From a Half Mile Back
Mike Stevens
Cool mornings react with warm waters in a pond, and a mist covers the still waters, slowly rising into the quiet atmosphere. An American egret, three feet tall, white as fresh fallen snow, black legs holding it above the concealing vapors, standing motionless as its hard eyes look below the surface, yellow beak poised and ready to stab any prey that comes near. The sausage like seed heads of season old cattails sway in the non-existent breeze and attention is focused as a pair of mallards slowly drift into view, no motion apparent as they appear ghost-like from the vegetation of the fall past. The male is resplendent in his spring colors, brilliant green head set off by the thin white ring around his throat, brown chest fading onto a silverish belly, a black rear quarter with a thin slice of white feathering. The female remains close to her mate, drab in her coloration, protective camouflage for her as she sits on the nest, but now acting as a counterpoint to the male. Only an orange beak and a touch of blue on her wings show any variation at all, but up close, her feathers are an intricate pattern of black and brown, far surpassing anything man could create.
As the first light of day crests the hillside and the beams of warmth slowly pan across the just greening tops of the trees, a male Northern Cardinal proudly proclaims to any who would listen that he is a "pretty bird, pretty bird." Glistening scarlet in the early rays of morning, his female in her subtle imitation of his coloration lurks near, close by at all times as she maintains their territory, never straying far in this time of nesting and new babies. Soon, she will be confined to incubating duties, but for now the pair remain together on their rounds. Chickadees, the clown princes of the woods, frolic and chatter as they work their way through the trees, hanging at impossible angles, in the most unlikely poses, as they probe, poke and search for insects and caterpillars, storing the energy required for the raising of a new family. Cavity nesters, they search also for the season past house of a downy woodpecker, or perhaps the hole left from a rotting snag on some old oak in the woods.
Eastern redbuds are resplendent in their pink-purple finery, the flowers of the new season a sign of life renewed, a promise of the summer to come. Growing near sources of moisture, often down creeks or in ditch lines, any one of a variety of elms that we have in the area may be a close companion, the impossible green of their serrated leaves a contrast to the pink of the redbud blossoms. Plum trees have lost their white, fragrant blooms, and the tiny, verdant leaves hide the barely seen, tiny, tiny plums, already forming as a result of early pollination. Fuzzy male catkins of oaks, intermingled with the newly forming reddish to yellow-green leaves serve as a background to these developing scenes of color. Before long, the oaks will dominate and drown out all others, but for now, they stand in the background, focusing attention on the players out front, or lining the low, moist areas.
Sad as it is, most of us move through this busy world without seeing anything except the most obvious; the redbuds are hard to miss, the white egret stands out against the still, dark waters. Life goes at such a pace that it sometimes takes being whacked up along side the head before we slow down to see what is all around us. You look up one day and the woods are all green and solid, vision once more stopping at the nearest tree line, secrets held just beyond the limits of our sight. A complete world is there, hidden. Take the time, inspect, inquire, imagine, visualize, think.
(This article was originally published in early April and won an award from the Oklahoma Publishing Association).