Ducklings

The weather here on Long Island has been cool and wet, presumably causing the various waterfowl to hatch a little later than usual.  In any case, this week was the first time there were any ducklings, six of them in a row carefully following their mother along the shoreline.  Many people seem happy to greet such things, and pause to take pictures or point them out, even in these frantic times.  The same reaction has occurred in the last few weeks with the cygnets and goslings, which already seem largely grown into adolescence.

It is comforting to encounter an example of such cycles of nature,  however mundane.  We applaud the first crocus, the opening of new leaves on maples, whatever renews the world and promises the future will be somewhat as the past.  The ducks, with their hidden nests and fragile eggs seem more unlikely to survive than many other more stubborn flora and fauna.  That very vulnerability makes them attractive and the subject of aesthetic metaphors.

Ducklings of course add to the beauty of the landscape.  Countless pictures are constructed of them bouncing confidently along the waves, among the sharp sparkles of the solstice sun.  We assume they have not a care in the world, not even caring if it is sun or rain or hot or cold.  As long as mom is nearby.

Long Island wildlife in this century is only that which prospers near humanity.  The diversity and fecundity encountered by the first European settlers almost three hundred years ago is almost gone _ the lobsters and flocks of waterfowl and teeming schools of fish and vast beds of oysters and clams, turtles and snakes and wolves.  Some species thrive _ algae, deer, raccoons, jellyfish, invaders like ragweed or phagmacites  or squirrels or starlings or rats.  It’s just a matter of whether humans can tolerate them or try to kill them either on purpose or accidentally.  But, in the sense that the humans do not actively encourage such success, they all remain true wildlife.

Ducklings, in a way, are a calm in the ecological storm.  They seem well equipped for most of the projected coming climatic disasters _ they adapt well to heat and water, they are adaptable vegetarians.  If vertebrate life survives, it’s likely it will include ducklings paddling peacefully along the shore in June. 

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Like all things in our crowded lives, ducklings sometimes disappear or reappear in my conscious memories.  I never noticed them until I was teaching preschool in Boston in the 70’s with my future wife, when “Make Way For Ducklings” was pretty much mandatory reading, and led to expeditions to the shores of the Charles River to show our classes the real thing.  When we had our own boys on Long Island they were a cute and available introduction to wildlife, nature, and seasons.  As I went through my midlife crisis, they provided visual cues in sketches and paintings.  And now, they are just another joyful and sad reminder that another year has gone by.  I’m not yet in my dotage to feed them breadcrumbs from the shore, but I’m sure that will come.

Many  things are like this, of course, not there for large chunks of our lives, suddenly in view or important, and often cycling back out.  The danger is not in ignoring them _ for we can never be nearly aware of all the possibilities all the time _ but ignoring the fact that we are ignoring much.  In this culture it sometimes seems we have far too finely honed our concentration and often forget that by concentrating we are by definition missing the larger picture.  This means we may accomplish a goal, but that goal might not be relevant nor important nor even good.

As a software programmer, who by logical necessity must focus on narrow channels to accomplish anything, I have had to relearn the joy of open experience after retirement.  That’s a totally different way to channel consciousness, and most of the time such an approach would have let to utter failure at work.  But today _ ah, today _ I can once again love ducklings as part of this marvelous world and be grateful that I can notice them.

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Row of ducklings _ count them _five

Fluffy balls so cute, alive
Follow Mom on sparkling waves
Content and confident and brave.
All who see them smile with ease
Remember childhood’s blissful peace.

I haven’t seen them since, you know,

I dream they found someplace to go.
Hawks sail high, cats prowl the shore,
Danger comes from those, and more.
All moments pass, may they be safe,
No matter, thank their passing grace.


-no photo this week _ see poem!

 

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Unless you got to this page through some weird back-door search path, you have probably not thought about ducklings in years.  And yet, as soon as the word appears, there is a grand confusion in your mind of all kinds of personal memories.  Unlike standard word association, in real consciousness some of these overlays have stronger value than others.  That is part of what makes you completely unique.  Now that the word “ducklings” is being bandied about, of course, it is almost impossible for you to willfully not think about ducks.  And yet, that will all magically fade somewhere in a few minutes.

It’s part of the old question about trees falling in a forest.  If nobody is looking at a blog entry, is it still there?  Suppose you are just learning English and have absolutely no associations with the word “ducklings”?  And, no matter what, there are certainly more critical and interesting things in your life this moment for you to spend time and energy on.

