What struck me most about Jimmy Santiago Baca’s work was the fact that for him writing was not just an interest but a necessity. I began to write as a teenager because I felt like expressing my thoughts on paper and wished to one day become an author. Baca, though, chose to write because it made him feel good about himself and provided a form of therapy while living in prison where he received anything but help. In his memoir, A Place to Stand, on page 5, he wrote, “Language gave me a way to keep the chaos of prison at bay and prevent it from devouring me; it was a resource that allowed me to confront and understand my past….” This sentence sums up his attitude toward writing and he continues to describe how learning to read poetry helped him survive prison and maintain some form of saneness in a violent, unforgiving atmosphere.
As I continued to read his other work, I noticed that his writing feels very therapeutic, particularly in Martín & Meditations on the South Valley. Published in 1987, I believe this epic semi-autobiography was Baca’s first book, which doesn’t surprise me. For someone who experienced trauma in his personal life throughout childhood and into adulthood, I was not surprised to read about his memories. Throughout the excerpt Sheryl provided from Martín & Meditations, Baca addressed various issues that affected him deeply: being abandoned as a young child by his mother; watching his mother trying to pass as white; coming to terms with his cultural identity; and struggling to make a life for himself. His cultural identity, I would argue, was the issue that affected him most. Throughout his epic poem, he continually referenced race:
--Page 16: “I was caught in the middle--/between white skinned, English speaking altar boy/at the communion railing,/ and brown skinned, Spanish speaking plains nomadic child…”
--Page 17: “Caught between Indio-Mejicano rural uncles…”
--Page 22: “You were the most beautiful girl in the pueblo,/good nature, smiling, green eyed and white skinned.”
--Page 26: “…her husband/fired four shots/ into her beautiful face,/because he felt she was going to leave him,/because she would no longer/live in his make-believe world.”
--Page 27: “A long time ago/he thought he had saved you,/from your own culture, your own language…”
His next book of poetry, Black Mesa Poems, seemed less therapeutic. Although he still referenced his roots and race, his writing is less about his personal life and instead touches upon broader topics such as his surroundings and other people.
Now that I have read some of his poetry, memoir as well as his latest novel, A Glass of Water, I sense that Baca has accepted his cultural identity. He doesn’t shy away from writing about injustice, discrimination or culture. This week, I will interview Baca for another class with a fellow student. I expect, and hope, that he will tell me more about how his culture has influenced his writing and the topics he chooses to write about. I wonder if he feels if his writing has become less personal and more about the craft he has practiced since leaving prison. Something to think about, I guess.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Place 10: Bathing Day
1:50 p.m. Friday, Nov. 13
Only two large clumps of leaves remain on the maple tree by Chatham pond. All the same shade of bright yellow, not a single green leaf. It’s amazing how a tree can transform so quickly in one week.
Six mallards, the most I have seen so far, groom themselves incessantly in the water near the pond’s edge. Three males and three females, of course. Every time I see mallards I see an even number, and so this past week I browsed some random facts about them and learned that mallards are typically monogamous. They form pairs in the fall and court one other throughout the winter until breeding season begins in the spring.
This week the ducks and I have company. A young man across the pond near the deep end observes the mallards and records their activities with a professional-grade video camera resting on a tripod. It’s no wonder the ducks have caught his attention because they are more active than usual. While grooming, they splash in the pond and rub water against their feathers. One male in particular makes a racket in the middle of the pond by flapping his wings against the water. First he repeatedly dips his head and body beneath the surface to wet himself. When he emerges he commences to stretch himself upright and flap his wings madly as if trying to fly, but instead he moves horizontally and splashes droplets in every direction. After several minutes of dipping and flapping, he joins the other five ducks near the grassy bank and preens his chest, wings and tail feathers.
