August 11, 2010
At Farmington, Ct.
On a day that would become hot and humid, it was a most pleasant morning in the kayak, the temperature in the low 70s at 7 a.m., the surface of Lake Dunning glass-like. I was the only boater on the lake, as often happens, but my summer paddling company, as always happens, was a glance away.
Lake Dunning in Farmington, Ct., is a quiet, lightly-developed pond. (Click to enlarge.)
The kingfisher appeared first, launching from a tree on the shore and heading across the water, chattering loudly the whole while, as if annoyed, which in fact I suspect is exactly what the chattering is about, if I might ascribe human feelings to an avian creature. Spotted sandpipers bobbed their tails as they walked the shoreline, suddenly darting out over the water, then circling back to shore, and all over again, as they do. The green heron, usually tucked into a leafy refuge over the water, almost impossible to see, stood motionless on a small, protruding, pebbly piece of shoreline, as if to ensure I would not miss it. When I approached it flew no more than 20 feet into a water’s-edge branch, facing me, every detail on display, most notably the rich chestnut color of its neck. Six young mallards passed to my left, no mother in sight, and for the first time this season did not take flight at my appearance. Likewise, the great blue heron tolerated me more than usual as I passed too close to its shoreline perch, the black streaks against white throat, the golden bill, the rufous thighs, each crisply defined in the soft light of a cloudy morning. Passing one of two islands in the lake, a kingbird moved from one branch to another, not 15 feet away. It was as if the whole outing was somehow choreographed, a performance meant to assure me that, no matter how quickly this summer is flying by, no matter that many of the birds will migrate south in coming weeks or months, the show continues, and I should appreciate the moment.