Snow Geese – Photo by L. Weikel

A Treat                       

Karl and I ran out to the library today.

As we drove, we both commented on how weird the sky was. No clouds were visible, yet there was an overcast hovering. It almost felt as though a blanket was smothering the light.

Without any discernible cause, the whole tone of light shifted several times over the course of an hour or so from a pale yellow cast over everything to a blue-gray hue. These shifts occurred all at once, suddenly, almost as if some Being were applying a filter to the lens through which we were being viewed. Neither filter fostered comfortable feelings, I can tell you that.

We’d contemplated making a couple other stops while we were out. But as we drove toward home, we both broke our otherwise silent musings, suggesting to each other that we didn’t really need what we’d thought we’d stop for anyway…let’s just get home.

Perhaps it was the impending cold front barreling toward us. Maybe we sensed the approaching change in air pressure or the high winds they’re warning may topple trees or snap limbs.

As we headed east, toward the Tohickon Creek, I spotted a lone Canadian goose hanging out at the edge of a fallow field on my left. Just as I started to comment on the ‘lost goose,’ adrift from its flock, the next field came into view.

It was filled with white birds. Good sized ones, too. Not as big as swans. Not as big, even, as the bereft looking Canadian goose we’d just passed. But bigger than ducks.

“Look over here,” I said to Karl, slowing down so we could get a good look. “They don’t look like anything I’ve ever seen before.”

Luckily for us, no cars came up behind us, as I’d slowed to a stop. Karl reached over to put my four-ways on, since I was busy putting my window down, trying to get a good look at them.

“I think they’re snow geese,” I whispered. “I think I read they were spotted near the canal maybe a week or so ago, but I never thought we’d see them. I assumed they were just passing through!”

“You think they’re snow geese?” Karl asked. “Aren’t they kind of small?”

Just as he said that, I don’t know if the wind shifted or if they got a sense of us, but many of them started honking at each other. “Sure sound like geese,” Karl laughed.

They were obviously feeding in the field, perhaps taking a much needed rest from a recent leg of their migratory journey. I squinted to get a better look at them. They weren’t entirely white, I noticed. They had a small patch of black feathers, barely visible, at their rumps. And occasionally, one of them would stretch its head and neck skyward, looking literally like a goose-necked gourd, then flap its wings in a sort of attention-getting dance. That flightless but fervent flapping revealed a hidden layer of black feathers at the outer third of its wings.

I was excited. I whipped out my iPhone and took a few photos. I also videoed them, capturing their honking and even snagged a couple of them doing their flapping dance. The moment was surreal, particularly with the odd cast to the sky.

“It’s taking all my restraint not to yell at them or toot my horn,” I admitted a little sheepishly. “I feel like a little kid, wanting to see them all take off at once.”

Karl chuckled.

“But I won’t,” I was quick to add. “I wouldn’t mind though if they decided to fly away on their own!” I laughed. “I need to check my bird app to see if they’re snow geese. I bet that’s what they are.”

So we drove down the road about half a mile and pulled into the gravel parking lot that faces the Tohickon. I whipped my phone back out of my pocket and opened my Peterson Field Guides “Birds of North America” app, searching for ‘snow goose.’ Sure enough! Apparently they ‘winter’ from our area southward, just along the coast.

I’ve lived here all my life and I’ve never seen a flock of snow geese before.

What a treat! It made my day, and I thought I’d share it with you.

(T-1006)