I want to observe the ducks closer during their heavy preening. But instead of sitting down on my bench for a better view, I stand several yards away. If I sat in my usual spot beneath the tree I would frighten the ducks and interrupt the man’s video taping. I’m tempted to ask him why he’s filming, but he’s preoccupied with his work and seems intent on recording as much footage as possible. I hear him speak into the microphone attached to his camera but cannot understand what he says. It reminds me of nature videos in which the narrator observes animals in their natural habitats and describes their daily lives spent stalking prey, sleeping, and interacting with other animals. I assume this young man is a student at Chatham, and may possibly be filming his own nature video. However, I doubt his narration will address ducks in their natural habitat because Chatham pond is certainly not natural. The grass has been groomed, nearby plants and rocks landscaped for aesthetic reasons and for erosion control, and the atmosphere thrives with humans. Yet, unless the mallards fly away to a remote area, Chatham’s campus is about the closest they will get to a natural habitat in the middle of Pittsburgh.
Soon, three girls who appear to be undergraduates meander off a nearby sidewalk onto the grass toward the pond. They stand by the edge and follow the direction of the man’s video camera. Usually, passersby either don’t notice the ducks or don’t care. These girls didn’t see the ducks immediately, but they saw the man and after following the direction of his camera noticed the mallards. And of course, they comment as if seeing ducks for the first time.
I’m continually amazed by the fact that we never pay attention to nature unless someone else draws our interest to a specific plant or animal. Then, we stop and stare for a few minutes, marveling at the simplest critter or flower never realizing that we walk past them every day. If the young man wasn’t filming, I doubt the girls would have wandered toward the pond because they would have no reason to do so. I consider myself someone who pays attention to nature, but to be honest, I didn't realize ducks visited the campus until I started visiting the pond every week. The sad part is, is that I don't always have the time to stop and look because I'm too busy trying to finish everything else during my day: work, school, homework. Hopefully, there will come a day--and soon--when I can stop and enjoy my surroundings on a more regular basis.
Only two large clumps of leaves remain on the maple tree by Chatham pond. All the same shade of bright yellow, not a single green leaf. It’s amazing how a tree can transform so quickly in one week.
Six mallards, the most I have seen so far, groom themselves incessantly in the water near the pond’s edge. Three males and three females, of course. Every time I see mallards I see an even number, and so this past week I browsed some random facts about them and learned that mallards are typically monogamous. They form pairs in the fall and court one other throughout the winter until breeding season begins in the spring.
This week the ducks and I have company. A young man across the pond near the deep end observes the mallards and records their activities with a professional-grade video camera resting on a tripod. It’s no wonder the ducks have caught his attention because they are more active than usual. While grooming, they splash in the pond and rub water against their feathers. One male in particular makes a racket in the middle of the pond by flapping his wings against the water. First he repeatedly dips his head and body beneath the surface to wet himself. When he emerges he commences to stretch himself upright and flap his wings madly as if trying to fly, but instead he moves horizontally and splashes droplets in every direction. After several minutes of dipping and flapping, he joins the other five ducks near the grassy bank and preens his chest, wings and tail feathers.
I want to observe the ducks closer during their heavy preening. But instead of sitting down on my bench for a better view, I stand several yards away. If I sat in my usual spot beneath the tree I would frighten the ducks and interrupt the man’s video taping. I’m tempted to ask him why he’s filming, but he’s preoccupied with his work and seems intent on recording as much footage as possible. I hear him speak into the microphone attached to his camera but cannot understand what he says. It reminds me of nature videos in which the narrator observes animals in their natural habitats and describes their daily lives spent stalking prey, sleeping, and interacting with other animals. I assume this young man is a student at Chatham, and may possibly be filming his own nature video. However, I doubt his narration will address ducks in their natural habitat because Chatham pond is certainly not natural. The grass has been groomed, nearby plants and rocks landscaped for aesthetic reasons and for erosion control, and the atmosphere thrives with humans. Yet, unless the mallards fly away to a remote area, Chatham’s campus is about the closest they will get to a natural habitat in the middle of Pittsburgh.
Soon, three girls who appear to be undergraduates meander off a nearby sidewalk onto the grass toward the pond. They stand by the edge and follow the direction of the man’s video camera. Usually, passersby either don’t notice the ducks or don’t care. These girls didn’t see the ducks immediately, but they saw the man and after following the direction of his camera noticed the mallards. And of course, they comment as if seeing ducks for the first time.
