A Willow Stump Waits...

The Upper Basin Chronicles

Chapter 11

A Willow Stump Waits...

After awhile Laura worked a pocket bird call from her pocket into the sound of the red-tailed hawk's cry. Everyone looked up, expecting to see something new. They did -- their teacher beckoning them back up the slope toward the hay rack for lunch.

As the kids approached, Delbert finished unhitching Tom and Dan. He and Alexander would lead them down to the water to drink.

Laura rang her little brass bell. The kids quieted. "Very nice artwork, people," she said. "Please take a minute to notice the the size of your feet." The children looked down. "Now notice the feet of our four-legged transportation." Everyone looked toward the horses' huge feet with murmurs and exclamations. "Please avoid embarrassing Tom or Dan by putting one of your feet under one of theirs, ok?" The kids laughed. "Ok, Ms. Paruzzi, we will!" they said.

Delbert and Alexander walked the big animals away while Ms. Paruzzi continued. "Before we eat, let's watch our movie." The children formed two lines facing each other, and with their drawings held up to share, walked slowly around a narrow circle.

The variety and detail in the drawings impressed chaperone Marge Allen, Johnny's mother. She saw patches of water among lines of brown sedges, emerging green growth, flying geese, red wings on cattail stems, cattail popcorn balls, a huge frog, several interpretations of the mallard drake, one of the horses and the men on the hill.

"Very nice work. Thank you," Laura said, "Please pass your drawings to Mrs. Allen. We'll put these on our wall for the spring open house. If you didn't finish, no problem, there will be time. Let's eat." With a small cheer, the class climbed to the hay rack and opened their backpacks.

As they chewed and chatted, Laura held up a clear plastic water bottle, "Who know what this is?" she asked.

Various answers. "That's correct. Plus, technically this plastic is called P-E-T, 'pet.' Polyethylene teraphthalate, poly-ETH-i-lean ter-APH-tha-late," she enunciated. "Did anyone see one of these in the wetland?"

"No way! Uh-uh!" they chorused.

"Do you know that 114 billion, that's billion with a 'B,' of these plastic, aluminum, and glass drink containers become litter in our country every year?"

"Wow!" they said. "It's worth five cents!" exclaimed Johnny Allen.

"That's right, in Iowa, we pay five cents for each container in the store. Then we get our nickels back when we return them. We have a bottle law. Yet, if you go north to Minnesota, you will find many of these lying around, even in wetlands, and in the 10,000 lakes. No bottle law there."

"Yuck. What a mess," said the kids.

In the thoughtful silence that followed, the children watched Delbert and Alexander walk the horses on a wide path back to the hay rack. As they approached, a huge gray shape floated below them, gliding in toward the water.

"Look, look!" Laura whispered, "Shhh.."

A great blue heron on a seven-foot wing cupped itself to a gentle landing in shallow water, clearly in view. With high, careful steps, the four foot-tall wader began looking for prey.

Then, as if wood, it stopped in mid-stride. Before their eyes, the heron became a gray willow stump, part of the timeless vegetation of the marshland. The willow stump waited in a role the heron family had played with deadly skill for millennia. Slowly, slowly, the raised foot slipped into water. The song sparrow sang a merry tune.

The kids watched intently, held still by their teacher's raised hand.

Finally, almost faster than young eyes could see, the gray, plumed head struck like a spear point plunging out of sight. In a second motion, the long neck swept upward. The kids watched speechlessly as the long sharp beak flipped upward, and a leopard frog flailed legs briefly in air. The heron's beak stretched upward to greet its lunch. The frog vanished in two gulping motions down a long gray gullet.

"Oh..." wailed a youngster, "Poor froggy," said one. "Cool!" said another. Startled at table, the king of the marsh turned quickly toward this disturbance. With a haughty look, he sprang instantly airborne, squawking with indignance.

The kids broke out into animated discussion of what they had just witnessed.

"Ok, people, one at a time, please. Mai, you first. Briefly, what can you say to your classmates about Ardea herodias?" directed Laura.

While each child took a turn speaking, Laura nodded as she set up a field microscope on edge of the hay rack. Alexander walked over to offer a hand. Meanwhile, the class agreed about the importance of the heron's lunch, and the frog's, and their own.

"Hand out these bug monoculars after we've looked at the slide of your wetland," she said to him in a low voice, extending a cloth bag of 10x folding magnifiers.

"Can I try one, too?" he asked.

"Just don't fall in, young man," Laura cautioned.

###

Resources:
GRRN Grass Roots Recycling Network
Birds of Lake, Pond, & Marsh, Water and Wetland Birds of Eastern North America by John Eastman, illustrated by Amelia Hansen, Stackpole Books, 1999 www.stackpolebooks.com

Next week... Chapter 12, the end of the field day.

The Upper Basin Chronicles, Chapter 11 was written and edited by John Gabbert.

Comments? Email feedback to The Upper Basin Chronicles, Chapter 11

The characters presented here are purely fictional, and neither bear resemblance to persons living or dead, nor represent the views or opinions of Saint Mary’s University of Minnesota.