Late Winter confusing the geese

It's still Spring in New York state. The problem with this is that it's January 26th. This shouldn't be, and it's confusing the geese.

The poor guys are waiting for their cue to migrate but it never comes. I've noticed over the years that the first snowfall doesn't drive them away. They needs lots of convincing. But this year they're not getting it.

We had one weird, early snow in October and one light snow recently. Mind you, it got very cold with the second snowfall. The whole pond froze -- and there were children ice-skating on the surface, much to my horror. It had just been 45 degrees the day before. You do not go ice skating unless the temperature has been below freezing for three or more days. Then it's solid. Luckily, they were light, skinny kids so none of them went under.

Anyway, back to the geese. They're acting oddly. Lots of fights within the flock and between flocks (there are two here at the moment). Milo's doing his best to keep order but I think he's feeling stress over the climate situation. It's just not normal. And when he finally takes the flock south (if and when Winter arrives), the season that greets him there will be a bit off too, because of the odd timing.

Climate change is going to affect all of us in the end. This is just a precursor event, rippling through the geese world.

Look! Up in the sky!

This evening just before darkness fell I took my moths outside to set them free. I stood in the fierce winds from the hurricane, opened the top of the Bugzooka and they flew into the wind currents. It seemed marvelous.

The air was so wild and the fading night so inviting, that I stood there for a bit. Soon I heard my flock of geese but I couldn't tell where they were. It was almost dark and I couldn't see them anywhere. I tried to localize their honking. Where was it coming from? Ahead -- that was as far as I could pin it down. I stood still and listened. The honking was getting louder.

Suddenly the flock streamed across the sky, right over me. Their black silhouettes stood out clearly against the lighter background of the fading night sky. They called loudly to each other as they flew -- and I knew I was hearing Milo, calling out to his flock and directing their flight. And the others called back to him, sounding joyful to follow his lead.

These adult geese flying through the night sky were, in large part, the babies I helped raise this summer. They've grown up and are as powerful and large as the other geese. Last week I noticed that Milo had begun to take the flock on day trips. They're gone for most of the day now, where before they'd just lounge around in the yard. Milo is literally training them, taking them on longer and longer flights to get them ready for the coming migration. Some nights they don't return at all. (And yes, I worry when they don't come home at night. It's just the way I am.)

But in that brief, wild moment as they passed overhead, as I stood in the wind, already feeling the power of nature all around me, their appearance in the night sky seemed so perfect. I will always remember this experience. (And it's very cool to have friends who can fly.)