Hmm – who was celebrating and presented with a cake with all those candles?
Well, we know former President Jimmy Carter reached the century mark on October 1st, but no, it wasn’t him.
Nor was it Dick Van Dyke, who is now 99 and pushing 100. (Pardon me, but I thought he had passed away and I only learned he was alive because the national news reported he, his wife and pets evacuated their Malibu home because of the ongoing Franklin Fire – oops.)
It must’ve been someone special.
Well, thank you for BEARING with me as I teased this out a bit. Now I’ll share who turned the big 8-0 this year.
It was Smokey the Bear.
Smokey is all over social media and I’ve followed him since he was mentioned on the National Park Service site on Twitter/X, so a few of the photos that pepper this post are from his official X site. Here is Smokey asking for “likes” on X for his August 9th birthday.
Lest you think Smokey is just a cartoon-like figure who does PSAs, this national mascot for fire prevention WAS a real bear. The name “Smokey Bear” (minus the word “the”) originated from an orphaned bear cub with badly burned paws and hind legs which firefighters found in a charred tree during a raging New Mexico wildfire in the Spring of 1950. They feared the cub’s mother had died in the fire and a kindly rancher/member of the fire crew took the cub home to care for him. But a New Mexico Department of Game and Fish ranger ultimately sent the cub to Santa Fe to have the burns taken care of. Smokey Bear’s recovery and media coverage gave him instant celebrity status (yes, similar to “going viral” nowadays) and Smokey became a wildfire prevention mascot and living legend for the wildlife prevention campaign begun in 1944. If you would like to read more about the history of Smokey the Bear and see photos of the original Smokey and also Smokey II from the official Smokey Bear website, just click here.
Along the way, Smokey Bear became Smokey the Bear, but his official name was/is Smokey Bear.
To commemorate the big bruin’s birthday event, I participated virtually in the Smokey Bear 5K Run/Walk held on September 28, 2024 at Bass Lake, California. Proceeds from registration fees and donations benefited the local community, notably CAL FIRE and USFS Fire Prevention Programs. This was the 37th year of the event, but this was the first year it was opened to virtual participants to honor Smokey, so I was fired up, (pardon the pun), to participate.
My swag was a nice, long-sleeved tee-shirt and my bib number.
Here is a quick peek at the event. There was a professional photographer that took photos of every participant and posted them on his website, without any licensing restrictions, so people could have a free image as a memento of the event.
If you see or read the national news or follow social media, you are well aware of how many wildfires CAL FIRE firefighters/first responders battle each year in California. The ongoing Franklin Fire is a perfect example of the devastation to trees, wildlife and homes.
While you may think I only have an affinity for squirrels and birds, I also like bears, um … the stuffed, roly-poly kind with sweet smiles. In fact, my Christmas post next week will be all about teddy bears, but I digress.
Smokey Bear a/k/a Smokey the Bear.
I’ll bet you were introduced to Smokey the Bear when you were very young. And, chances are you learned about his campaign to end forest fires from TV and magazine ads. I remember a fireman or maybe our City’s fire marshal coming to my elementary school to impress us with stats about just how devastating a forest fire could be. He probably brought along a Smokey Bear stuffed animal to make a point.
You’ve probably heard Smokey Bear’s booming voice: “only YOU can prevent forest fires” so I was impressed by this factoid: in 2022, 87% of wildfires were caused by humans. I truly thought most of the wildfires had natural origins, like severe drought conditions or sparks from lightning, more than someone carelessly leaving a campfire unattended or still smoldering.
And, if you have never heard Smokey Bear’s wise words, you’ve surely seen some posters throughout the years. Like this early poster of Smokey dousing a fire.
I like this poster of Smokey surrounded by forest critters.
As of Thursday, 4,000 acres had burned and only 20 percent contained in the Franklin Fire in Malibu – this was a photo I saw from CAL FIRE on Twitter/X – pretty horrendous isn’t it?! (It is still only 28% contained as of Saturday evening.)
What venue did I choose for MY virtual 5K?
For all the other virtual 5Ks I participate in, I generally choose the same site as the actual race, just the day before/after. So, Bass Lake in California looks like a beautiful place for a Run/Walk event but much closer to home, I chose a waterfront venue too, lovely Elizabeth Park in Trenton for my walk.
