My Red Winged Blackbirds… The End Of Innocence

When I was a young fella, maybe nine or ten years old, there was a small marsh, an island of wetland at the back of a land-locked field behind my home. This beautiful little sanctuary was fed by a small natural spring located off to one side, hidden under some low-hanging bushes and well out of sight of all but the most observant, exploring youngster. Here cold, crystal clear water percolated up from somewhere in Mother Earth\’s depths and on the hottest summer day, I could go to the spring-head, lay down on my stomach and drink. I\’d be gifted with as much of the coolest, sweetest tasting fresh water that my heart desired.

For the first four years that I had lived in that house, as the seasons changed, I would go down to the marsh on a regular basis, sit in my own private quiet spot and watch, learning from the cycles of life as they unfolded in front of me. I\’d watch as the Red-Winged Blackbirds would build their nests in the spring, weaving stalks of bulrushes together with grasses, building their basket nests to cradle this years nursery. I\’d watch as after about three weeks, the young were hatched. I\’d watch the doting parents rush around collecting insects and grubs to feed there demanding, squawking offspring. In short order, the nestlings started growing feathers, just a dull mottled brown at first then as they matured later in the summer, they became mostly a dark speckled brown. The males apparently didn\’t turn black and develop their bright red shoulder patches until they had reached maturity. By mid-summer, the new generation of birds had left the safety of the nest and taken wing.

Year after year I watched the same cycles repeat themselves with the Red-Wing Blackbirds and other small wildlife. There was always a female skunk that lived nearby and I\’d quietly watch her as throughout the late spring and summer, she would take her young ones out foraging for food in the evenings. Baby skunks are called \’pups\’ but I always thought they should of been called kittens because of the way they played and tumbled with each other. They were so easily distracted by any little movement that caught their eye, whether it be an insect, field mouse or even a harmless garter snake. It was always fascinating to watch as Mother Skunk would patiently keep her little brood of frolicking youngsters together as she tried to teach them what was good to eat in that little wetland pantry. Muskrats had their homes burrowed under the north bank…. they were always fun to watch too…. And frogs, lots of frogs, every kids delight, I can\’t forget the frogs.

On returning home from school one day in May (early summer) of the fifth year and my Blackbird\’s newly built nests cradled their freshly hatched young.., from behind my house I could hear a distant deep rumbling and the growling of overworked engines…. coming, it seemed, from the back of the field. Naturally, I hiked back to see what was going on. As I topped a small rise, my heart all but dropped out my chest and I was struck dumb by what was unfolding in front of me. I watched as to my horror, a line of dump trucks were hauling in load after load of dirt and dumping it into my marsh, large bulldozers were back-filling and leveling everything in that low lying wetland haven.

My little window on mother nature…, her beautiful, endless cycles and my Red-Winged Blackbirds were no more…..

~Roger Anthony Briggs~

3 Comments

Jenny Satori Davis 9 years ago

For some reason this post eluded me. Wow. I can totally relate to this, my special place was “by the bay.” I wonder if it’s still there. <3

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  Roger A. Briggs 9 years ago
  
  You know siStar, I’ve learned that in the end it doesn’t really matter if a ‘special place’ still exists or not, just so long as we hold our connection to it through our memories and within our hearts <3
  
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BeccaG 9 years ago

We have had many red winged black birds here this summer along with many others, Love watching the animals and birds.

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My Red Winged Blackbirds… The End Of Innocence

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