Infinite Abundance...in Two Stories...3 Questions...One Answer
Story One...
It’s about a boy. He has old binoculars. He creeps to the top of a large hill. It is a pasture hill. He avoids the cow manure. He crawls down, slowly, binoculars rubbing on the grass and soil of the pasture. He stops in a depression. He thinks he is concealed in the open. He brings the binoculars to his eyes and becomes mesmerized at the sight before him, now magnified. Hundreds of ducks swim in a seasonal pond below him. He does not know their names, but there were ring-neck, red head, canvasback, and other duck species lost to memory. He stays there watching. He stays a long time. Then, slowly, he backs up the hill. The ducks do not fly. He does not want the ducks to be disturbed. Wild beauty brings respect to the human heart. He never forgets the sight of the ducks. The mystery of migratory birds is a lasting wonder to him.
The boy was me. The first story happened about 6 decades ago.
Now the second story...
It’s about a grandpa. He has a camera. It sits on a tripod when not around his neck to carry. He parks his pickup on a hill. At the parking lot, the camera goes around his neck, he shoulders a folding chair on his right and hefts the tripod in his left hand. He scans the wild place to his west. His eyes pick up a substantial wetland stretching across the land at the bottom of the hill. He notices a block of dark birds along the north shore. There are many. Out of the wind, these are migratory waterfowl. Mystery with feathers resting. He decides to photograph them. It’s a long walk with equipment, a least a quarter of a mile. He cannot simply walk to where they are.
While they are resting a feeding for their continuing migration north, they are wild birds. Their sharp eyes miss nothing which may indicate danger. He knows this. He begins a stalk. His path of travel moves him to the north. He will come close to the ducks from this direction. He stays along the edge of trees so his silhouette cannot be seen against the sky. His eyes are continually on the ducks. He wants to know how they are responding to his movements closer. To conceal himself, he moves northward over a small rise. On the other side he is out of sight. But then the small rise tapers off to the west. The ducks can see him again. He moves across the railroad tracks to use the railroad bed to conceal him. But he must crouch as he walks.
He comes to a place where he is fully exposed to the ducks. Some are less than 200 yards away. But he does not look toward the ducks. There is something about the human face that disturbs wild creatures. He drops to his knees. He crawls westward…slowly. He knows the ducks can see him. His old knees complain a bit, he keeps going. He knows what lies ahead if he is stealthy. Another small hill rises on his left. It conceals his stalk. He stands up. He crosses the tracks. He arrived at a location he knew would be above the ducks. He was pleased to see a few small ash and box elder trees mixed with bushy wild plums at the top. They would conceal him. When he knew the ducks would see his head, he lowered himself to his knees once again. Slowly, he worked himself into the trees. Even more slowly he wiggled himself to the south edge. He could see his folding chair would not work. The ducks would see him. He left the chair on the north edge of the trees.
Once at the south edge of the trees, he set his camera on top of the tripod. He snugged the camera and tripod into position in order that he could look through the camera view finder. His first look revealed a pair of male canvasback ducks. Big, whited bodied, pointy bills attached to a reddish feathered head; he knew they were “Cans.” While he was thrilled to see them, he was disappointed. He knew he could not move any closer. There was no cover between the ducks and where he was. The land sloped downhill to the water. Even if he could escape notice and move closer, he would be unable to see the ducks because of the tall cattails lining the edge of the wetland. Wading in cold wetland water was not an option either.
So, he watched from where he was. He began a series of photos. His telephoto lens revealed most of the ducks before him were diving ducks. There were the canvasbacks, only a few. Among them were many more ring-neck ducks. He noticed a pair of birds he first thought were pintails. He knew pintails were usually not seen in the eastern edge of the central flyway. Memory is an amazing thing. While he watched he remembered what they were-widgeon. Widgeon have pointed tails. Not as long as the pintail. Then he realized the coloration was not that of a pintail. Field identification continued to be a problem for him. But he knew these were widgeon.
After a few more photos he made a decision. There was no advantage to a prolonged sit at this spot. A pheasant photo was possible here. However, the 4 pheasants, a rooster and three hens, he saw on the stalk would not return. These were still fall hunt educated.
A new adventure formed in his mind. He decided to take a walk about the perimeter of the wild place he was in. A backwards wiggle brought him to the folding chair. In a few moments he was headed west again. He knew the ducks could no longer see him. The thrill of unexplored land never grew old to him. He never tired of walking in tall grass prairie. Others might think a walk-through tall grass dull. He looked for signs of the animals that lived in the wild place. He found many signs of white-tailed deer. Their tracks, scat and trails were numerous.
Soon, he reached the western border of the prairie. He turned south along the west line. He discovered there were eyes on him. Canada geese and in small out of the wind places on the wetlands, ducks monitored his progress. Large holes in the prairie brought questions to his mind…coyote or badger? Since the badger was a rare animal, he went with coyote. Soon he was back to the pickup and parking lot. His legs had carried him at least a mile and a half.
A nature walk is to experience abundance…
No other human had seen this event. There were no announcements of this walk. Yet, this event was significant for one grandpa. He felt alive. He had witnessed the twice annual mystery of migration. He had a mind full of beautiful natural images-ducks seldom seen by most humans today, the rapid, orderly escape of 4 pheasants, the trails, scat and old rubs of bucks on shrubs, the ripple of water and rustle of prairie.
He had immersed himself in abundance. He saw a profusion of life, a richness in plants, animals and earth. There is a lavishness found in every wild place. It is for every human to enjoy and experience. Call it fullness. This fullness comes from God. Should we be surprised? God is infinite.
