What the oft-maligned Canada Goose can teach us about community...
An Orkney cousin sent me a link to a poem about, and titled “Canada Geese”. It is an insightful and moving work written by a Scots poet, writer and editor - Robert Davidson - who is based in Highland, Scotland. Mr. Davidson has very generously allowed me to include his lovely poem in this post. Truth be told, his poem inspired this post.
“Out of the haar⊛, in flight,
in formation, in position, each eye
on the white rump in front, each aware
of the white bar on a face away to the side.
Direct, speedy – the flock is two waving lines”*
The Canada Goose (Branta canadensis) is an august, large bird with a long, graceful neck, grand wingspan and instantly recognisable black/white/taupe plumage. Their black helmets and white chinstraps easily distinguish Canada Geese from other geese and large birds. In our country, they’re used on everything from currency (a Canada Goose in flight appears on the reverse of our $100 banknote) to that horribly elitist brand of clothing.
Due to the abundance of food (primarily grass and clover) and the lack of predators, “park geese” (neither an official species nor name) have adapted to urban areas and have established successful breeding colonies in town parks and green spaces. ‘Though they’re a native species, due to the copious amounts of poop they leave behind and their territorial nature (particularly whilst they’re nesting and their broods are young), many consider the Canada Goose an intrusive pest. Such a shame, really, as there’s so much wisdom to be gleaned from our iconic anserine “room-mates” and their ideology.
On a recent walk at Hillman Marsh, and alerted by their honking and baying, I looked up to see a rag-tag harrow of our magnificent Canada Geese, mere silhouettes against the dull, grey sky, all seemingly searching for something familiar, another flock*. Safety in numbers. Take care! We’re here! Take care! We’re here!* The ultimate purpose of the goose community is to serve the common good - and what a wonderful world this would be if we, unitedly, emulated their commitment to such concord.
Usually at the age of two, Canada geese choose a mate for life. The female lays as many as nine eggs and, 'though both the gander and the dame protect the nest while the eggs incubate, the female spends more time on her nest and the male more time on sentinel duty.
Lined with their own down, geese nests are built of plant material (often dried reeds) which provides natural camouflage, and they are typically sited in an elevated area, close to water.
Immediately after hatching, goslings know instinctively how to waddle, to swim and to forage for their own food. Within a week the babies are capable of diving more than five metres beneath the surface in search of food. It’s pretty miraculous, if you think about it - parents are, at hatching, primarily guardians.
The Gander and Dame take their roles of chaperones and defenders very seriously. Whether swimming or waddling, one parent leads the family and the other brings up the rear. Goslings intuitively and impulsively love to follow, and that’s not limited to their parents. They will follow all moving creatures including humans, dogs, other birds, and ducks. While the babies are eating, one parent is always on high alert - the adults take turns feeding to be sure one of them has an eye on their brood.
Although geese parents can be aggressive towards unfamiliar geese, within their own community they merge several families of goslings forming sweetly named crèches, and the adults unite to protect the kiddos - to become a feathery conference of webs, wings, necks and beaks*. It then becomes the responsibility of the entire web-footed community to keep the goslings safe in a place with easily accessible food.
Since that glorious day, when I “met” those precious goslings, we moved away and I haven’t seen them again. But that day, when I was not seen as a threat by the parents, privately and joyfully, beside the lagoon, I was allowed to enjoy a very intimate gosling encounter.
“Being part of a loyal community that looks out for one another is far more than a pipe dream.
It’s a privilege. It’s a promise. Standing together, we’re safer. We’re stronger.
We’re more aware of our own frailty and less prone to navel-gazing.
Living entangled is such an obvious win.”**
[Shannan Martin]
That loyal community, one that looks out for every single member, is what our geese constantly teach us by example. Despite their many urban habitats and the plethora of folks who illegally feed them, the Canada Goose remains one of the least tame and most distrustful of all native large birds. On land, they are nervous, careful, and can be very aggressive if any one of them feels threatened - either by one of us or by one of their natural predators, which include crows (seems odd, non?), owls, eagles, snapping turtles, raccoons, foxes, coyotes, wolves and bears.
There is power in numbers, but united, in community, their strength lies in their common values and purpose. Unwavering loyalty to and care for every goose in the flock is the bedrock of their, indeed any, healthy community. Abiding support with the ultimate goal of a safe and healthy community, which includes protecting the sick and injured amongst them. “Living entangled is such an obvious win.”**
Jack Miner Sanctuary
I love her cute, wee, oh-so-white bum.
The anserine generosity of offering outsiders sanctuary and inclusion, many incorporated into one, to become a feathery conference of webs, wings, necks and beaks* should be our sole objective - leaning on each other through all life throws at us. Take care! We’re here! Take care! We’re here!*
’Til next time, y’all…
*With permission, Robert Davidson from his poem “Canada Geese”. Full text below, reproduced by permission of Mr. Davidson.
**With permission, Shannan Martin from her book, the ministry of ordinary places, page 66.
⊛*Haar: In meteorology, a haar is fog over the sea and land on the east coast of Britain, primarily Scotland.
Canada Geese
Robert Davidson
Out of the haar⊛, in flight,
in formation, in position, each eye
on the white rump in front, each aware
of the white bar on a face away to the side.
Direct, speedy – the flock is two waving lines
passing between mountains, over salt water,
following the coast, a creamy shoreline
broadening on to marshes, tidal islands
until – ahead and below – something familiar,
another flock resting on a sand bar.
Down they go.
Down, level with the hills.
Down, level with the road.
Down, level with the shore.
Skimming over water the lead bird
working hardest, the wind from his wings lifting
the following bird, then the next until
they are all floating on air broken by the birds in front.
They lift to cross an island. Come down again
on the other side. Up ahead, white-barred heads
turn on long necks. Take care! Take care!
crying from the bar, and from the air the flight
calls back, We’re here! We’re here! The sky
between sand bar and flight filled with voice.
Take care! We’re here! Take care! We’re here!
Spreading their wings, turning them downwards,
they stretch out webbed feet. Everthing now,
every part of them, is catching the air,
slowing them, dropping them.
Take care! Take care!
In they come as though they must scatter
the geese on the sand like marbles, but now
their dropped wings lift them and bring them
down again, slower now, one after the other,
feet planing across the water, all together
hhhiiiiiiiisssssssshhhhhhhhhhh!!!
to sit down on it, glide along the surface and paddle out
onto the sand, to become a feathery conference
of webs, wings, necks and beaks, all crying together.
We’re here! We’re here!
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Difficult day today. Our beloved Murfee passed yesterday and we and his sibling of 14 years, are devastated, but relieved, that his difficulties are over and he has peace.