nighttime waterfowl
Nighttime Waterfowl
On my way into school just before daylight, I noticed a goose standing in the middle of a pond. The four acre pond had been formed this winter on the side of a farmer’s cornfield, right next to the road. I slowed down to observe and realized that the goose was probably iced in, its feet on the ground with shallow water frozen around him. He appeared to be anchored. Of mixed minds about what to do, I decided to go on and get to school on time; part of my decision was the weather prediction, which included thawing.
The day was long. It started with a conference before school, there was a symphony trip midday, then a conference after school. In the evening Emerson Fireside Group met at Linda’s house. That talk became a deep one, mostly centered on the article “Cover the Material—Or Teach Students to Think,” which the eight of us found rather painfully relevant; we were trying to sort out whether both are indeed possible or whether one knocks out the other.
During our dinnertime talk we looked out the window and feel a thrill of excitement about the danger of what we were doing, hanging out all together while a big snowstorm was brewing, We needed to get home and safe. There was excitement about the election, too; the talk moved now and then to the changing in politics in America. We looked out the window some more and wondered whether we’d have a snow day coming up, and returned to the agony the articles brought up.
When we went out to our cars at 9:30, we could see a snow day was VERY likely. The windshields had about 3 inches of new snow already and the storm was scheduled (with that rare 100% certainty on the weather news) to last all night. We cleared off the cars in the blizzard and headed home.
I drove towards our country home through the eerily moonlit nighttime storm. The headlights illuminated a pattern of confusion: streaking and twirling snow squalls made it hard to anticipate curves in the road, visibility was limited, the maximum speed about 25mph. I wasn’t slipping too much, but could hardly see.
No one was on the road but me. I came to the pond where the goose had stood that morning, slowed to a stop, rolled down the window, and squinted my eyes to look out onto the pond. I could see gray shapes of bushes and small trees. But wait—there in the center of the frozen white pond, stood, yes, there stood the goose. I could recognize its soft curvature, slightly darker than the rest of the landscape, perfectly still. The wind was strong. Flakes of snow rushed into the car and melted on the dashboard.
I tried angling the car crossways on the road so I could shine the headlights out onto the pond; it proved to be too dangerous. Finally I pulled over, and turned on the hazards. I changed into rugged snow boots and grabbed the tire jack. I thought I could smash the ice with the tire jack. A debate raged in my head: this could be dangerous, you know, going out there all alone in the dark, in the snow, on a field of ice of uncertain depth and hardness. Moving close to a wild animal, one that’s not known to its kindness to strangers. The sensible thing would be to just go home.
I sat and thought some more. Ok, leave the goose, go home, put it out of your mind.
No, somehow I couldn’t. It wasn’t even about the goose at this point; it was about what I personally required myself to do. Go home, forget it, I’ll feel like a quitter. I wouldn’t have tried. I’d be one of those people who just leave things without trying to help.
I stepped out of the car. Holding out my little emergency light (a teeny thing that was really only good for close- up work) and carrying the jack, I stepped onto the ice over the ditch alongside the road.
Crack…. I didn’t break through. Another step: crack. I held onto the little scrub trees in the ditch. Each step echoed with that scary hollow resonance.
Assessment of danger: probably won’t die from this, At worst I’ll just get wet, I’m not going to end up over my head, after all, this was just a shallow pond. However, falling in would be very uncomfortable. How fast does hypothermia set in? I reviewed the safety training I’d had, thought about how I’d combat freezing: well, just running back to the car and turning the heater on high should be enough. Then I thought about how I could distribute my weight by crawling. Decided against that idea because it’d get me wet all the faster.
Hoping the pond’s frozen top would continue to hold me, I proceeded. Step, step, step, crack, step crack, step, step, step, crack; no complete shattering of the ice, just stress fractures. Would the ice hold? Closer, closer, closer, after a distance of about 100 feet from the car, the shape started coming into focus. I could see the curves, the darkness of…
The wind was freezing my cheeks. My eyelashes filled with snow: I had to keep wiping my face. I felt so alone, so in the middle of nowhere. Yet I felt very, very alive, and good. Somehow, I was doing the right thing. The crazy right thing.
