Spring in the Maritimes has been cold and wet this year. I live on a fresh water bay, and the water is exceptionally high for June. Between the rain and the cold, I haven’t been spending much time by the shore lately. I meandered down today after my walk between the rain drops and sat, listening to the waves lap at the shore. Our shoreline is not a beach. We have rocks and shrubs, and we’re reluctant to alter it much because ice and high water can eat away at the shoreline, and you’re left with a muddy mess.
While I was letting my mind drift with the waves, I noticed movement amongst the shrubs that still had their feet in the water. First, one duckling paddled out, then another and another. There were eight in all, and mom wasn’t far behind. I don’t know if they’d been hiding there when I arrived or just came along. When the mother (is there a name for a mother duck?) led all eight a few feet from shore, the babes swam close to her. So close they almost looked all of a piece. They didn’t dawdle, but disappeared around the corner and into the small cove where the angry beaver used to live.
And here I was worried because I hadn’t seen many ducks around this spring. I thought the water was too high for them to stay and make nests. Turns out I should have been worrying about the gimongous Osprey and the eagle that have been circling the cove daily. I thought they were fishing—for fish. I doubt I’ll watch them quite as keenly until those little ducklings are big enough to fend for themselves.