Unlike most excursions to Elizabeth Park where I’m sure to find many Mallards or Canada Geese gathering along the Canal, there were very few waterfowl and the ducks I saw were snoozing away, head under one wing, likely the casualties of the tail end of their annual molt. As I strolled the Boardwalk along the Detroit River, I couldn’t even scare up a Ring-billed Seagull and even the rotund Groundhog who pops out of his burrow to beg for treats was MIA.
So I focused on “critterless” things as I strolled along the Boardwalk that day …
The Gordie Howe International Bridge and the blue sky marred by industrial smoke – ugh.
Not the most-comfy perch from which to fish, but hey … no one was crowding him.
A Phragmities reed growing along the shoreline inside a rock.
Wherever there is a railing, you will see graffiti – in this case etchings into the metal.
“Jessica M” is a recent entry on the railing.
More scribbles and scrawls along the railing.
Up close, the railing has imperfections; people pose for big events on this bridge.
The railing’s shadows make fun lines and circles.
I didn’t even see a squirrel, odd because this park is full of them, although they don’t beg like the squirrels at Council Point Park. But some kind soul is looking out for the squirrels at this venue by putting cocktail peanuts into this hidey hole in the tree.
I thought of Terri, who enjoys stand-up paddleboarding, when I saw these women.
In the blink of an eye, stand-up paddleboarder #1 was almost out of my sight.
Paddling down the middle of the Canal.
Who could ask for more … my favorite season, plus a perfect weather day, the kind I already miss as we just got out of the deep freeze – ugh.
I have always been envious of families that have holiday traditions, many which have been passed down through the years from generation to generation, but, for me, what few Christmas traditions once existed, just like family members, they have dwindled down to zero.
Experts say that we really have no recall of events before the ages of three or four years old and sometimes even no earlier than seven years old. This is because our brains and memory capabilities don’t mature until age seven.
But, what if we argue that we ARE able to recall those joyous events like sitting on Santa’s lap and whispering in his ear about all the gifts we want him to bring, or the joy of unwrapping that doll or train set on Christmas morning (see Santa DID listen)?
Those party pooper researchers suggest that instead, what we really remember, is merely the old photos in the family album or memories from stories recounted through the years by family members.
I DO remember waking up on Christmas morning, then, still in my PJs, creeping down to the foot of my bed where my Christmas stocking awaited me to tear into it. My parents told me on Christmas Eve that after Santa finished off the milk and cookies we left for him, he put the presents under the tree and left my stocking at the end of my bed for me to explore while Mommy and Daddy slept in on Christmas morning. (A subtle hint … yes, even then I “got” it.)
Happily, I drifted off to sleep dreaming of what Santa would bring and in the morning, as I investigated my booty of goodies, there were the inevitable squeals of joy, thus waking up Mommy and Daddy so we all ended up getting up at the crack of dawn. I DO remember the stocking, filled with books, small games, knitted clothes for my dollies, and the perpetual big orange in the toe since Mom said when she was young “oranges were dear and considered a treat.”
I don’t have pictures taken with any of my Christmas stockings, but I vividly recall images of Christmas morning in my room.
I’m happy that I spent Thanksgiving weekend 2017 digitizing all the family photo albums and scrapbooks. Now a trip down Memory Lane awaits me with just a few mouse clicks, which allows those memories to come back to life when I am retelling them here in my blog.
Terri’s Challenge this week, like last week, is the topic of “Traditions” and even though I’ve shared some of these Christmas memories through the years in this blog, I thought I’d do a collection of vignettes from past Christmases for today’s post.
Visiting the Jolly Old Elf.
The family album is chock full of photos of me, beginning with the day I came home from the hospital, a treasure trove of images from black-and-white to Kodachrome.
This is my first visit with Santa – I was eight months old.
Yes, I was way too young to whisper my list of “wants” into Ol’ Santa’s ear, so it looks like it was just a photo op that time.
It would be 29 years (1985) before I would have my picture taken with Santa Claus again. We made a surprise trip to my grandmother’s house for Christmas 1985 and on Christmas Eve a neighbor and his son, dressed like Santa and an elf, respectively, came to visit. I got kissed under the mistletoe and my grandmother (“Nanny”) posed with Santa.
