March on

By Conrad Beaubien

A poised memory from yesterday’s campfire: a continuous, melodic ceremony of smoke lingers in the break of day, easing between the birches that stand huddled, waiting in the hour of winter release. Back there in the forest last-to-leave are snow islands, drifting spectre-like in the shade, then again more like gemstones rising amongst the tangled woods. There is a timed release to winter, an hourglass transcendence where ice-filled creases in the land transform to become cradles for the melt that is launching as new-born salmon off to linger in big water, sun and open sea.

Amidst the quiet rowdiness—red winged blackbirds, starlings, cardinals, nuthatches and chickadees—Joey the pup with the blonde coat calls from over the way to say that the day is already good and the whine of rubber tires on the asphalt of the distant highway fades as I watch above my head a Canada goose pass over.

It’s not often that we notice a goose flying unaccompanied, and for me it’s regular cause for inquiry. I know I’m not alone in this as many of us stare into the sky and wonder and relate to things in terms of how we personally experience our world; So the goose? Was it on errand or with a friend or sneaking in past curfew, a visit elsewhere or maybe yet it just slept in or maybe it’s just about all of that or none of it. I imagine the sky would feel like being stranded at sea, a lonely place if travelling solo. But the bird seemingly has a destination in mind this morning, flying with intention and with the added thing of a lonely call, a frantic push of wings and then because of it, I get it into my head that it’s lost or unintentionally left behind because waterfowl are generally seen in community or in family groups like the time one early morning last spring when travelling Schoharie Road with barely any traffic I rounded a bend in the highway and spotted a Canada goose up ahead. Its neck stretched proudly to the clouds and standing bravely at mid-road, the gander made itself most visible. I pulled to stop about 50 meters back.

Just about then, out from the tall grass beside the road and surely on cue came a parade of geese, a mix of old and young in tight procession began to march across the road. I lost count at thirty because in error I hit the windshield spray nozzle as I turned my truck off which then meant turning on the windshield wipers to clear my view in order to see what came next. I’m sure the whole idea of the school crossing guard came from observing geese. Anyone could tell that the defiant posture of the gander guard meant nothing would make him move from his post until the last of the string of newborns, running to keep up, made it safely to the far side. I started up my truck, but wait! The gander remained at its post no matter that everyone had crossed. It was peering into the grasses of the far ditch just as two straggler goslings emerged from under cover and beat it across the road. Only then did the gander follow in behind. Maybe it’s that lasting image that has stuck with me as I watch the wayward goose fly over.

I think as humans we search for the unknown in an effort to feel complete. The fact that we are complete in reality perhaps means gaining acceptance of that; acknowledging ourselves in a way that says, ‘I am enough’. Being at one with each moment travelling through time and space in the mystery is very much knowing that our completeness is to recognize that we are nature and not a separate species that can live apart from it.