I could see the soft curves, the dark being, its warmth ebbing in a world of coldness—could I get to the goose? I moved closer. Gradually I came within sight range and saw…
Oh.
It was only…wood.
It was only a clump of grass over some rotting wood had formed a shape that resembled a goose; this was not the goose I saw that morning at all. The goose was gone. This was just me, out in the night, utterly alone.
I laughed. Alone, out loud, I laughed. My worries about that trapped waterfowl were unfounded; it was free, it was gone. The joke was on me. I had sent myself on a very wild, very literal goose chase.
But was it a joke? It seemed rather like a mission, to me, something I had to do. The storm whipped around me, but I felt oddly safe in the darkness of the night, out in the wild, my hair all disheveled and covered with snow.
I turned around and headed back to the car. The ice continued to fracture all the way back, step, crack, step, crack… but my worries had gone.
On my way into school just before daylight, I noticed a goose standing in the middle of a pond. The four acre pond had been formed this winter on the side of a farmer’s cornfield, right next to the road. I slowed down to observe and realized that the goose was probably iced in, its feet on the ground with shallow water frozen around him. He appeared to be anchored. Of mixed minds about what to do, I decided to go on and get to school on time; part of my decision was the weather prediction, which included thawing.
The day was long. It started with a conference before school, there was a symphony trip midday, then a conference after school. In the evening Emerson Fireside Group met at Linda’s house. That talk became a deep one, mostly centered on the article “Cover the Material—Or Teach Students to Think,” which the eight of us found rather painfully relevant; we were trying to sort out whether both are indeed possible or whether one knocks out the other.
During our dinnertime talk we looked out the window and feel a thrill of excitement about the danger of what we were doing, hanging out all together while a big snowstorm was brewing, We needed to get home and safe. There was excitement about the election, too; the talk moved now and then to the changing in politics in America. We looked out the window some more and wondered whether we’d have a snow day coming up, and returned to the agony the articles brought up.
When we went out to our cars at 9:30, we could see a snow day was VERY likely. The windshields had about 3 inches of new snow already and the storm was scheduled (with that rare 100% certainty on the weather news) to last all night. We cleared off the cars in the blizzard and headed home.
I drove towards our country home through the eerily moonlit nighttime storm. The headlights illuminated a pattern of confusion: streaking and twirling snow squalls made it hard to anticipate curves in the road, visibility was limited, the maximum speed about 25mph. I wasn’t slipping too much, but could hardly see.
No one was on the road but me. I came to the pond where the goose had stood that morning, slowed to a stop, rolled down the window, and squinted my eyes to look out onto the pond. I could see gray shapes of bushes and small trees. But wait—there in the center of the frozen white pond, stood, yes, there stood the goose. I could recognize its soft curvature, slightly darker than the rest of the landscape, perfectly still. The wind was strong. Flakes of snow rushed into the car and melted on the dashboard.
I tried angling the car crossways on the road so I could shine the headlights out onto the pond; it proved to be too dangerous. Finally I pulled over, and turned on the hazards. I changed into rugged snow boots and grabbed the tire jack. I thought I could smash the ice with the tire jack. A debate raged in my head: this could be dangerous, you know, going out there all alone in the dark, in the snow, on a field of ice of uncertain depth and hardness. Moving close to a wild animal, one that’s not known to its kindness to strangers. The sensible thing would be to just go home.
I sat and thought some more. Ok, leave the goose, go home, put it out of your mind.
No, somehow I couldn’t. It wasn’t even about the goose at this point; it was about what I personally required myself to do. Go home, forget it, I’ll feel like a quitter. I wouldn’t have tried. I’d be one of those people who just leave things without trying to help.