Once I was old enough to make a list for Santa, I was given the Eaton’s Christmas catalog and told to pick out two items that I wanted. Yes, I was an only child – no, I was not spoiled. But only two items – really!? The game plan was one item would be bought by my parents; the other by my maternal grandparents. This was long before we had “sticky notes” and I know I studied that catalog and dog-eared the pages to winnow down my final two “wants” so Mom could help me write a letter to Santa.
Then, as Christmas neared, there was a trip to downtown Toronto to watch the Santa Claus Parade, then to see the holiday-inspired store windows with their animated displays in Eaton’s and Simpsons Department stores. We would have lunch, then I queued up with all the other kids at Eaton’s Toyland to visit Santa. I was eager to see the Jolly Old Elf to ensure he matched my face to the letter sent to him earlier.
Here I am waiting for Santa in his chair while he was on a break (hope he didn’t mind me taking liberties).
“O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree”
Over the years friends and/or coworkers and their families went to the tree farm to pick the perfect Christmas tree. Back in those days, they made a day of it, packing a lunch and thermoses of coffee and cocoa. They took along an axe or two and hauled their prize tree to the car and strapped it on top to head home. These fun family photos at the tree farm often became the annual Christmas card, long before posting a similar day’s event on social media.
Admittedly, it is difficult to have a tradition this fun when there are only three of you. Alas, our fir, pine or spruce tree was bought off a lot with not much fanfare. My parents decorated it and it remained bare beneath its branches until Santa’s arrival.
I recall how the scent of the tree filled the living room, but I also remember Mom complaining about the needles everywhere, or Dad grousing about filling the tree stand nightly. By Boxing Day, the tree, still with its clinging tinsel pieces was out at the end of the driveway for garbage pickup.
Baubles and baby dolls.
In the years that we had real trees, they seemed to grow bigger, just like me.
Back in the day, nothing was more fun than posing with your favorite new toy by the tree. This rocking horse was from my grandparents – it matched my bedroom suite, which I remember was gray with black speckles.
There was always a new doll to cuddle and coo over …
… and even a xylophone appeared under the tree one year. I’m sure my parents tired of hearing that noise pretty quickly. I DO remember this turquoise velvet dress in the above and below shots; my parents never used colored film until the mid-60s.
Soon those baby dolls became Barbie dolls and the “real deal” trees were no longer a mainstay of our holiday traditions.
My parents, although never enamored by current trends, bought an aluminum tree which was all the rage in the early 1960s. The popular look was rather stark … unicolor bulbs with a floodlight in the same color trained on the tree. Most trees sported green, red or blue bulb/light combos. There was nothing “Christmassy” nor traditional about aluminum trees.
This photo of Peppy and me was taken at Christmas 1965, the year before we moved to the States.
We gave the tree away before moving here and green artificial trees or ceramic trees became the norm after that.
Going to Grandma’s house.
It was the tradition, before we moved to the States, to go to my grandmother’s house for Christmas dinner. Nanny did not like cooking or baking, so my grandfather made all the meals. Most of the time we had ham.
Mmm good – Christmas goodies.
I could write endless paragraphs about Christmas cookies and treats through the years. I have already written a post before about Mom’s annual cookie-baking marathon; it is here.
Even though we were a small family, Mom started several weeks before Christmas with her holiday baking. The three of us each got two picks of favorite holiday goodies, plus Mom always baked more-traditional cookie must-haves like Scottish shortbread breakers and dainty shortbread butter cookies with a maraschino cherry on top. Mom baked mini tartlets filled with Damson Plum, Mincemeat and there were always family favorites, the Canadian-style butter tarts. The jars of None Such Mincemeat were infused with rum in mid-Summer and put into the fridge with a ratio of half-mincemeat filling and half rum. They were pretty potent by the time it was tart-making time. Just a whiff of the mincemeat tarts and you felt like you would keel over. Mom didn’t drink, but she sure did enjoy those tarts. 🙂
Mom’s motto about me was “once the baby of the household, always the baby” … so she always made candy cane cookies, beginning in kindergarten for my school chums until I was an adult. These cookies were a labor of love, braiding red dough and white dough and for which I heard for years that “my big mixing bowl is stained red from the red dye from YOUR candy cane cookies.” I finally bought her a new, large mixing bowl because of hearing that and handed it to her. Mom turned to me and said “I was kidding for goodness sake Linda!” That old mixing bowl exists, as does the big red stain.
