Hey tweets, I've been thinking about humans' relationship to nature, as you
know, and today gave rise to much thought.

I drove out to Bowerman this morning to try to find the two bean geese that
Patrick and Ruth Sullivan had miraculously found yesterday hanging out near
the Hoquiam sewage ponds and again at the airfield. Sure enough, the two
bean geese were there, looking perfectly stunning. I found them on the side
of the road just inside the sewage pond fence. They are gorgeous birds that
don't really look anything like greater white-fronted, despite what the bird
books say. For me, their most outstanding features were the pale blue-gray
wing coverts that stood out in flight and also even when their wings were
folded; and the delicate feathering of their necks. These neck feathers are
just a bit reminiscent of George, the nene bachelor I ran into at Haleakala
years ago. The feathers not really stripey, but hinting of stripiness, if
that makes any sense. George, by the way, was the object of all the park
rangers' pity; they said he could not get a girl, no matter how hard he
tried, and yet, every year he was back in the line-up giving it his all. I
don't know if these two bean geese are a pair, siblings, same sex or what,
but they do stick together constantly. So much so that at one point, one of
the geese lost track of the other and rose in a panic, only to fly three
feet and land on his/her? brother/sister/spouse/just good friend's? back.
Whew, together again.

Unfortunately, as I was trying to sneak up for a closer peek, a couple with
a dog drove by slowly to see what I was looking at. The bean geese took
fright and up they went, the only two geese out of a flock of hundreds (or
was it billions?) to be so affected by a dog in a car (or possibly by me
peeking at them). The truck with offending dog and people disappeared in a
puff of dust, never to return. All I could do was curse my luck, thinking in
an Indiana Jones kind of way, "Dogs. Why does it always have to be dogs?"
(you may recall my horrendous experience with last year's bean goose, when
John and I braved one of the most hellaceous storms we've ever seen and were
just setting up to view the bean goose when a demon in man's attire loosed
his dogs on the geese to scare them away. My blood pressure still goes up
when I think of it).

And I was thinking of those darn dogs as I watched the two rumps of the bean
geese disappear into the sun. Then I remembered that Ruth and Patrick had
also seen the bean geese in the corner of the airfield, right where the
boardwalk turns to the right to head out to the mudflats. So I picked up my
scope and hauled myself out there. Sure enough, the bean geese were
peacefully grazing, along with three snow geese and hordes of Canadas,
including several really, really dinky cacklers (my favorite goose).

At first, I was all alone with the geese, the sun, the sublime beauty of the
moment. Then I worm entered my apple of paradise. I began to think about
that man last year who had so deliberately set out to spoil our innocent
pleasure. Some people believe that he or some hunter like him killed the
bean goose of last year, despite (or maybe because of) the fact that the
goose had been featured in the local newspaper and was bringing the town
lots of business from birders eager to see such a rarity.

Why do people have to be so mean-spirited? My husband John, a great believer
in E.O. Wilson's and Jane Goodall's theories, says it's because we're just
recently evolved chimpanzees, and what else can you expect? Whenever he says
this, I call to mind Katherine Hepburn in "The African Queen," who tartly
informed Humphrey Bogart, as she was pouring out all his whiskey, that
"human nature, Mr. Allnut, is what we are put on earth to rise above."

In an attempt to rise above my rising blood pressure, I made myself start
thinking instead about the lovely Sullivans, who so generously share all
their rare findings with everyone else in the birding community. Why do they
do that? I've never asked them, and if I did, they would probably look at me
like I had two heads. Of course they would share their discoveries with
others, I can just hear Ruth sputter, what else would you do?

And there you have it: the current of fellowship that runs through the
birding community (and is such a prominent part of Ruth's and Patrick's
natures). It is strong and deep. We share what we love because when we do,
the sharing only enhances our own experiences. Nothing beats finding a rare
bird when you're out by yourself - *unless* it's seeing another birder
coming down the pike whom you can flag down and share your find with.

It's not just the sharing that I value, either. I simply love being with
people who value our finds as an experience to fix in our memories - and not
as a pelt to nail on the wall.

These two bean geese, so far from home and trying to find habitat similar to
the place where they really should be, have settled in a mere interstice of
wild sandwiched between humans' more important artifacts - the sewage
treatment plant for waste, the air field for fun. Not so different
activities, eh? How's that for irony?

It strikes me that there is probably not a single place on the planet that
has been left untouched by human hands, and the hands seem to be getting
grabbier all the time. But they don't *have* to be. We control so much of
the planet. Surely we can control ourselves, too, if only we would realize
the utter and transcendent beauty that nature bestows on us one lucky,
perfect day in November.

I urge you all to get down to Bowerman and drink in these bean geese. And
please tell any reporters or hunters you see that you're looking at mallards
or Norwegian rats or maybe starlings in breeding plumage.

Oh how I hope that those bean geese, framed in golden sunlight today, will
continue to graze undisturbed and wild, allowing us to look and love but
that is all. I hope that our environment will nourish them until the day
comes when they can take wing and fly back to Siberia and tell their
grandchildren and great-grandchildren about the time they visited Bowerman.
I know that's what I plan to do with my own grandchildren someday. - Connie,
Seattle

csidles at isomedia.com

Here's everything I saw today, not that I was noticing much else:

great blue heron
tundra swan (two at Bowerman)
bean goose
Canada goose (including cacklers)
snow goose
mallard
green-winged teal
American wigeon
northern shoveler
canvasback
bufflehead
killdeer
black-bellied plover
Wilson's snipe
dunlin
sanderling
western sandpiper
ring-billed gull
glaucous-winged gull
western gull
northern harrier
red-tailed hawk
rough-legged hawk
rock pigeon
northern flicker
downy woodpecker
Steller's jay
American crow
common raven
black-capped chickadee
winter wren
marsh wren
golden-crowned kinglet
European starling
song sparrow