The Kingfisher
We’re resting at the fishing pond at Bur-Mil park after a bike ride on the greenway. Sliding turtles sunbathe on logs jutting out of the water. A great blue heron wades among the reeds, then stands perfectly still. Two wood ducks glide over the pond, pausing in a small inlet to dip their heads under the water. A kinglet flitters in the branches of a pine tree above my head, calling ze-zeet, and I wonder how such a tiny bird can make so much noise.
I’m enjoying the sun, watching the turtles, when a bird barrels beak-first into the pond, a flash of silver and blue as the splashing water catches the sunlight. Then it bird flies in a zig-zag pattern making a wild, rattling call. It perches on a tree branch over the water, keeping an eye out for another fish.
It’s only the second time this year I’ve seen a kingfisher at Bur-Mil.
Kingfishers are pigeon-sized birds with large heads that range from Alaska east across southern Canada and throughout most of the United States. They nest at the end of an unlined chamber dug in the bank, laying five to eight white eggs.
A kingfisher makes an appearance in Ernest Hemingway’s “Big Two-Hearted River,” flying over a trout stream. The story takes place in the forests of northern Michigan a year or two after Nick Adams returns from the horrors of World War I. My brother, an English teacher at a high school in Baltimore, tells me the kingfisher is a symbol of renewal.
And, yes, I can’t help but feel optimistic as I watch the kingfisher swoop across the pond at Bur-Mil, then fly off into the trees, the tinny rattle of its call carrying across the water.
We’re resting at the fishing pond at Bur-Mil park after a bike ride on the greenway. Sliding turtles sunbathe on logs jutting out of the water. A great blue heron wades among the reeds, then stands perfectly still. Two wood ducks glide over the pond, pausing in a small inlet to dip their heads under the water. A kinglet flitters in the branches of a pine tree above my head, calling ze-zeet, and I wonder how such a tiny bird can make so much noise.
I’m enjoying the sun, watching the turtles, when a bird barrels beak-first into the pond, a flash of silver and blue as the splashing water catches the sunlight. Then it bird flies in a zig-zag pattern making a wild, rattling call. It perches on a tree branch over the water, keeping an eye out for another fish.
It’s only the second time this year I’ve seen a kingfisher at Bur-Mil.
Kingfishers are pigeon-sized birds with large heads that range from Alaska east across southern Canada and throughout most of the United States. They nest at the end of an unlined chamber dug in the bank, laying five to eight white eggs.
A kingfisher makes an appearance in Ernest Hemingway’s “Big Two-Hearted River,” flying over a trout stream. The story takes place in the forests of northern Michigan a year or two after Nick Adams returns from the horrors of World War I. My brother, an English teacher at a high school in Baltimore, tells me the kingfisher is a symbol of renewal.
And, yes, I can’t help but feel optimistic as I watch the kingfisher swoop across the pond at Bur-Mil, then fly off into the trees, the tinny rattle of its call carrying across the water.
posted by Brenda Hiles | 9:30 PM
2 Comments:
I have a question for you which I hope you can answer. I live in Greensboro, NC. What is the safest way to dispose of a dead squirrel my dog brought me? He may have killed it himself or found it. Should it be tested for rabies?
The squirrel could be placed in a ziplock bag and put in the trash.
Squirrels typically don't carry rabies. If they're attacked by a larger animal infected with rabies (coyote, raccoon) they're not likely to live long enough to develop the disease.
Hope this helps.
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