I’m continually amazed by the fact that we never pay attention to nature unless someone else draws our interest to a specific plant or animal. Then, we stop and stare for a few minutes, marveling at the simplest critter or flower never realizing that we walk past them every day. If the young man wasn’t filming, I doubt the girls would have wandered toward the pond because they would have no reason to do so. I consider myself someone who pays attention to nature, but to be honest, I didn't realize ducks visited the campus until I started visiting the pond every week. The sad part is, is that I don't always have the time to stop and look because I'm too busy trying to finish everything else during my day: work, school, homework. Hopefully, there will come a day--and soon--when I can stop and enjoy my surroundings on a more regular basis.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Response 9: Stormwater in my cup
According to the 3 Rivers Wet Weather Demonstration Program, nearly every time it rains in Pittsburgh stormwater and raw sewage pollutes the rivers. The Allegheny County Health Department and the Allegheny County Sanitary Authority created this non-profit organization in 1998 to tackle water quality and raise awareness about stormwater and untreated sewage.
To be honest, stormwater is nothing new. Clean water and pollution is an issue everywhere I live whether it’s my small Michigan hometown or a big city such as Pittsburgh. However, stormwater is a much larger issue in a heavily populated area because of the greater number of cars and residents and the resulting contaminants. I see evidence of rainwater overflow every time it downpours in my neighborhood. Water bubbles up through storm drains along the road, gushes into ditches and runs across concrete where it will pick up more oil and dirt. Eventually, the filthy mess runs directly into a waterway or is absorbed by the ground and potentially enters ground water. I cringe just thinking about all of the contaminants that might make their way into my glass. At home in Michigan, my parents have a well. We drink water that comes directly from ground water, which is fresh and clean. In Pittsburgh, though, I am not as lucky. Considering that I live within the city limits, I wouldn’t dare drink water from a well because I worry about all of the pollution. Instead, I rely on the Pittsburgh Water & Sewer Authority to deliver treated water from the Allegheny River to my tap.
The trouble is, people rely on the city to clean their water when in fact people can provide clean water for themselves by paying more attention to how they lives their lives. Any time that we allow contaminants such as oils, chemicals, fertilizers, human or pet waste to mix with rain or ground water we are harming ourselves.
As part of their mission, the 3 Rivers program raises awareness regarding how homeowners can do their part to tackle this issue of clean water. Some recommendations include the following:
1. Limit use of herbicides, pesticides and fertilizers.
2. Mow lawns no lower than 3” inches in height to slow runoff.
3. Increase amount of nearby vegetation to absorb as much rainfall as possible and reduce stormwater runoff.
4. Install rain barrels beneath gutters to collect runoff from roof tops. (Reuse water on house and lawn plants.)
5. Keep up with vehicle maintenance to prevent leaks and reduce oil use.
6. Never dump chemicals on the ground or into a storm drain as they may enter waterways.
7. Wash cars on gravel, grass or dirt so that the ground will absorb the dirty water and filter it naturally.
8. Pick up pet waste.
There are countless other recommendations, but you get the picture. The basic idea is to prevent anything that has the potential to pollute water from entering our waterways. A non-profit environmental group in my hometown, Tip of the Mitt Watershed Council, went so far as to teach area businesses how to plant rain gardens to absorb stormwater. These gardens are a depression filled with plants—preferably native plants that are more resistant to weather-related stress—that collect rainwater runoff from roofs, driveways, sidewalks and other impermeable surfaces, thereby preventing stormwater from flowing directly into lakes or streams.
Obviously, stormwater affects me directly. When neighboring families spread fertilizer across their lawn to keep the grass nice and green or hose down their concrete steps to wash away accumulated dirt, these mindless acts increase the amount of contaminants entering storm drains and therefore my drinking water. I could confront my neighbors to explain that what they are doing is actually harming the water supply, but I don’t. I would much rather let a knowledgeable professional from a local environmental organization do it. So in that sense I am part of the water quality problem. I am also a culprit because whether or not I raise awareness about water quality, I am a source of pollution not matter how environmentally friendly I try to be. Since I live in an apartment, I may not have a yard to fertilize, but I still own a car and create waste. How I can help, though, is to keep my car maintained (which I do) and be a responsible citizen who does not litter or dump chemicals on the ground. I just wish other people would do the same because when I fill my cup before mealtime I want the water to be crystal clear and healthy, sans oil, dirt and pet waste.
