Today was uneventful. My walk yielded no remarkable observations, suggested no intriguing fodder for contemplation. That is just the nature of things ... of life. There are days that slip quietly in at the back of the room and then out again, like a college student trying to discreetly audit a class about which, for whatever reasons, he has mixed feelings. The day comes and goes and when, later, we try to recall it, we find that it feels as though the day had never occurred at all.
So here is something: a picture taken yesterday of the Canadian geese that occasionally visit the island. These critters do not lack chutzpah, and as you may recall from my New Year's Eve post, will not hesitate to accost you from a distance of inches while conveying a tacit but unambiguous demand for alms. And though this may reveal something of my New York-bred cynicism, they remind me of their human counterparts who stand at intersections to request handouts from passing motorists. These geese are biologically endowed with the ability to secure their own sustenance, and can do so very well without our assistance. Likewise, human beings--possessing a degree of intelligence far greater than that of most Canadian geese--are perfectly capable of securing their own sustenance without soliciting my assistance. You are of course entitled to your own opinion.
On Sunday morning, my friend and I were walking on the island when we encountered a boy of about twelve who was being accosted by some Canadian geese--much to his delight. He was allowing them to get right up in his grille, as they say, and I was somewhat afraid that he was about to lose an eye. Suddenly, the boy was joined by what appeared to be members of his family. A person who appeared to be a mother figure addressed her son thus: "Hey, did they bite you yet?" Which prompted me to mumble to my friend something along the lines of "Candidate for Mother of the Year." The ostensible parents then gave their son, and the other children present, some food--slices of bread, I think--with which to feed the geese. I expressed to my friend that, while I was no zoologist, feeding the geese did not strike me as a proper and responsible thing to do. He concurred.
The next day, while walking near the same place where Ozzie and Harriet had tutored their offspring on wildlife etiquette, I noticed this sign:
The sign was directly in front of the place where the family in question had provoked a goose-feeding frenzy, and I couldn't help wondering how they had missed the sign. The sign stated that "Feeding waterfowl leads to unnaturally high populations of waterfowl in park areas," and I could only surmise that this family of goose-enablers had concluded that high populations of geese in park areas was a good and desirable thing. After all, the more geese in the park, the more geese there would be for them to feed as part of their family bonding activities. I guess that what makes the waterfowl population grow is that the geese quickly spread the message to their brethren--by word-of-beak, if you will--and they come from far and wide to feast upon the munificence of well-meaning human beings.
This is just one of the many thought-provoking phenomena that I get to observe as a resident of the island, which, as I may not have mentioned before, is a public park: the southern end of the island has been designated Nicollet Island Park, and the public is free to gad about the northern end as well. Hence, it is common for us to leave our home at any given time only to witness a horse and buggy clip-clopping past, with tourists gaping at our home as they snuggle beneath a blanket; or a long line of human beings perched upon odd contraptions known as Segways, rolling along the path beside our house, single file, as a tour guide regales them with historic island lore. As residents, we must take the good with the bad, the beauty and wonder of the Mississippi right along with the goose-feeders and tourists. It's all life, after all, and most of it, if nothing else, gives us something to think about as we go about our business.
Life flows on, in and around us--sometimes all we can do is sit back and enjoy the spectacle.
D.E.S.
So here is something: a picture taken yesterday of the Canadian geese that occasionally visit the island. These critters do not lack chutzpah, and as you may recall from my New Year's Eve post, will not hesitate to accost you from a distance of inches while conveying a tacit but unambiguous demand for alms. And though this may reveal something of my New York-bred cynicism, they remind me of their human counterparts who stand at intersections to request handouts from passing motorists. These geese are biologically endowed with the ability to secure their own sustenance, and can do so very well without our assistance. Likewise, human beings--possessing a degree of intelligence far greater than that of most Canadian geese--are perfectly capable of securing their own sustenance without soliciting my assistance. You are of course entitled to your own opinion.On Sunday morning, my friend and I were walking on the island when we encountered a boy of about twelve who was being accosted by some Canadian geese--much to his delight. He was allowing them to get right up in his grille, as they say, and I was somewhat afraid that he was about to lose an eye. Suddenly, the boy was joined by what appeared to be members of his family. A person who appeared to be a mother figure addressed her son thus: "Hey, did they bite you yet?" Which prompted me to mumble to my friend something along the lines of "Candidate for Mother of the Year." The ostensible parents then gave their son, and the other children present, some food--slices of bread, I think--with which to feed the geese. I expressed to my friend that, while I was no zoologist, feeding the geese did not strike me as a proper and responsible thing to do. He concurred.
The next day, while walking near the same place where Ozzie and Harriet had tutored their offspring on wildlife etiquette, I noticed this sign:
The sign was directly in front of the place where the family in question had provoked a goose-feeding frenzy, and I couldn't help wondering how they had missed the sign. The sign stated that "Feeding waterfowl leads to unnaturally high populations of waterfowl in park areas," and I could only surmise that this family of goose-enablers had concluded that high populations of geese in park areas was a good and desirable thing. After all, the more geese in the park, the more geese there would be for them to feed as part of their family bonding activities. I guess that what makes the waterfowl population grow is that the geese quickly spread the message to their brethren--by word-of-beak, if you will--and they come from far and wide to feast upon the munificence of well-meaning human beings.This is just one of the many thought-provoking phenomena that I get to observe as a resident of the island, which, as I may not have mentioned before, is a public park: the southern end of the island has been designated Nicollet Island Park, and the public is free to gad about the northern end as well. Hence, it is common for us to leave our home at any given time only to witness a horse and buggy clip-clopping past, with tourists gaping at our home as they snuggle beneath a blanket; or a long line of human beings perched upon odd contraptions known as Segways, rolling along the path beside our house, single file, as a tour guide regales them with historic island lore. As residents, we must take the good with the bad, the beauty and wonder of the Mississippi right along with the goose-feeders and tourists. It's all life, after all, and most of it, if nothing else, gives us something to think about as we go about our business.
Life flows on, in and around us--sometimes all we can do is sit back and enjoy the spectacle.
D.E.S.
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