Your mind is so capacious that you can store infinite amounts of odd and unused trivia like this for your entire life.  Yet it can be recalled from eternal oblivion by reading a computer entry, or by seeing waterfowl while you are taking a walk, or by any other of thousands of minor intrusions into your experience.  You remain the most fortunate of creatures, not required to live simply in the moment that you happen to be plopped into, but rather able to expand the moment instantly into something grand that encapsulates the entire universe.

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One reason our species is dominant is that we can eat almost anything.  Algae, raw fish or red meat, raw or prepared vegetables, stuff fresh, stuff preserved, stuff in decay (e.g. cheese).  Stuff treated with chemicals like salt or smoke to preserve it.  And just about anything at all will do if we are hungry enough.

But if we are not quite that hungry?  Ah, books have been written about that, how some cultures will eat pigs and cows, but not dogs.  How other cultures avoid pigs or cows.  Or not certain grains, or only “organic” or never insects.  A lot depends on where you grew up and what you have learned.

American culture is kind of ambivalent about ducks.  They are not purely a food item, like chickens.  They are not purely wild waterfowl like ospreys.  They are raised and sold commercially at the same time that they are fed in town ponds throughout the land and inspire children with their cuteness.  So we encounter the odd behavior of watching diners enjoy roast duckling at restaurants, and the same people later slamming on brakes and almost causing accidents to let a family of ducklings cross the road.  Nobody ever claimed that humans were logical, or not complicated.

In a more perfect world, we would probably find some way to replace eating vertebrates with something like soybeans or algae remanufactured into artificial food.  Already today, some people would prefer living on a diet of cheese doodles and soft drinks to almost anything else _ it is not beyond the realm of possibility that in the future everyone will become pretty squeamish about food that came from animals (not only for ethical, but also for the practical reasons of avoiding the disease, pollution, and global warming from raising the herds we currently consume.)

But today, this moment, we will let the little wild ducklings go about their business, grateful that we can watch them without scheming of ways to ensnare them for dinner tonight.  Ignoring our instincts to simply appreciate the beauty and mystery involved in the planetary ecology.

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Grandpa Malley had been born near a nuclear power plant around the beginning of the time of troubles, and was later part of a group of ducks modified by bored geneticists who needed something to occupy their minds and hands during the collapse of civilization.  He was consequently one of the new breed who could converse in language and remember the past; and remained unique in seeming to be able to live forever.  He was something of a celebrity in the community, and foreign visitors often flew in to visit.  But he most enjoyed sharing stories with the little ducklings on the pond.

“Tell us,” they would beg, “tell us a scary human story.  Tell us about the old world.”  And, at least for a while, until they became bored as all little ducklings do, they would listen to his tales.

“Well, in those days we had great storms, long storms, terrifying storms like there never are any more, and ocean waves that were higher than trees.  Only ducks could survive in seas like that.”  They all smiled in pride.  “Then there were the great hordes of humans, desolating the country, eating everything they found _ and they found almost everything, except our ancestors, safely offshore in the windy waters.  That was when we were saved forever from the great hawks and evil cats.”  They all shuddered at the mention of those dark creatures of legend.  “Eventually, everything settled back down to what we have now, our peaceful, calm,  green world.”

“But are the humans all extinct?” asked one of the bolder youngsters. 

“Extinct?  Well, we don’t really know.  It’s a big world.  But certainly they are not as they once were, they no longer bother us.  I’ve heard from many places, and no one has found any yet.  Perhaps they are truly gone.  Perhaps a remnant remains, somewhere.”  This always caused a ripple of apprehension.
 

Then the little ducklings realized the sun was moving on, and there was much yet to experience.  They thanked Grandpa Mallard and paddled off excitedly between the sparkling ripples.  And if Grandpa Mallard were equipped to think abstract thoughts, he would indeed have thought, “what a long, strange trip it's been ..." 
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This finishes up two weeks after I first saw the tiny little golden blobs bobbing along.  Waterfowl grow amazingly fast in the beginning, and there are no ducklings easily found anywhere anymore, the young geese are almost indistinguishable from their parents, and only the grey of the cygnets indicates their immaturity.  Whenever we are convinced that change takes time, that stability is the rule of nature, that there is some kind of slow rhythm to the cosmos or the seasons, we should consider the rapid evolution of little ducklings and meditate on the importance of each moment in a single fortnight.