Nature Never Shuns a Different Duck
A Ruddy Duck and an American Coot swimming as friends. By Kris Cochran
Earlier this spring, I was on a road trip with a woman who decided I was a different duck.
And not in a good way.
I had never met the forty-something fellow traveler and would likely never see her again. Still, she verbally waterboarded me because I hike solo at 70.
Mile after mile, I heard all about the many ways I’m sure to die alone on the trail, including death by bear. After several hours of her ageist gobbledygook, I would rather have taught a grizzly to tango than go another mile.
Death by bear was looking pretty good.
I didn’t choose to be a widow alone in the world at 70. I would give anything if two pairs of hiking boots were on the shoe rack. But there’s only one pair now, and lacing up for a day photographing and writing about nature is the only joy I can count on.
Who has the right to drown another’s dream because it’s different from their own?
A Hooded Merganser and American Coot sharing space on the pond. By Kris Cochran
Nature designed our pond for diversity
The beauty in allowing each other to be different ducks was never more evident to me than a few days ago when I hiked along the waters of Market Lake Wildlife Preserve.
In the spring, when I photograph our returning migratory ducks, I usually see five or six species at Market Lake. This year, I also captured images of four types of ducks I’d never seen before at this location.
Spending several hours with so many different ducks is a little bit of heaven for a wildlife photographer. Since I was alone, I had the freedom to take all the time I needed to capture dozens of images.
Below are pictures of my new duck friends and what I learned about their cooperative spirit.
They didn’t have quack to say about my being too old to hike alone.
Bufflehead Duck. By Kris Cochran
Buffleheads prefer migrating in small flocks. Clever recyclers, Buffleheads use the abandoned tree nests of Northern Flickers. To freshen their roost, the females add a layer of down. If a brood loses its mother, another Bufflehead cares for the orphaned ducklings.
Greater Scaup. By Kris Cochran
When Greater Scaups feed as a flock, there is a constant shifting of position from back to front. Every duck has an equal opportunity to swim at the head of the table. Females build nests close to one another and send the males away. While drakes in other species guard the nests, birthing is mama’s business in the Scaup culture.
A Red-Breasted Merganser. By Kris Cochran
Mergansers are fish eaters and hunt cooperatively. Together, they drive schools of small fish to shallow water, then scoop them up. Females share nesting duties, helping one another teach the ducklings to swim and dive for dinner.
Canvasback Duck. By Kris Cochran
Canvasbacks are the largest diving ducks. They fly in a large V formation as precise as a military squadron of jets. Although they fly together during migration, Canvasback couples become very private once they reach their nesting grounds. They build woven nests in secretive spots over water, then act as a team to hatch their family.
Female Common Mergansers on a peaceful girl’s night out. By Kris Cochran
Are we listening to one another or waiting to squawk?
Unlike the ducks, more and more folks are spoiling for a fight over racial and cultural differences. Few are listening to understand and accept one another. Most have their fingers in their ears like toddlers and are only waiting to squawk.
“Be exactly like me or get out of the pond.”
I don’t understand it.
If nature intended for all living beings to be the same, we would have remained simple organic molecules buried deep in a rock.
Instead, nature designed a variety of sentient beings to share her pond in cooperation and inclusion.
What if our determination to be right is our biggest failing?
What if solutions to society’s problems surface when we ask a different duck, “How can we navigate this pond together?”
“Our ability to reach unity in diversity will be the beauty and the test of our civilization.”
Thanks for walking with me,
Kris
