Fields of April

Have you ever stood in the fields of springtime and watched the geese gathering in the sloughs? Now and then you hear a few from far off: sometimes two or three together, but often…often there’s one all alone.

Charging their wings full throttle, beating the sky in a frantic search and hollering: Who’s there? Who’s there? Where are you? They beckon the heavens to answer. Makes you just wanna reach out. Play God. Wave your arms. Honkers! Honkers! Over here!

I’ve never figured how the ones on the ground say it but lo and behold the lost ones come sailing in for a landing. Join the huddle of brothers and sisters. Get caught up with the latest. Out there by the hundreds the fields are alive with geese just being geese: sitting, eating, resting. Then…then in the grey of dawn comes the very best!

The land still dozing while the sun seeps beneath the fence bottoms and drenches the acres. The earth stirs and the geese stir with it. Everybody gets excited. Then in the raucous of a hushed fury, on cue from the great wizard, they rush to the horizon.

I stand there as one by one they find a place in the formation. Then together, lifting, climbing, soaring, grabbing at the dawn they fashion a silver thread in the rusty sky of daybreak.

The spectacle of the Canada geese tells of the seasons; we witness the magic of migration, living as we do within the James Bay flyway. For me the stopovers of the Canadas are like old friends dropping in while en route along some heavenly road. Their path is an ancient one that links wintering grounds in southern U.S. and in Mexico with the breeding habitat in the lowlands and the tundra of the Arctic.

Spending as much or more time on land as they do in water, the northbound geese follow the wake of melting snow. Spring is a demanding time in a goose’s life, especially for breeding females. Canada geese that stay with us begin nesting as soon as things warm up, as early as mid-March. Their cousins who continue north reach nesting areas in late April or early May and still later for Arctic breeders.

For those that continue on it is a time of stocking up so they can maintain with little food when they first arrive in the north. The females need reserves of fat and protein to finish the journey, produce a clutch of eggs, and survive for about one month of incubation. No easy task.

Family bonds are strong in Canada geese; goslings stay with their parents for a full year heading back to the breeding grounds with them after their first winter. They find a mate during their second year and stay together for life.

Below the tree line in the lowlands of James Bay, the geese nest in the open boreal forest where, amidst the scattered stands of stunted spruce and tamarack, the dense clouds of black flies, the life cycle will complete.

In the realm of nature, breeding is such that the eggs hatch when the plants that the goslings eat are at peak nutritional value. Through the summer the geese feed on berries and put on a layer of fat as the goslings grow and ready to fly south before freeze-up.

The lessons of home schooling are repeated: mom and dad show the kids how to take off, how to land on ground and water; and imprint them with the flight rules. Geese can fly up to 1,000 km in one day. Flying in the ‘V’ formation, they cash in on the air current, the ‘drafting’ effect from the cousin or sibling up ahead of them. At the same time they have a clear line of vision for what’s coming. Not only that but I’m told its easier to hear the flight orders for speed and direction called out by the elders—those who have travelled this way before.

Around October, just before leaving the north the Canadas gather into groups of a few to several dozen families. Just like a human family road trip, adults with goslings migrating south for the first time take longer than adults without the young. You know. Are we there yet?

Each family is an almost inseparable troupe, acting in unison. Usually the female leads the way, followed by the young, with the gander, or male, bringing up the rear. A few days into their journey they are back with us back in the fields of Prince Edward. And once again, after feeding and a time of rest, they are gone.

And so I stand here in the fields of April, boots firm in heavy clay, and I watch. I watch the skies now silent now empty as the spirits of the north steer their way home.

I think in my next lifetime I’ll give it a try: sign up for the adventure. I’ll come back as a Canada goose, to soar with them along that timeless road. By the way I’ll be sure to drop in just to say hello.