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November 27, 1999 |
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what is this brant doing here? |
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Today's Bird Sightings Today's Reading: Woman Alone: A Farmhouse Journal by Carol Burdick, Autumn: From the Journals of Henry David Thoreau edited by H.G.O. Blake, Writings and Drawings by John James Audubon - the section on wild turkeys (continued from yesterday), A.C. Bent's Life Histories of North American Wild Fowl - the section on brant
Copyright © 1999, Janet I. Egan |
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Today, the lone brant is still there (I'm assuming it's the same one). However, it is acting entirely un-brant-like. It was walking around the parking lot with the local flock of mallards and the maimed Canada goose we call Igor. OK, so that's not totally strange. I mean brant can walk around on land like any goose. They don't have to bounce around on the surf munching sea lettuce all the time.
Years of observation at the cove have convinced me that Igor, the Canada goose, imprinted on the mute swans as a gosling and thinks he is with his own kind. Canada geese do nest there, so that's perfectly plausible. But the brant couldn't have imprinted on either the swans or the mallards, could it? Brant don't breed here. They breed way up north. So this weird brant would have been well past the imprinting stage when it arrived here. Was it wild when it arrived? Did it learn to beg for bread by watching the swans and mallards? What is this brant doing here?
What besides people eats rose hips? I've never seen a bird or mammal eating them. I've never eaten, or seen anyone eating, brant either, but according to A.C. Bent in Life Histories of North American Wild Fowl: From the standpoint of the epicure the brant is one of our finest game birds, in my opinion the finest, not even excepting the far-famed canvasback. I can not think of any more delicious bird than a fat, young brant, roasted just right and served hot, with a bottle of good Burgundy. Both the bird and the bottle are now hard to get; alas, the good old days have passed.
What we actually did after birding: a walk down Wickenden Street, a long browse at the Alaimo Gallery where I couldn't help but buy an 1888 Studer lithograph of common goldeneye, hot beverages (chai in my case, steamed milk with hazelnut in Nancy's case) at the Coffee Exchange, read-aloud Ken Weber's column from the Providence Journal - he makes Saturday's paper a real treat. Nothing involving roasted brant or Burgundy. The guy at the Alaimo Gallery made a big deal of the fact that Studer, unlike Audubon, did not kill the birds and wire them into position. Apparently he sketched from life. In any case, the goldeneye in question do not look like overdramatized Victorian scenes but like actual goldeneye along an actual coast. Nancy and I have been having an ongoing conversation about whether Audubon was compulsive and killed way more birds than he needed to, ever since Nancy read an introduction by Roger Tory Peterson to a book of Audubon prints. Peterson makes Audubon sound like a serial killer. The section on wild turkeys from Audubon's Writings and Drawings, which I've been reading aloud to Nancy in installments starting on Thanksgiving Day, shows Audubon as a keen observer who doesn't kill every turkey he sees. But that's Audubon's portrayal of himself. Who knows what he was really like? |
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A
brant has started hanging around at Watchemoket Cove. At
first it was way out by the bike path acting brant like and
eating sea lettuce. It seemed strange to see a single brant
because they like to flock, but it's not unheard of for one
to take off by itself. I wrote it in my notebook and forgot
about it.
This
brant however has taken up "breading". It walked right up to
a car full of breaders and begged to be fed just like the
swans, the tame mallards, and Igor. Nancy asked: "Are you
sure it's a brant? Brant don't bread!"
Aside
from the riddle of the brant, the usual winter suspects are
beginning to arrive. The wigeons are here in force. I tried
to locate the one Eurasian male who is always in with this
flock (at least for the last 5 years or so). He wasn't among
the ones within binocular range, so I guess I have yet
another reason to replace the scope.
Hooded
mergansers, buffleheads, and one goldeneye are already
around too. No canvasbacks yet, but they usually arrive a
little later. I was actually surprised at the hoodies
because they usually don't show up until the fresh water
ponds and lakes inland freeze up. Guess they just like
consorting with the incredible profusion of duck/goose/swan
life at the cove.
It's
really still fall, and thus too early for the wildfowl
extravaganza. The wild roses are still in bloom in one spot
over near the golf course. The rose hips are ripe. It occurs
to me that rose hips are a great source of vitamin C
and
maybe would help cure Nancy's bronchitis, but I don't know
if you can just pick and eat them raw. Do you have to make
them into jam or tea to get the vitamins? I'm not sure any
fruit grown this close to the road is edible anyway. So even
if they were apples I wouldn't pick them.
In
spite of my sensitivity toward animals, that menu was
beginning to sound good to me. I pictured genial
ornithologists gathered together around the fireplace after
a raw November day in the field sharing stories over roasted
brant as they sipped fine wine and smoked their pipes. These
dark November afternoons make the post-hunt camaraderie seem
quite inviting.