I stepped out of the car. Holding out my little emergency light (a teeny thing that was really only good for close- up work) and carrying the jack, I stepped onto the ice over the ditch alongside the road.
Crack…. I didn’t break through. Another step: crack. I held onto the little scrub trees in the ditch. Each step echoed with that scary hollow resonance.
Assessment of danger: probably won’t die from this, At worst I’ll just get wet, I’m not going to end up over my head, after all, this was just a shallow pond. However, falling in would be very uncomfortable. How fast does hypothermia set in? I reviewed the safety training I’d had, thought about how I’d combat freezing: well, just running back to the car and turning the heater on high should be enough. Then I thought about how I could distribute my weight by crawling. Decided against that idea because it’d get me wet all the faster.
Hoping the pond’s frozen top would continue to hold me, I proceeded. Step, step, step, crack, step crack, step, step, step, crack; no complete shattering of the ice, just stress fractures. Would the ice hold? Closer, closer, closer, after a distance of about 100 feet from the car, the shape started coming into focus. I could see the curves, the darkness of…
The wind was freezing my cheeks. My eyelashes filled with snow: I had to keep wiping my face. I felt so alone, so in the middle of nowhere. Yet I felt very, very alive, and good. Somehow, I was doing the right thing. The crazy right thing.
I could see the soft curves, the dark being, its warmth ebbing in a world of coldness—could I get to the goose? I moved closer. Gradually I came within sight range and saw…
Oh.
It was only…wood.
It was only a clump of grass over some rotting wood had formed a shape that resembled a goose; this was not the goose I saw that morning at all. The goose was gone. This was just me, out in the night, utterly alone.
I laughed. Alone, out loud, I laughed. My worries about that trapped waterfowl were unfounded; it was free, it was gone. The joke was on me. I had sent myself on a very wild, very literal goose chase.
But was it a joke? It seemed rather like a mission, to me, something I had to do. The storm whipped around me, but I felt oddly safe in the darkness of the night, out in the wild, my hair all disheveled and covered with snow.
I turned around and headed back to the car. The ice continued to fracture all the way back, step, crack, step, crack… but my worries had gone.
Replies to This Discussion
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Permalink Reply by Ellen Pham on -
Big smile, Connie... you are so cute! You are so wonderfully...present with yourself (oh my god, not more psycho-babble out of me!) I am still haunted by the time I did not stop to help an injured but alive small cat, because I was in a brand new job and if I stopped, it would have made me late for work. This was at least five years ago, and I ask whatever is out there for forgiveness each time I think of it.
So yeah, you did the right thing, you nut!
xox Ellen
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Permalink Reply by Connie Weber on
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Hi Ellen,
Thanks for your note!
Yeah, just a TAD crazy...
I yam who I yam. --popeye
Connie
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Permalink Reply by Anna Billings on -
I love this story and its many layered themes.
There is a process used in dream-groups in which people hear another's dream and then respond with "if this were my dream..." and then offer their spontaneous associations, thus not laying their "interpretation" on the other's personal dream. So read this in that light. It's what the story summoned in me.
It begins with the Fireside chat group pondering the role of teaching — conveying informational content (structure) and/or fostering the skills of thinking (trusting and following one's own instincts and intellect). Inside — cozy and warm with friends and colleagues. Outside — cold, dark, and snowy — thrilling, mysterious, and heralding tomorrow's free-day.
Then, fueled by the warm togetherness and conversations, you set out on your own, purposeful, following the road towards a known destination — home. But then — a sighting. You stop, attention drawn towards the frozen pond in the snowy haze. In its midst, a wild creature in need.
You pull off the road. Planned purpose and destination can wait. Instead, you respond to a calling, immediate and present. There is a feeling of deep connection, something important to be attended to — shrouded in mist yet compelling. So compelling that "practicality" takes a back seat, used only to fulfill the calling. Car lights, small flashlight, snow boots, assessments of danger. But all must be in service of this wild creature out there in the frozen night.
