in each other.
Our garden is mostly put to bed. Our coats are ready and waiting. Snowshoe trips and local hikes continue to call to us. And we are preparing for big family times at Thanksgiving, and we are gathering gifts to share at Christmas. And then the new year, and with it the return of the sun, once again.
As the sounds of the geese faded into the night, I rolled over and hugged Kath. What more do we need? The world offers itself to our imagination.
They say that all good things must end some day
Autumn leaves must fall
And when the rain
Beats against my windowpane
I'll think of summer days again
For further information:
Migration styles:
Migratory birds have three different migration habits.
Nocturnal migrants do so at night. This would include most of the seed-eating songbirds such as sparrows and thrushes. They will fly all night, then rest up, top off the tank with food, and try to stay out of sight of raptors during the day.
Diurnal migrants migrate during the day. These are often the insect-eaters: jays, swifts, swallows, larks, etc. They benefit greatly from the daytime thermals during their journey. But not for reasons of soaring, like raptors use thermals, but rather because these warm updrafts send up clouds of insects from the fields, right into the paths of the migrating birds, like a food delivery service! Most insects are so light that a gust of wind or a thermal current can lift them high into the air – and unwittingly into the beak of a hungry swallow.
And the third class of migrants migrates day or night, depending on the circumstances. Canada geese and many waterfowl fit into this last category.
Why do geese fly at night?
Canada geese (Branta canadensis) migrate at night for several reasons:
Flying long distances makes them hot, just like walking fast warms us up. The night air is cooler, preventing overheating.
The nighttime air is calmer, with no thermal updrafts to disrupt the formation's airflow.
Raptors like hawks, eagles, and falcons are inactive after dark
Geese use moonlight, stars, and magnetoreception (the Earth's magnetic field) to help maintain course.
The V formation is quite extraordinary. The lead goose is the lowest; each goose behind is slightly higher than the one in front of it. This helps take advantage of the air turbulence to reduce each bird's effort. They can fly 70% farther this way than flying alone.
And yes, they take turns leading. When one gets tired, it drops to the rear and another takes its place. They can cover 1500 miles in a single night this way.
The snow goose (Anser caerulescens) is already here in Skagit Valley, feeding in the farm fields by day, returning to nearby waters at night for safety. If you find a flock of a few thousand, you will know what it is like to be inside a snow globe when they all take off together.
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