To be honest, stormwater is nothing new. Clean water and pollution is an issue everywhere I live whether it’s my small Michigan hometown or a big city such as Pittsburgh. However, stormwater is a much larger issue in a heavily populated area because of the greater number of cars and residents and the resulting contaminants. I see evidence of rainwater overflow every time it downpours in my neighborhood. Water bubbles up through storm drains along the road, gushes into ditches and runs across concrete where it will pick up more oil and dirt. Eventually, the filthy mess runs directly into a waterway or is absorbed by the ground and potentially enters ground water. I cringe just thinking about all of the contaminants that might make their way into my glass. At home in Michigan, my parents have a well. We drink water that comes directly from ground water, which is fresh and clean. In Pittsburgh, though, I am not as lucky. Considering that I live within the city limits, I wouldn’t dare drink water from a well because I worry about all of the pollution. Instead, I rely on the Pittsburgh Water & Sewer Authority to deliver treated water from the Allegheny River to my tap.
The trouble is, people rely on the city to clean their water when in fact people can provide clean water for themselves by paying more attention to how they lives their lives. Any time that we allow contaminants such as oils, chemicals, fertilizers, human or pet waste to mix with rain or ground water we are harming ourselves.
As part of their mission, the 3 Rivers program raises awareness regarding how homeowners can do their part to tackle this issue of clean water. Some recommendations include the following:
1. Limit use of herbicides, pesticides and fertilizers.
2. Mow lawns no lower than 3” inches in height to slow runoff.
3. Increase amount of nearby vegetation to absorb as much rainfall as possible and reduce stormwater runoff.
4. Install rain barrels beneath gutters to collect runoff from roof tops. (Reuse water on house and lawn plants.)
5. Keep up with vehicle maintenance to prevent leaks and reduce oil use.
6. Never dump chemicals on the ground or into a storm drain as they may enter waterways.
7. Wash cars on gravel, grass or dirt so that the ground will absorb the dirty water and filter it naturally.
8. Pick up pet waste.
There are countless other recommendations, but you get the picture. The basic idea is to prevent anything that has the potential to pollute water from entering our waterways. A non-profit environmental group in my hometown, Tip of the Mitt Watershed Council, went so far as to teach area businesses how to plant rain gardens to absorb stormwater. These gardens are a depression filled with plants—preferably native plants that are more resistant to weather-related stress—that collect rainwater runoff from roofs, driveways, sidewalks and other impermeable surfaces, thereby preventing stormwater from flowing directly into lakes or streams.
Obviously, stormwater affects me directly. When neighboring families spread fertilizer across their lawn to keep the grass nice and green or hose down their concrete steps to wash away accumulated dirt, these mindless acts increase the amount of contaminants entering storm drains and therefore my drinking water. I could confront my neighbors to explain that what they are doing is actually harming the water supply, but I don’t. I would much rather let a knowledgeable professional from a local environmental organization do it. So in that sense I am part of the water quality problem. I am also a culprit because whether or not I raise awareness about water quality, I am a source of pollution not matter how environmentally friendly I try to be. Since I live in an apartment, I may not have a yard to fertilize, but I still own a car and create waste. How I can help, though, is to keep my car maintained (which I do) and be a responsible citizen who does not litter or dump chemicals on the ground. I just wish other people would do the same because when I fill my cup before mealtime I want the water to be crystal clear and healthy, sans oil, dirt and pet waste.