A wild creature who needs to be set free to fly, to join his/her fellow wild creatures in flight towards a shared destiny. A creature who is a leader in collaboration with other leaders (geese naturally rotate who is at the front of the V, moving to the side in smooth transition to let another take the lead, and then another).
So you set out, step by step, crack by crack, intent on this new purpose, committed, fully engaged, focused, persistent, heart and soul and mind. And there is a wonderful alive feeling. Not giving up, meeting the challenge, honoring the felt-relationship with the wild being out there on the frozen pond. Snow whipping through the air.
And then — just at the moment of accomplishment, destination within reach, within sight. A sudden parting of the veils. And the illusion is revealed. The goose of the morning, stranded in the frozen pond at nightfall is no longer that but instead is now a piece of wood and a clump of grass in the perfect shape of a goose, yet not a goose. Not a flying creature that needs to be set free, but wood that rests in the ice.
Was it illusion that called you out there? Or was it something quite real, something that sounded from the depths of your own being....
I think of the Mary Oliver poem, Wild Geese, which for me is all about hearing and responding to the deep call within that connects us with all of life — "...calls you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting, over and over announcing your place in the family of things."
This story is filled with the delightful essence of you, Connie. Your perceptive awareness of nature's many nuances, your love of wild creatures, your courageous willingness to engage in life, your love of adventure, your passion and caring, your invitation to, collaboration with, and respect for enlightened leaders/teachers, your visionary nature, your sense of humor, your self expression, your kid-like playfulness and your deep, wise maturity.
Thanks for sharing it with us.
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Hi Anna,
I send you the most heartfelt thanks for finding some possible meanings in my wild, spontaneous ramblings.
I have thought about nuking the post several times: people will think I'm crazy!
You make it seem like some sense was lurking behind my wild actions.
Have to admit I skimmed your response the first time through to see if you had an idea why I went after a goose that wasn't there! That's what seems so foolish about the story to me. If only I had come upon the goose, bravely smashed the ice around it (probably while being bitten and hissed at), set it free, watched it disappear into the storm. Now that would have been worth something. But alas...
I'll try your process. What the story summons in me (from a distance, now):
This crazy person was out there in the night trying to free warm beings from being locked in ice. But she mistook the basic fact of it all: there was no creature locked in ice. Even then, she was still glad she was willing to try; the process was actually more about a "labeling of self" than anything else.
It says to me: I have a mission, I'll keep working at it.
I'd like to mess around with the essay to get it refined... Thanks so very much for your reflections, and for your assessment of "me" at the end. There is absolutely nothing in life like having such a loving "big sister"... BTW, over a lifetime, you have played a large role in "shaping me," so I suppose that whole wild goose chase is partly your doing, too!
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Permalink Reply by Anna Billings on
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I'm thinking about how we humans judge ourselves according to outcomes, overlooking, dismissing, and even berating our qualities at play in various activities. If there is perceived "accomplishment," then we can think well of ourselves and sometimes even feel like a hero. But if our intended goal crashes at the end or if we find we have pursued something that wasn't what we thought it was, we berate ourselves for going off on "a wild goose chase" and feel like a fool.
I'm reminded of the discussion on paradox and particularly the paradox of ourselves. In one context we see aspects of ourselves as strengths while in another context the same aspects are called weaknesses. I like what Pema Chödron says on this: "Our brilliance, our juiciness, our spiciness, is all mixed up with our craziness and our confusion, and therefore it doesn't do any good to try to get rid of our so-called negative aspects, because in that process we also get rid of our basic wonderfulness."
But it seems we are wired up to be conditional in our self-acceptance. This is part of the plight of being human as well as the challenge — to work on being more accepting, honoring, and loving towards ourselves in our entirety.
So it helps to have a few loving others in our life who can see our basic wonderfulness throughout and reflect it back to us.
I see your wonderfulness throughout this story, Connie, and it goes far deeper than words can capture. :-)
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