High in the gray of a February sky, a ragged skein of snow geese tumbled over itself. The birds’ cackling chatter echoed from cloud to ground and back. I watched them go and envied their freedom.
They had come down from the top of the world, left silent grass and freezing tundra behind to skate south ahead of winter, perchance to see the world.
They had followed the prairies and the plains as their creeks became rivers, and those rivers became one.
Their own numbers in the sky mirrored waters below and their flocks joined and grew and gained speed.
They’d first headed south to be sure they could feed, and they continued that way now for the same goal.
On a journey spurred by ice on the wind, they gleaned the continent’s quiet grain fields, picking the leftovers clean to the mud and wearing out their welcome as they went.
Even a wondrous bounty lasts only so long when so many are helping themselves, but no matter. Plenty more lay south right ahead. They winged on.
When the big river slowed in the flatlands and spread, when its water fanned out shallow by the sea, the birds followed suit and their thousands became hundreds and then dozens once again, and these dozens moved southward over me.
Too high to decoy and too focused to call, they traveled on toward the land of Always Summer where the salt breezes blow.
They passed over land that had seen summer wane, then watched harvest time come and go. They’d be back when the first green returned, making their way northward once again.
They rested where they wanted and left when they pleased, and knew a side of nature many feel but cannot know. They are the nomad’s own wandering call.
“You ever wonder where the expression, ‘Lost as a goose’ comes from?’” the Old Man asked, and I said I didn’t know.
“There’s nothing more lonesome sounding than one goose off by itself, honking all over the sky, trying to find where it belongs,” he said.
“Why do they carry on so much when they’re together, then?” I asked. “They’re certainly not lost when they’re in a crowd of thousands.”
“Maybe they all remember what it’s like to feel lost and don’t want to risk feeling that way again,” he said. “That’s the thing about geese: they don’t do well all alone. They’re not cut out for it. Unlike some people I know.”
“How do you know if you’ll do well alone?” I asked.
“No way other than to try it on and see how it fits,” he said. “You’ve never sounded too lost to me.”
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You can help your community
Quality, in-depth journalism is essential to a healthy community. The Dispatch brings you the most complete reporting and insightful commentary in the Golden Triangle, but we need your help to continue our efforts. In the past week, our reporters have posted 36 articles to cdispatch.com. Please consider subscribing to our website for only $2.30 per week to help support local journalism and our community.