Place 9: Soon to Become One Giant Ice Cube
2 p.m. Thursday, Oct. 5
Chatham’s pond water is the clearest I’ve ever seen. I can see straight through to the bottom coated with a mixture of muddy leaves and silt. Although leaves still float on the water’s surface, many have settled, becoming waterlogged and sinking. They form a thick layer at the pond’s edge, shelf-like and seemingly strong enough to support four sleeping mallards that are really floating on the water rather than standing. When sunlight shines through the maple tree, light glistens brilliantly off still water and golden leaves, which have weakened in color during the past week. For a moment, the leaves glow richly as if they never faded. If the water froze overnight, the color might be preserved temporarily and I could enjoy them throughout the winter.
I wait for the day when the pond freezes creating one giant slab of ice. Leaves are incredibly durable and will easily survive the winter, remaining intact. When the water freezes with leaves inside, I expect it will look just like a fake ice cube a neighbor once slipped into my drink when I was thirteen. During the middle of taking a sip of water, I peered down into my glass and saw a honey bee staring up at me. Of course, I shrieked, believing that a bee landed in my drink and might sting my lip any moment. But in fact it was a fake insect trapped inside a plastic ice cube. Obviously, a pond is much larger and more irregularly shaped than an ice cube, but similar nonetheless. I picture the pond’s surface rock hard and smooth like crystal, leaves temporarily distended a few inches below the surface for decoration.
The ducks finally notice my presence. They yawn with beaks open wide and stretch their wings like a child reaching arms high overhead after a long nap. This weather seems to agree with them: 40 degrees, partly cloudy sky and a brisk breeze. Wasting no time, they swim laps around the pond, pushing their bobbing bodies through thinning leaves.
Clouds drift and sunrays disappear leaving me in shadow. I miss the sun’s warm rays and shiver. I’m glad that I wore thin gloves today and a light wool coat. Before, I envied the ducks for the pleasure they take in swimming, but now I’m glad to stay where I am standing on the grass beneath the tree, dry from head to toe.
I look up. Nearly naked now, the maple tree looks cold to me. Most leaves have fallen, but a few green clumps tinged with yellow hold tight. To see a tree half naked except for a few healthy green sections reminds me of a middle-aged balding man; little if any hair on top, thinning on the sides and thick on the bottom. And, like some men who can’t accept their increasing baldness, the thick sections grow long and “luxurious,” such as a lower branch overhanging the pond, the very tip nearly brushing the water. Ridiculous as it looks, I’m glad the tree hasn’t lost all of its leaves because it won’t be long until everything green will disappear until spring.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Response 8: Landscape and language
In her book, The Solace of Open Spaces, Gretel Ehrlich makes it very difficult to distinguish between nature and culture. Ehrlich describes the landscape as so much a part of westerners’ lives in a way that suggests that ranchers, cowboys and sheepherders would lose their identities if they lost their land. One of the most apparent affects the nature has on western culture is in the way the landscape affects language. Because the landscape is so vast and people so few, Ehrlich explains how and why ranchers, cowboys, sheepherders and other residents are so scattered. As a result of their solitary lives, they spend more time with animals than humans and speak very little.
After reading the first few chapters of her book, I realized that Ehrlich’s own voice—despite being an “outsider” from New York—had also been affected by the Wyoming landscape. Her writing style portrays a common characteristic of western speech: short-windedness. She writes matter-of-factly and does not waste words. Even though she fully describes settings and scenes in order to help the reader understand western life, Ehrlich is very direct. She does not embellish but provides just enough description to get the job done. For example, in the “From a Sheepherder’s Notebook” chapter, she ends with a scene between herself and John, the ranch foreman. She hints at the compassion John feels toward her as she arrives to the sheep’s summer range with cracked lips and a sunburned face. Ehrlich writes, “[John] turns away because something tender he doesn’t want me to see registers in his face,” and continues, “We stand facing each other, then embrace quickly. He holds me close, then pulls away briskly and scuffles the sandy dirt with his boot.” In both instances, Ehrlich states what happened but does not expand to describe her internal thoughts. She could have mentioned how happy or relieved she felt to see John again, or interpreted John’s feelings toward her for the reader. Instead she allows a simple statement to express the friendship and compassion she and John share. As a reader I did not feel as if I lacked detail, which I think is Ehrlich’s intention; to portray the western attitude through her own speech affected by the years she spent in Wyoming. Several chapters later, in “On Water” Ehrlich identifies this short-windedness by comparing speech to water when she writes, “Cowboys have learned not to waste words from not having wasted water, as if verbosity would create a thirst too extreme to bear.” For me, this sentence summed up the western way of speech.
