“To the extent that nature sounds are soothing to most humans, three in particular stand out:” says Florence Williams in her book The Nature Fix, “wind, water and birds. They are the trifecta of salubrious listening…”
In the Midwest as our winter tries to let go of its ego, we are teased with spring days that are still irritable, cold and blustery. It is a windy season, and a challenging time to put on the sailing gear and head out for the first time on the water. In college when I was on the sailing team, our regattas began in the spring, and we battled some gusty conditions, but oh man, did it make you feel alive!
When the sun begins to feel a hair warmer outside around here, we welcome two members to our family back home, two mallard ducks we’ve named Maude and Claude. Veering off from the flock in early March, our married mallard couple flutters down to our Airbnb and settles on our pond for Spring Break. Seeing them lets us know that warmer days are on the way. A couple of hundred feet up, I’m not sure howMaude and Claude ever spot our little pond. After all, the neon Bender Hotel sign fizzled out in 1997. Somehow though, though the miracle of migration, the mallard couple finds us. They swoop in for a couple of weeks, sleep in amongst our pine needles and uses our pond as their private jacuzzi. Really though, they don’t’ stop for the free breakfast, they stop because they are part of our family, our people.
And even though we know Maude and Claude are coming, like we know Spring will, we are always surprised and delighted when they arrive. All winter long I go out to the pond as the sun is coming up, look at our koi fish that have been anesthetized by the arctic cold and turn on the waterfall. Those mornings my breath comes out as a silky fog and dissipates over the pond’s chunky ice, and I linger in my slippers to say a prayer for someone who doesn’t have the warmth of a home to run back into. Then, Maude and Claude arrive on the scene. One moment I’m turning on the filter at seven o’clock, minding my own business, watching the waterfall spill out into the pond, the next moment I look up and there’s a duck looking at me like a preacher.
“What’s going on, Brother Bender?” Claude sings out, adding a Quaaaawwwk.
“Holy duckbill! Claude is that you? Where’d you come from?” I gasp.
“Ha! Gotcha didn’t I? I love doing that! Did I surprise you?!” says Claude.
“Aaaa, yea you did! You do that every year you ol’ drake! Where’s Maude? And how long you been paddling around out there waiting to scare me?”
“Oh, we’ve been up and at ‘em since dawn Mr. Blender. Maude warmed up our pond coffee about six o’clock this morning. Maude, you there? Come out and say hi to Mr. Blunder.”
Putting in her steps on her Stairmaster Water-Dyne, I see the faint rustle of Maude’s paddling feet from just behind the irises as she sounds off a greeting, “Quak-quwwaauk!”
“How was your flight?” I asked Claude, “You must be exhausted!”
“Oh gosh, the flight was good, but the flock acted terrible on the way in. We have strict rules about, well, kind of embarrassing to talk about, you know, doing that while we’re in flight,” Claude said, pointing to his back end. “We’ve had some complaints.”
“Oh, that so? Keeping yourself regular _is_ important, though. I get that,” I sympathize.
Paddling up closer Claude adds, “Well, some of the younger ducks like to drop the big white torpedo while they are flying, engage in some dirty bombing, you know, but down below it ain’t so funny I’m told.” He stretched out to for a drink to avoid my eye contact. Bathroom habits are a touchy subject with mallards.
“Well come on up to the house when you get settled in,” I say over my shoulder. “We’ll catch up on all the latest duck gossip,” and I jog back up to the house and out of the chill.
Later in the day, after lounging around the pond, Maude and Claude waddle up to our porch to take in low tea and some corn crumbs, the traditional snack for southern mallards. They both have a little extra gleam in their eyes and their flirtations are beginning to be obvious. Scooting up near Claude, Maude tells us they are thinking of starting another new family again this spring. “This will be the fourteenth one we’ve started in fourteen years,” Maude says.
Ducks, as it turns out are very open with their feelings when it comes to intimacy.
“Ok, so I thought I’d warn you, Mr. Fender, that Maude and I will be pretty busy in your backyard today, like you know, that kind of busy. I’ve got a little extra float in my boat and I’ve got our honeymoon suite set up out there by the pond. Maude has spent all day ruffling up her tail feathers and, whoa baby, look at those highlights! “
Maude shyly grins.
“We are thinking we’ll go for about 10 chicks this year. That’ll be a new record!” adds Claude.
Maude flings her head back and lets out a long warble. “You wish there, Mr. Stud-Ducky. You keep bringing me those corn kernels every morning and I might just surprise you!”
“Oh, Maude, I love it when you talk…”
“Ok, then,” I pipe in quickly. “We’re glad you all feel so comfortable here, but …. Oh my, would you look at that?” I redirected, “I think I just saw the first mosquito of the year!”
“Well, I’ll be a root cellar’s pushcart!” my wife says, “I think it is a mosquito!”
“Oh my, I’m so sorry Mr. and Mrs. Splendid. Seems we’ve been too forward, haven’t we?” Maude says. “It’s just that we think of you guys here in Evanspatch as part of our family. All year long we hang out with the flock, but there’s a lot of skittery gossip across our lake. Nothing worse than a flock of mallards cackling about the price of duck oil in China. When we get here, we can let our feathers down, and be ourselves for a couple of weeks. You guys are our people.”
That was nice to hear. I wasn’t going to bring up the subject, but lately some sticky conversations about family relationships had hung in the air like an annoying call from a telemarketer. Sitting with Maude and Claude, watching their easy nattering and relaxed saunters along the paths of our backyard, I’m reminded that spring is about new beginnings, bright red magnolia blooms and purple crocuses and snowdrops. Underneath, plant life wakes up, undulates, squirming to get out and crawls forth like green fingers across new mulch. I’m glad to be raking up the last of the dead leaves and looking out upon some clean emotional landscaping.
One romantic male duck, proudly struts about and reveals its brilliant green neck while his better half, the one he declared his for life, stays close by checking out his advances. It is a time for everyone to crack open a can of Less Complicated and share it with my what feels like good, with what feels like family, with what feels like our people.
Maude and Claude excuse themselves and get up to wander back out to the pond. They are simple folks and haven’t lost sight of what’s important. They aren’t trying to be the smartest duck in the room. They don’t brag about their kids or spend a lot of time looking at their own reflection in the pond. They are just people, part of our people, a couple of ducks who patiently wait all winter to say hello to the brand-new signs of life, inviting us back to days of longer sunlight, and the playful sounds of their new family of nine or ten or maybe even eleven. We are part of the duck parade this spring, watching a line of fuzzy orangish chicks, and celebrating with our busy new parents who don’t feel like company.
They are our people, and it is Spring.