I have lost count of all the times I’ve allowed myself to be consumed by my thoughts and emotions and then, without warning, nature snaps me out of it in a totally unexpected way. It happened again just now, sitting here near the window on yet another in a long stretch of rainy evenings, pondering my current state of affairs. And as usually happens, I glanced out the window just in time to see a female mallard duck sail by, paddling for all she was worth, toward the small cove that lies just beyond my door. Ordinarily, this is a common sight on a pond at this time of day when all wild creatures are finding places to spend the night. What made this scene particularly memorable is that the duck wasn’t alone, but had three tiny ducklings on her back, clinging firmly to her feathers.
I was immediately pulled from my reverie and got up to watch the duck family as long as I could before they disappeared around a bend behind some trees. Later, I realized then that I no longer even remembered what I’d been thinking about and of what had me in such a grip of concentration until I looked out upon yet another of nature’s unexpected little surprises. And when I returned to my chair, it was with spirit refreshed and mental slate once more wiped clean.
Now I’m quite certain that these ducks had no idea that they had just made someone’s night, that some hapless human, not nearly as resigned to her circumstances as they are to theirs, was about to be enthralled by their presence on the chilly, gray pond. The disparity that exists between the human and avian worlds is about as wide as any can be, yet for one, brief moment, enough of a connection was made between myself and those creatures to sustain me for the rest of the evening.
I could see even from as far away as the window just how determined and driven the mother duck was to get her brood safely to shelter as darkness fell and the wind beat the pond’s surface into a froth. The speed with which she crossed that stretch of water, small whitecaps bobbing all around her, tossing her and her babies to and fro, told me all I needed to know about her state of mind at that moment, and that her protective instinct was alive and well.
Was it a stretch for me to identify with her, with her inbred, unquestioning and passionate desire to protect her young, to get them to a safe place? Is it silly of me to admit now that, yes, I was urging her on, wishing them all to a protected area where they could safely wait out the night? And were my own longings and concerns in years past for my own babies, my hopes for them and fears that they may sometimes be faced with insurmountable challenges so unlike those of this humble creature? Is my ability to reason what makes me superior, or could I be as courageous and selfless as this mother duck if it ever came to that?
In the most unexpected places and at the most unforeseen times, there are lessons to be learned or chances to be reminded of basic truths. And on a dark, windy and rainy night, unbeknownst to them, a duck and her babies did just that.
— Rachel Lovejoy, a freelance writer living in Lyman, who enjoys exploring the woods of southern Maine, can be reached via email at rachell1950@yahoo.com.
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