Hot Eggs

Well, the subtle harbingers of an oncoming spring are gradually beginning to emerge around Hideaway Pond. The maples are developing small red buds. The grass is showing the first hopeful hints of green. A fact that would be of considerable interest to the grass carp, I‘m sure. They have roused from their winter stupor and they presently patrol the surface for whatever sparse nourishment it offers. Mostly blow down from the February winds. Not exactly gourmet, but it will have to do for now. Fish are not known for their refined epicurean taste, anyway. In fact they’re pretty dumb if you ask me. Or you don’t.

Word has it that the bears are out and roaming for food with their new families. Or so we are told by the gurus of such things at the Woodstock recycling center. Nice to know that the bears recycle their food. As long as it’s not personal. Time to retire the bird feeders for the season. We always do so at this time of year anyway. With the snow gone, there’s ample food within reach. Flight. Whatever.

Considerable action around the pond. The male goose floats alone, anchors aweigh, changing direction with the will of the wind. A bad, if picturesque, sign that Mom is on the nest. And that a gestation of frightening proportions will soon be on the way. Time to convince her that there are better places in the neighborhood to raise her bellicose brood. The alternative being that they will have a major poopfest on our lawn. Or, conversely, become snapper chow. Or both.

Free entertainment. Five mallards dropped in the other day. After puttering around for a while, they suddenly launched into an aerial display rivaling that of the Blue Angels Navy aerobatic team. Well, maybe not. But almost. They would take off and do complete circles, warp speed, about 10 feet above the deck. Militarily speaking, that is. Sometimes they circumnavigated the island and returned to earth with a major splash. This display lasted for about a half hour. Then it ended with a last noisy wet finale. A happy ending. Thus.