For three weeks I’d come home from school (and later from work) and once changed from my work clothes, I looked forward to my plate of misfit cookies, i.e. the broken or misshapen ones. Such a deal! When I was older I told my mom that even if the cookies had no imperfections, it was her parental duty to break at least one or two from each batch just for me. Mom’s mission was to eat up the tart misfits and she was happy to do so.
After all the Christmas baking was done, Mom would put cookies on holiday paper plates and wrap them up with a note on top and when I got home I was the delivery girl – a plate to each of our elderly neighbors and also to the gas station owner who pumped our gas, cleaned the windshield and checked the oil (yes, long before self-serve). My father had friends at work, as did I, so cookies were piled on plates and taken in. The rest were for us – still plenty.
Many years later, my good friend Ann Marie is my treat angel, coming over to visit me every holiday, not just Christmas, bearing treats and always gifts. These were candy cane cookies from a few years ago, just the same as Mom made me for so many years.
We had another Christmas goodie tradition, a snack called “Nuts and Bolts” which was a variation of what most folks call “Chex Mix”. Mom made that mix up, a batch with a garlic seasoning for my father and another batch for Mom and me with just mild seasonings. We munched on “Nuts and Bolts” while watching Christmas specials. For many years, there was just one TV and I knew all about crooners like Perry Como and Andy Williams, everyone wearing ski sweaters with fake snow twinkling down in the background.
Holiday specials and music just for kiddos.
I’ve written before about the annual Christmas specials for kids and how I loved them.
My favorites were “Frosty the Snowman”, “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” and “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” … I knew the words by heart. I was too young for “A Charlie Brown Christmas” or for any of the Peanuts character specials. As a kid, when those holiday specials were on, it was the only time, except Halloween, if it fell on a weeknight, that we did not sit down to a home-cooked meal. We had something quick, maybe a Swanson’s TV dinner, so dinner was over quickly, I could be done with homework and ready to watch those holiday shows. Here I am sitting next to the old TV set.
When I got older and we got a VCR, I taped those shows and still watched them faithfully every year.
Mom even bought me the boxed set which I still have.
Along with the kiddies’ Christmas specials I watched as a youngster, I had a collection of the vinyl 45s of those shows, like a red record for “Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer”, a light blue one for “Frosty the Snowman”, a bright green one for “Jingle Bells” and a yellow one for “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus”. I wasn’t old enough to have my own record player, so Mom played them during the holiday season on their record player.
Deck the Halls.
Once upon a time, I spent the day after Thanksgiving decorating the entire house. Even though it is a small house, it took all day to put out the holiday knickknacks, baubles, bells, bows and get multiple trees up. We amassed a lot of country Christmas décor as we often went to craft shows. It’s a small house, so all the year-round knickknacks had to be tucked away in a safe place while the seasonal decorations were out. On New Year’s Day, it took another entire day to put everything away. I’m sorry to say I have not put up any Christmas decorations since 2008. I am putting up one tree this year and will be writing about it and maybe there will be more decorations next year.
From the time I was very young until I was an adult, I have embraced the holiday season, wearing Christmas-inspired jewelry and clothing to work. I decorated my office and brought in candy for every holiday and my mom and I made bags of holiday seasonal treats for all the staff members, usually cookies. Sometimes we bought the tall Voortman’s gingerbread men and bagged them up with a Christmas message or poem and I put them on their desks to be there when they arrived.
In forging new traditions, one year I bought two Lenox Winter Greetings mugs – Mom loved anything with cardinals. But, after washing them she said “they’re too pretty to use; they’ll get tea and coffee stains on them and I can’t put bleach in them.” So, we never used them. Every Christmas season I open the cupboard door over the fridge and look up at them, but alas, some things are better left as is and memories not stirred up.
I think back on those holiday traditions – fun on many levels, some simple holiday rituals or niceties, extending the love to those we cared about. But now, all of those people, just like those traditions, are long gone. I know one day I will have drained the memory well … in this forum anyway. The memories will continue to play in my mind and the images will remain physically stored on a flash drive. In a couple of weeks, I plan to dredge up another dear-to-me memory and will share it on the 22nd.
