Out at Burnaby Lake on Saturday, waiting for my boy who was at his paddling practice. I went for a walk along the grandstands (which were built in 1971 to watch the rowing at the second Canada Summer Games) and, who was nestled below but mother goose. She watched me from below, her neck craning to see where I was going, and I watched her from above. Quietly.
Not to disturb.
Father goose wasn’t far away. Perched on an outcropping. Guarding.
One is always on call when you’re a parent. Always taking care.
At one point, momma got up and, with her beak, started pulling fluff and down closer in and over the eggs. She then repositioned herself and sat back down, wiggling into a comfortable place.
Two geese attempted a fly-in while I stood there and father lept into action, honking and flying at them until they realized they’d taken a wrong turn and left. Let me tell you, there was much ado on the lake with Mother goose honking to him the whole time, and him honking to the trespassers and back at her.
I love this lake. Wouldn’t dare swim in it, but it’s a wild and beautiful place if you’re a paddler – waterfowl, teenage boy, or other.