The effect Wyoming’s landscape had on residents’ way of speaking makes perfect sense to me because it reminds me of the way the land in my hometown affect people’s attitudes. Since I am originally from a rural area, I can identify with a simpler lifestyle. Petoskey, my Michigan hometown, has always been surrounded by farmland and woodlands. There are no shopping malls or night clubs. For evening entertainment friends spend their time at bars and families at high school basketball or football games. A large percentage of the population participates in recreational activities such as boating, swimming or downhill skiing for the obvious fact that there aren’t many other options. Because family-friendly activities are very popular, townspeople have created a close-knit community based on friendliness. Complete strangers smile to each other on the street or help each other when in need. I remember one winter when my car slid off the icy road into a snow bank. Two men passed me in a car and stopped. Without asking whether I needed help, they grabbed a spade from their trunk and immediately began shoveling snow away from my tires. One of the men wasn’t wearing gloves despite the twenty-degree weather, so I lent him my own mittens. He wore them gladly. As soon as the two men finished, they rushed back into their car. I managed to call a quick “thank you” after them before they drove away. I never saw them again.
Of course, Northern Michigan has a completely different landscape than Wyoming. And even though Petoskey has a small population of about 6,500 people, Wyoming has significantly fewer. But, what Petoskey and Ehrlich’s Wyoming has in common is a landscape that contains more nature elements than buildings or people. As a result, people do tend to enjoy the simpler aspects of life because they have fewer distractions such as overcrowded shopping malls, extensive freeway systems, and human noise. Without these distractions, I am able to enjoy views of forests and open water, wildflowers such as white trilliums and lady slippers, wildlife such as white-tailed deer, wild turkeys and loons. Overall, the effect it has on me is that it creates a sense of peace within myself and I feel much calmer and more likely to smile to a stranger I pass on the sidewalk.
After reading the first few chapters of her book, I realized that Ehrlich’s own voice—despite being an “outsider” from New York—had also been affected by the Wyoming landscape. Her writing style portrays a common characteristic of western speech: short-windedness. She writes matter-of-factly and does not waste words. Even though she fully describes settings and scenes in order to help the reader understand western life, Ehrlich is very direct. She does not embellish but provides just enough description to get the job done. For example, in the “From a Sheepherder’s Notebook” chapter, she ends with a scene between herself and John, the ranch foreman. She hints at the compassion John feels toward her as she arrives to the sheep’s summer range with cracked lips and a sunburned face. Ehrlich writes, “[John] turns away because something tender he doesn’t want me to see registers in his face,” and continues, “We stand facing each other, then embrace quickly. He holds me close, then pulls away briskly and scuffles the sandy dirt with his boot.” In both instances, Ehrlich states what happened but does not expand to describe her internal thoughts. She could have mentioned how happy or relieved she felt to see John again, or interpreted John’s feelings toward her for the reader. Instead she allows a simple statement to express the friendship and compassion she and John share. As a reader I did not feel as if I lacked detail, which I think is Ehrlich’s intention; to portray the western attitude through her own speech affected by the years she spent in Wyoming. Several chapters later, in “On Water” Ehrlich identifies this short-windedness by comparing speech to water when she writes, “Cowboys have learned not to waste words from not having wasted water, as if verbosity would create a thirst too extreme to bear.” For me, this sentence summed up the western way of speech.