Terri’s Challenge this week continues the topic of “Traditions” but she had no planned post this week for me to share with you.
I shut my eyes and basked in the warmth of still another stellar Summer-like day. It was hard to believe it was October 24th! It felt good to relax and ponder about life with no interruptions.
My mate was near me, as we glided silently in the calm canal at beautiful Elizabeth Park.
Occasionally I glanced over at her thinking how blessed I was to have such a beautiful mate.
But soon that serene scene of matrimonial bliss was interrupted as we rounded the corner and saw the rest of the family – did they really think we’d escaped from them?
Oops, one is missing!
Okay, all present and accounted for. I call them my “Lucky Seven” – of course, next year it might be eight, or nine, or even more offspring. I’m sure glad I don’t have to feed them!
Now grown and hardly underfoot like they were when they were goslings, they often have a mind of their own, sparring with one another, bright pink tongues wagging or having a hissy fit, complete with some serious wing flapping. I mused to myself that I taught them well. My mate just shakes her head sometimes.
They saw us and quickly paddled over. Soon we would make the decision to either overwinter here at Elizabeth Park or join our brethren in a warmer clime. We stayed last year and Winter wasn’t half bad. With little snow, the grass was good grazing and some kind-hearted souls brought us corn and we’re always glad for that.
That pesky photographer always comes by to take pictures of us walking – we have a little staredown first. Then she starts clicking away, taking lots of pictures, but she never brings treats for us.
I think it is time to settle the score, don’t you? Poses for pictures = treats! Here I am giving her the evil eye!
Yep, two Canucks sizing one another up!
I heard that woman tell someone that she has already walked 1,185 miles this year. Heck I do that every year … and then some. Look at the big steps I take.
My webbed feet take a beating, but nothin’s gonna break my stride!
And don’t forget all the nautical miles I log. Don’t discount that because you don’t see Linda jumping in the Canal here do you? She gets a big goose egg for her swimming prowess, unlike me, or my mate!
Does she ever show you shots of her dipping her tootsies in the water like this?
Or this?
Well, I think not! Gimme a break Linda!
All that bragging about her miles walked at the end of the year and in between just gets my gander up!
Here is the Missus and I strutting our stuff – we have a yearly goal of steps, not miles, but I’m not sharing it. We will get there – no sweat. This year because of Leap Year we had an extra day, so we could slack off if we wanted to.
But nope, we didn’t because we will walk ‘til we drop. Here I am, posing for you after a long walk.
Oh, by the way, Linda has an annual tradition that she walks the same number of miles as the year. Huh? The year is in kilometers. Ya, I know, you are scratching your feathers figuring that out. You see, five years ago, a fellow Canuck blogger, Wayne of Tofino Photography, challenged Linda to walk 2,020 kilometers (1,255 miles) at the start of the brand-new decade 2020. Linda was aghast at the suggestion as she was used to just doing one piddling more mile walked than the previous year, but she rose to the challenge. Yes she did. So now it is the year 2024, so 2,024 kilometers = 1,257 miles. Will Linda get ‘er done this year? She has one month’s time to do so. Mother Nature must cooperate too. Linda can’t be a slacker. Stay tuned!
I hope you enjoyed this tongue-in-beak, er … tongue-in-cheek post. 😀
Even before the frost was on the pumpkin, I knew I should try to get a few more “Walktober” excursions under my belt. As you know, I really look forward to October, my favorite month of the year, with its sweater weather, the chill in the air so you see your breath in wispy spurts, leaves fluttering down, harvest décor to gawk at and even pumpkin-y treats if you’re so inclined.
Who knew that our October sweater weather would linger into mid-November? For me, an avid walker, the weather has been perfect!
I have visited my favorite large parks countless times from Spring through Fall, as well as one of my favorite small venues, the Emily Frank Gardens, where I don’t rack up a ton of steps, but instead merely gaze at the beauty, the result of a contingent of volunteers that work tirelessly over countless hours beginning in April. In the Summertime I stopped on a hot and humid day when the gardens were at peak and that will be a post for when we are immersed in frigid temps, snow and/or ice with persistent gray skies – ugh!
This short meander at Emily Frank Gardens was sandwiched in between a long morning jaunt at Council Point Park to feed my furry and feathered friends, who welcomed peanuts and sunflower seeds to add to their cache and an afternoon watercolor painting class.
