Children Feeding Geese
Monday, May 4th, 2009
Backs belonging to the lake houses face the cove and the tree-shaded hills. Backyards with elaborate decks and outdoor furniture and umbrellas look over the boat docks and welcome guests out for strolls along the lake. Long stairways lead down terraced hills to fence gates carved in wood and or set in wrought iron. Around the lake top, light shimmers in patterns as the branches let flashes of sunlight through in sharp, definite cuts.
On the slope, a dirt path has been stamped into the grass leading down to narrow walkway along the water. The geese families lie on the shore by the houses, and when they see families come down the hill by the playground equipment and the tennis court, they know there is a good chance the neighborhood ordinances might be broken. The families – against the rules – often bring long plastic bags with food. Cooly, with measured tempers, the geese waddle down to water and set afloat for the other side and another feeding.
We were the rule violators on Sunday: me, my three children and their grandmother. That morning we’d discovered the walk next to the lake and we’d disappointed the geese, who, from habit, swam closer though no one had brought any feed for them.
In May, the sun catches in my kids’ honey-blonde hair, so the geese almost assuredly figured these fair-haired creatures had brought some food. And they were right. So again the geese waddled into the water and this time swam to the kids’s hands and took the bread away.
Caroline was amazed by it – it was magical to her. “They like us,” she said. “They’re taking it … they’re taking the food!”
Annie said: “I can feel how hard their bills are.”
“I need more bread,” Charlie said. He couldn’t throw it fast enough. He’d tossed bread bits into the water before the geese were close enough to take them. Watching them scoop the floating pieces wasn’t as exciting as watching them snatch them from his hand.
These kids are still so little that it is fascinating how independent, they want to be, even in feeding the geese. When they were a year and some months old, before they could speak, I remember how I excited I was to hear them talk. This happened to me with all three kids about a month or so before they actually spoke. I’d start wondering what their first words would be, but my mind would work itself ahead a few months or as far as year. What would they be like? How would their personalities be different or would they?
I could see them trying to work the words out, their eyes big and taking the world in on rubbery necks.
Yesterday afternoon, here they were – not just as individuals, but as a group and the dynamic between them growing. Annie, concerned about the goose in the back of the pack who hadn’t been fed. Charlie racing to feed them before anyone else. And Caroline, excited that it all was happening in the first place and making sure they all had a turn to throw bread.
I can’t say which one I associate myself with most. They are all equal parts me and equal parts their mother. I love them as they are and our parts work together in them, succinctly, without any hitches.
We fed the geese bread until the plastic wrapped was empty. When it was time to go, I promised to bring the kids back as parents do when and where a good time has finished. I meant that promise. They’ll be back in two weeks to visit me and we’ll come back to this backwards spot, where the backs to the houses are the fronts, and we’ll palm the bread so the neighbors can’t see.
I carried Charlie on my shoulders on the walk back to the house and then switched to Caroline. We stopped to watch Annie twirl helicopters that had fallen off of trees fan the air and spin to a stop on the black top. And standing there, I thought about how clear their personalities are now, but like the months before they could speak, they are again in a transition period – not yet able to ask questions about their living arrangements or how they came to be. I am not so eager for those questions to come. I wish they never would. I will be able to answer their questions in a way they will understand, but that doesn’t mean I do.
