With the advent of May, the color scheme in Hudson River Park has altered. The expanse of tawny grasses and taupe tree trunks and silvery shrubs and brown bushes, bejeweled with radiant yellows of daffodils, shocking carmines of tulips, muted pinks and whites of magnolias, vivid crimsons of red maples, the creamy whites of shadbushes has become a palette of greens. The several shades of green from dark to light, from the jade of the ivy groundcover to the viridian of the elm fruits and the many tones from dull to vibrant, from the sage green of the juneberries to the chartreuse of the new growth of the yew bushes now prevail, their dominion interrupted only by lavender lilacs and scarlet azaleas.
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Second Sighting
May 6, 2009
Nearing the cove I see a pair of Canada geese standing among the algae covered rocks at the edge of the receding water. As I arrive at the viewing spot above the beach, I expect to find the goose pair I have seen there the last two mornings. To my pleasant surprise the creatures that first catch my eye are two goslings. I believe them to be the ones from four days before, hatched farther uptown on Pier 64. When the gander spots me by the fence, he bobs his head in my direction a couple of times gently, as a reminder that I should keep my distance from his offspring. His mate continues to feed, while the goslings waddle across the sand or clamber over the rocks grazing on the algae. After several minutes, one of the goslings drops to the sand for a quick snooze. When the other gosling sees it resting, it scampers over with its bill open, making an ineffectual attack on its sibling, who leaps up with open bill to span with its assailant. A few seconds later they both run off to feed, slipping on the wet rocks and tripping over their feet. All during this activity, mama goose is watching several brant geese, that keep her agitated while they swim just off the beach. Hoping to be able to follow the goslings’ development to maturation this year, as I did other last summer, I leave them and turn for home.
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The Cormorant, the Eel, and the Gull
May 4, 2009
Under the plane of a flat gray sky, the flat gray river surface is broken by the black head and neck of a cormorant. A black-backed gull hovers, settles in the water, and attempts to snatch with its beak something silvery floating between the two birds. The cormorant, out-classed in size, in weight, and in temperament, opens its hooked, serrated bill and charges the gull. The startled gull pulls back, but just for a moment, before grabbing again at the object in the river. Successful, the black-back lifts off, hauling a dangling eel from the water. An eel that the cormorant caught could not swallow, but was resistant to relinquishing. As the gull flies, the squirming fish breaks free of the gull’s grip, falling back into its element. The black-back, not about to abandon a pilfered meal, lands once more in the river, where it attacks the fish, attempting to tear open the skin to reach the flesh within. Distracted by the diving cormorant, I look away, and when I look back the gull and the eel have disappeared, leaving only the flat gray river, under the flat gray sky.
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Two Firsts
May 3, 2009
Walking southward on the lawn, surveying the trees and bushes for spring migrants I enter a grove of pines on a small rise. Startled by movement, I glimpse indistinct blotches of color as a robin-sized bird bursts from the underbrush to fly off toward the more southerly stand of pines, flashing vivid white patches on the corners of its tail. Following in the direction of the bird’s flight I spy motion beneath some bushes and hear the rustling of leaf litter being kicked up during a search for food. I catch snippets of birdsong, and then the bird breaks out of the foliage, landing among fallen leaves at the base of some butterfly bushes. The head and back and chest are jet black, the belly is snowy white, and the sides are robin-red. The first towhee, a male, of this spring.
While observing the towhee, a cyclist acquaintance stops by to inform me that another pier has been opened quietly, farther uptown. After making my morning rounds, I walk speedily to Pier 64 to check out the addition to the park. Arriving there, I find a long, narrow pier projecting out into the river, with a walkway around the margin, a grassy area raised above the level of the walkway, and planting separating the grass from the pavement. Before I have a chance to traverse the length of the pier, park personnel alert to me some creatures moving along the walkway perpendicular to the pier. Looking closely, I espy a pair of stately Canada geese proceeding down the walkway beside the railing and, between the two adults, two tiny, fuzzy, yellow balls of fluff. The first goslings of 2009.
The geese had nested on the pier, at its end, high above the water. The park personnel are attempting to herd them back toward the nest, because the protective male had been attacking anyone who came near the goslings. In an effort to avoid all the attention the geese were receiving, one by one the parents leap into the river, leaving the goslings on the river wall. As their offspring waddle along at the water’s edge emitting distress calls, the parents try to lure them in by calling while swimming to and fro beneath them. Finally, after about five minutes the goslings literally take the plunge and jump into water. The reunited family then turns from the river wall and paddles out into the river, mama leading, little ones next, and vigilant papa following.
