The Fragility of Life

I cannot exactly say that I am an avid enthusiast of poetry, save perhaps when it is set to music when it doesn’t matter if the words make any sense. There are exceptions of course, such as this passage from Walt Whitman’s “Leaves of Grass”:

“They do not sweat and whine about their condition,
They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins,
They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God,
Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented with the mania of
owning things,
Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of
years ago,
Not one is respectable or unhappy over the whole earth.”

Whitman is, of course, referring to the beasts of the land, sea and air here. When I was young, I found myself much preferring the company of the minions of nature than of people, and to be honest, still do. Life in the wilds holds its wonders close, out of the prying eyes of humans, for good reason. Humans are seldom allowed the privilege of observing life at its most guarded and vulnerable stage—during the reproductive cycle—largely because what humans call “civilized” behavior rarely translates as “civilized” in the wild. I would like to think that my natural affection for non-human life over the human allows for some respect for natural processes that are born of actual instinct, not that which is claimed for political reasons.

And so it happened that two weeks I was waiting at a bus stop in a semi-incorporated part of the so-called city of Kent, WA mostly industrial parks interfering with wetlands. I observed in the distance two Canada Geese, one which seemed to be standing watch while the other was picking through the tall grass. Presently, one flew toward me, over a drainage creek running just over a retaining wall from where I was making my observations. The goose landed somewhere just short of where I stood, and then out of view. I tried in vain to locate it. Where had it disappeared to? I walked over here, and then over there. I still could not determine where it had gone to. I strained one more time peering over the wall; looking directly downward, I found the goose—and a nest with three large eggs, almost directly abutting the wall. I mused how it was so near, yet so far from human traffic. The nest was hidden by tall grass on three sides and a wall on the fourth; you would only know it was there if you thought that straining your neck and back muscles for no reason was something you liked to do. My bus was coming, so I satisfied myself with this fascinating discovery, so close to human civilization.

The next day, I observed one of the geese sitting on the nest. It arched its neck upward and stared at me, but otherwise didn’t make a move or a sound. For the next three days I stopped by for peek just to see if was still there. On the fourth day something seemed different; the head was smaller and the neck shorter. I surmised that the female goose had taken its turn sitting on the nest to allow the male goose to feed. Another week passed with this goose still in position; I had a sandwich I had purchased at a nearby convenience store, and let drop a few bread crumbs, those of which fell within reach were gobbled-up in a flash. Those morsels that were out of reach the goose simply gazed at unhappily, unwilling to leave the nest unprotected. The next day I did the same, trying to improve my aim. On the third day, apparently judging correctly the time, it seemed to be waiting for me. As soon as my head appeared over the wall, it trained its neck upward, its mouth open as if gasping for air. I dropped down some bread crumbs which had the goose’s neck darting here and there. Around then I determined that something was amiss. I’ve seen enough documentaries to know that one penguin parent in the Antarctic would sit on an egg for weeks or more while the other waddled many miles to the sea to feed, and by the time it returned the parent that had stayed would be near starvation. But this couldn’t be the case here.

Something was wrong, but I didn’t discover just how wrong until two days later. For some reason I missed my appointment the next day, but kept it the following day. The goose was gone, leaving those three large eggs uncovered. This observation was repeated the next two days, even though the eggs were being battered by rain and unseasonably cold winds. I could only conclude that since the goose’s partner had not returned, and had gone without food (save for the few scraps I provided it) for ten days, it had simply abandoned the nest in search of provisions. But this could not be the only explanation. Surely the goose could have returned after a few hours of feeding, but did not. Did it simply lose its parenting instinct, perhaps because it was new to the experience? And what had happened to its partner, anyway? What had caused it to abandon its partner? Was it shot? Did eat or drink something poisonous and die? Was it prey of an eagle, or by a fox, coyote or mischievous human that had crept in upon it? Or were they frightened witless by landscapers who apparently spent several hours in the vicinity using heavy and loud equipment to cut the thick brush near the nest?

The morning of the third day I decided to write to the Washington State Fish and Wildlife Department. I found its website, and sent an email stating the following:

“I just want to report that after two weeks, I've noticed over the past three days that a Canada Goose nest appears to have been abandoned with three eggs left uncovered. This nest is located below and abutting a wall near a drainage creek at the following location: S 204th St and 68th Ave. S on the southbound side (I think) about 15 feet south of a Metro Bus stop near the entrance to the Boeing complex.

I observed that the male (I'm assuming because it had a larger head) sat on the nest for several days, and then female goose for at least ten days. Several times I threw some scraps down at the goose that had been sitting on the nest. At first it seemed skittish, but later it was clearly hungry and appeared to almost to be begging for food. And then it disappeared. I don't know if this is concerning, but I did observe that when the scraps were too far too reach, the goose would not leave the nest to get it.”

That was four days ago. I haven’t received a response. The eggs are still exposed to the elements, and because of a lack of natural incubation are likely to be rotting within. Out of sight and out of mind, the fragility of life goes largely unnoticed.