What Will the Wood Ducks Say?

      The planners of our neighborhood cul de sac mistakenly configured the hydrology of two marshes and two retaining ponds resulting in a 45 inch bounce in the marsh behind our house. That means our marsh water level can reach my waist during those times. How apropos that Silverstein’s song should pop into my head as I’m writing this blog...   

                        

                                                      Oh gee, it’s up to my knee.
                                                      Oh my, it’s up to my thigh.
                                                      Oh, fiddle,  it’s up to my middle.
                                                      Oh, heck,  it’s up to my neck.
                                                      Oh, dread, it’s upmmmmmmmmfffffff..

   

      A few years ago I put on my rubber boots, grabbed a long walking stick and attempted to wade into the boggy wetland to retrieve a plastic bag, only to get stuck a few feet from shore. Sweat poured off my face as I was wondering if I were going to be permanently cemented Jimmy Hoffa style into the peat-like, gooey blackish muck. Panicking would only make matters worse and yelling seemed like such a silly option.   Instead, I opted to slowly work at pulling each encased rubber boot out of the tendrils of the swallowing muck, while leaning on the walking stick. I’m here telling the story, so I obviously recovered.  But that was the last time I attempted to wade into the duckweed covered marsh, preferring to leave it to the wood ducks, frogs and turtles.

       In the spring, our flooded marsh becomes a veritable nursery for waterfowl and amphibians. Although I’ve never seen the wood ducks pop out of their nesting holes, I’ve heard Mama repeatedly calling to her chicks to “break a leg”. These chicks have faith in their Mom. Would I jump 30 feet out of a hole in a tree just because Mom is calling me? I suppose they don’t understand gravity, which is a good thing. Sometimes it’s best to  be ignorant of what’s ahead in our timeline.

     As a consequence of the hydrology goof, we’ve lost a lot of trees around the marsh, including a 250 year old oak tree, a mere babe when our country was declaring it’s independence. Other trees have fallen into the marsh like matchsticks in a game of pick up sticks. This week I hired a tree removal company to chain saw and stack the fallen timber in half the marsh. The other half will be left wild so smaller birds and rodents can hide from the red tailed hawks. Plus, turtles need something to sit on, right? I’m hoping the wood ducks will arrive this Spring and approve of the furniture rearranging. They’ll see this woodpile as evidence their home was getting too cluttered.