Place 7: Time for a swim

11:15 a.m. Friday, Oct. 23

The mallards are here again at Chatham pond: one male, one female. They paddle side by side, ducking their heads into the water in search of food among vibrant red, orange, yellow and green leaves scattered across the pond’s surface. Standing beneath the maple tree, I am close enough to the pair—eight feet—that I can see their orange webbed feet propelling them through the water swiftly and smoothly. Their movement reminds me of my own childhood, learning to dog-paddle in a small inland Michigan lake, my hands directly beneath my body pedaling frantically as my mother watched with her hawk’s eye. My hands made ungainly flippers lacking proper form and ability. Ducks are more graceful.

When the mallards reach the grassy edge, they dig their beaks roughly into damp soil intermixed with moss and leaf bits. I expect they search for bugs, lunchtime. After a moment, they give up and rinse their faces in the water. The male continues his swim whereas the female waddles out onto the grass to preen her feathers properly, scraping her beak across her back. Ducks never seem to stop grooming themselves except when in need of a swim, nap or food. Despite this, I still think that humans are far vainer.

I near the female. She ignores me completely as if she couldn’t care less about my presence. Soon, the male returns to the edge but remains in the water. He dips his head beneath the surface again, stretching his neck. When he emerges, water droplets sparkle on his shimmery green head trickling down his neck. The beads must tickle because he suddenly raises one webbed foot and scratches the area behind his eyes as a dog would scratch behind an ear. A bizarre sight, I must say, to watch a duck move in this way. I never realized ducks were so flexible, and it would have never occurred to me that they would use their feet in such a way—although it makes perfect sense. How else could they scratch their heads? (They also shake their tail feathers as a dog would shake his own tail after a bath or swim. Perhaps in another life, ducks and dogs were related.)

The ducks are not alone. They have company. More goldfish have miraculously appeared, which means that Chatham University must have restocked the pond since my last visit one week ago. Now there must be at least 100 medium-sized fish. They have split themselves into two sizeable schools: one in the middle of the pond and a second toward the shallow end furthest from the fountain. They look bored. None have moved save for a slight flapping of fins in order to stay in one place. I can’t imagine life would be very interesting living in a pond, trapped, unable to swim away to experience other creeks or lakes or even another pond. I would much rather lead the life of a duck, able to swim wherever I wish and fly away to make new friends and enjoy vast views of landscapes.

Next week I’ll have to remember my camera so I can take a picture of my feathery friends. I hope they’re still there.