The effect Wyoming’s landscape had on residents’ way of speaking makes perfect sense to me because it reminds me of the way the land in my hometown affect people’s attitudes. Since I am originally from a rural area, I can identify with a simpler lifestyle. Petoskey, my Michigan hometown, has always been surrounded by farmland and woodlands. There are no shopping malls or night clubs. For evening entertainment friends spend their time at bars and families at high school basketball or football games. A large percentage of the population participates in recreational activities such as boating, swimming or downhill skiing for the obvious fact that there aren’t many other options. Because family-friendly activities are very popular, townspeople have created a close-knit community based on friendliness. Complete strangers smile to each other on the street or help each other when in need. I remember one winter when my car slid off the icy road into a snow bank. Two men passed me in a car and stopped. Without asking whether I needed help, they grabbed a spade from their trunk and immediately began shoveling snow away from my tires. One of the men wasn’t wearing gloves despite the twenty-degree weather, so I lent him my own mittens. He wore them gladly. As soon as the two men finished, they rushed back into their car. I managed to call a quick “thank you” after them before they drove away. I never saw them again.
Of course, Northern Michigan has a completely different landscape than Wyoming. And even though Petoskey has a small population of about 6,500 people, Wyoming has significantly fewer. But, what Petoskey and Ehrlich’s Wyoming has in common is a landscape that contains more nature elements than buildings or people. As a result, people do tend to enjoy the simpler aspects of life because they have fewer distractions such as overcrowded shopping malls, extensive freeway systems, and human noise. Without these distractions, I am able to enjoy views of forests and open water, wildflowers such as white trilliums and lady slippers, wildlife such as white-tailed deer, wild turkeys and loons. Overall, the effect it has on me is that it creates a sense of peace within myself and I feel much calmer and more likely to smile to a stranger I pass on the sidewalk.
Place 8: Mallards, for now
2:15 p.m. Thursday, Oct. 29
The mallard pair is back. Although I’m not surprised to see them, I’m glad they’ve returned. Thankfully, I remembered my camera this week and immediately walked toward the pair resting undisturbed at the pond’s edge. Both have tucked their beaks deep into feathers. I crouch down, camera poised and ready, but I moved to quickly. Startled by my sudden presence, the mallards swim away, their feet paddling in sync with my camera’s click click. Unfortunately, mallards are camera shy—or at least that’s what I tell myself. But considering that the pond is approximately 22 yards long and 7 yards wide, they can’t swim far. After following the pair for another minute I let them be and return to my usual spot by the bench beneath the maple tree.
My so-called feathery friends are less tolerant of my presence today. Ever since my sudden urge to become a photographer they have remained on the opposite side of the pond near the deep end beyond the water fountain. During previous weeks, they would swim along the shallow end near my bench. Yet I suppose “my half” is no longer suitable for swimming seeing as how all the leaves have drifted to that end. Primarily yellow and light brown in color—with a few red and orange ones interspersed—the densely packed leaves cover the water in a way that resembles one of my grandmother’s tightly sewn quilts. Golden fabric sparkled with red so thick that I cannot see the goldfish beneath. Toward the pond’s middle section the quilt gradually unravels until no leaves remain. Just clear water.
Any ducks I have ever encountered prefer open water. Two winters ago I was driving through Boyne City, a small Northern Michigan town, when I passed a flock of mallards taking advantage of the only open water available: a large, shallow ditch located between an icy parking lot and a two-lane road. Dozens if not one hundred mallards flooded to this frigid paradise as we northerners would head to Florida during a ten-degree blizzard. They swam between snowy sections in clear, cold water and waddled along the ice that was still intact.
Never before had I seen such a large concentration of ducks and stopped to take a picture. I watched them for several minutes and marveled at the fact that so many ducks could be so quiet. And suddenly they left, splitting themselves into three groups. When each group left, their madly flapping wings filled the air about ten feet off the ground forming a mid-air collage of green, grey, brown and orange. For a moment, they struggled and I wondered if they could fly without a running or swimming start. But soon they gained momentum, pointed their beaks straight for Lake Charlevoix across the road from the parking lot and flew away.
Every time I see a mallard I think of that day in Boyne City, and I doubt I will see another flock of ducks as impressive. I also doubt that ducks will remain at Chatham pond throughout the winter. Even though mallards can withstand cold climates and spend their winters north rather than always migrate south, they must have open water. Considering the shallow depth of Chatham pond, I expect the water will freeze early in the winter forcing the mallards to search elsewhere for food. For now, though, I continue to enjoy their presence.
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