Even though this excursion to Emily Frank Gardens was taken on October 9th, the blooms on all the plants were still gorgeous, inviting the likes of bees …
… and even a Painted Lady butterfly.
I could have even parked my butt on the Monarch butterfly bench as it was unoccupied. Often people pose on the bench with the breathtaking blooms in the background.
I was the only visitor there which surprised me as MIA were any of the dozen or so volunteers who are usually busy weeding, deadheading, harvesting produce from the gardens, (which bounty goes to feed the hungry at various local food pantries), or maintaining the Koi pond. There were no heavy garden hoses to step over. It was just me, free to wander and take in the beauty and check out the harvest décor.
Shades of orange and yellow ruled.
There were Sunflowers nodding their heads high above me …
… while Marigolds were vibrant and blooming profusely.
A few pumpkins were placed around the gardens for a Fall vibe …
… including this pumpkin head that added a touch of whimsy as it “gazed” over the garden area.
The big ol’ red barn, the site of various craft shows was flaunting a Fall feel …
… along with this smiling fellow, maybe the guardian of the gate?
After my walkaround and taking a ton of photos, I hurried off to my two-hour watercolor class where our trio of wannabee painters each created this still life painting which you see below.
Terri has no new Challenge this week, but instead extends her Sunday Stills Photo Color Challenge: Auburn or Brown another week due to the Thanksgiving Day holiday. Terri is on a short blogging break, so no post to include here.
It has been a spectacular year for tipping your head back and looking toward the Heavens. Mere stargazing at the night sky simply paled in comparison to the treats our eyes have feasted on in 2024. We have had four consecutive Supermoons, including the recent Beaver Moon, which rose on November 15th. With binoculars, or even the naked eye, we were able to see Comet A3, the brightest comet in 27 years, which graced our skies in October. All around the world folks shared photos and were in awe as they witnessed the Aurora, not just once, but on multiple occasions.
We certainly can’t forget the hoopla surrounding the April 8th Solar Eclipse which crossed over North America, leaving us enthralled. Here in SE Michigan we had a partial eclipse, except for the tiny town of Estral Beach that experienced totality that day.
The word “eclipse” is more than a definition about a celestial body, or one person or object “besting” another. Today’s post is going to be about a not-so-ducky time for all Mallard Ducks (and other species of ducks) during their annual molt.
So I’m going to focus on these brown-colored Mallards, but there are always other things to see at Heritage Park, as you know.
Looking drab and feeling bad(ly)!
As to Mallards, “eclipse phase” is a phrase meaning the Drake (male) Mallards lose their familiar-to-us plumage, like the teal-colored head feathers, chocolate-brown breast feathers and other distinctive markings, when, for a one-month period, they have all-brown plumage, thus resembling the Hens (females). This process of drabness (“eclipse”) happens at Summer’s end once the breeding period is over. Gradually, the Drakes’ more-familiar plumage returns and once again they are not only distinguished looking, but distinguishable from the Hens.
But, in the interim, losing their feathers zaps their energy and they feel and look lackluster – there’s a lot of snoozin’ going on, like this guy, who sleepily watched me, then couldn’t keep his eyes open. This is a Mallard Drake – you can see a little bit of its teal head feathers returning.
And, at all the parks I frequent, during molting, it looks like a feather pillow fight erupted.
On this walk, which took place at Heritage Park, it was September 1st, the Sunday of Labor Day weekend. It was a gorgeous day, sunny and bright, when I set out on my stroll around Coan Lake. I had already been to Council Point Park earlier that day, getting in some steps, so this was more of a photo excursion.
I always take a quick gander for possible photo ops.
A gaggle of Canada geese had congregated at the water’s edge.
They were all stirred up about something, emitting honks amongst themselves. There are many geese at this park and they just meander around, only becoming fitful when their goslings are in tow and they deem you a threat. The rest of the time, they’re okay with humans, so what set them off?
I knew I hadn’t stirred them up as I had just arrived, but I was greeted with flapping wings by this fellow a few times. Here he is with both a calm and mean demeanor. A regular Dr. Jekyll …
… and Mr. Hyde persona.
In between posing for me, he was busy wagging that bright-pink tongue.
There was a lot of attitude going on, not only with the usual wagging pink tongue and hissing histrionics, but it was “goosing” the others, by running into them full force with its bill. It looked at me in a menacing way and for a moment there I thought “what … am I your next victim?”
I, however, thought this gander lost its credibility after the goosing incident left it with a feather on its bill after the last jabbing, … er goosing.
This aggressive gander finally succeeded in running half the park’s geese population into Coan Lake. I thought “alright then, whatever floats your boat buddy.” Note the open beak on him as the one goose takes flight.
But a few minutes later, as I neared the grassy slopes at Coan Lake and the covered bridge, I finally had some insight into why the geese were agitated.
Please don’t feed the critters.
For years there was a gentleman who visited Coan Lake daily with two large sacks of cracked corn. The ducks would see him approach and gather around him and he would throw out handfuls of corn which they instantly gobbled up. But the man and his generous feeding ritual are long gone as this park now prohibits feeding the wildlife.
But, on this day, there was a man and woman with two kids. I’m assuming these were the parents and they were toting a couple of bags of bread chunks which they portioned out to the kids to toss to the ducks. I’m also assuming they similarly tried feeding the geese and likely had a stampede of geese coming toward them, so they quickly moved along the grassy shoreline to the more sedate Mallards.
Feeding the ducks – what could go wrong?
If you’re going to feed the masses, you have to bring enough for all of them. The Mallards that were paddling in the water saw food opportunities and rushed onto the grassy slope to partake in the yeasty treats. Soon the shoreline was swarming with ducks. The kids were delighted … that is until they ran out of bread and those ducks that were denied treats waddled over even closer to them.
I watched with interest through the camera, all the while clicking away.
The parents were nowhere to be found.
The kids stood there wondering what to do? They probably thought “ did mom and dad go to get more bread?”
Meanwhile, the ducks were similarly wondering what to do? “Do we hang out and wait? Or do we go back into the water?”
We’re not ducking outta here – yet!
Well, the ducks stood their ground, awaiting treats. This gave me a great view and the perfect opportunity to show you how these ducks are still either molting and awaiting their new feathers, or some were in transition to final plumage. You will notice that all the Mallards are brown, with the exception of a few. You see both males and females with their conspicuous blue-colored speculum feathers which identifies them as Mallards. Additionally, some of the Mallards could be immature/juveniles so they are brown feathered, as the males don’t get the bright green iridescent head feathers until they are about ten months old.
It was nice being surrounded by so many ducks, except some were scoping ME out as a potential benefactor.
“Nope, not going to happen – sorry” I told them.
The few Mallards that chomped on tidbits were thirsty and quenched their thirst in a feather-filled puddle.
Herding ducks – well that’s a first for this venue.
I got a lot of photos and was about to move on when the girl loudly announced that she was going to make all the ducks go into the water, then proceeded to chase them.
Poor babies … some lured out of the water for an anticipated treat, then being chased back into Coan Lake, tummies still growling. Yes, they waddled quickly, some even taking to the air, probably to avoid being stomped on as the youngster ran along the grassy slope attempting to shoo them into the water.
Well, it worked for some of them who beat a hasty retreat …
… while others, a wee bit conflicted, merely veered toward the water, obediently following her, still wondering if there would be more treats?
Some ducks, with a mind of their own, weren’t keen on playing “follow the leader” with another species, so they headed back to the walking path, under a big tree and close to me.
Finally the kids’ parents appeared on the scene (with no bread); the kids ran over to them and about 50 Mallards were left scratching their brown-feathered heads wondering what the heck just happened here. I similarly was wondering. 🙂
So would there be a third oddball occurrence?
I walked the long way to the Botanical Gardens, hoping for a hummingbird to happen by. But nope, no flowers enticed them, nor the butterflies or bees either. I did see a Goldfinch nibbling on a yellow flower – I don’t know if it was a female or a male as they similarly molt that time of year.
The Botanical Gardens had blooms aplenty – who knew that they would be blooming for another ten weeks as we’ve yet to have a hard freeze? Perennials and annuals here in SE Michigan still look great.
It was Labor Day weekend, the unofficial end to Summer …
… and a long, hot Summer at that. Maggie’s Sweet Shop was closed, but her ice cream “menu” and sign were still there.
Linda Schaub
WALKIN', WRITIN', WIT & WHIMSY 