I’ve always cherished the idea of a neighborhood, of having neighbors who would gladly loan you tools or help you out in a pinch, of being a good neighbor who would do the same. I’ve found that the only time I’ve ever come to know my neighbors is when I’m working out in the yard or garden (which is one reason I love gardening). Gardening is something that requires leisure time, dirt and space, all of which I haven’t had much of lately.
Meeting neighbors is usually awkward at first (at least it feels awkward). You say hello and ask some inane question about their house and their yard…small talk ensues. Eventually you’ll ask their opinion about something, or share a gripe. Ultimately you’ll be trading tools and swapping tips and will be excited to run into them on your way to and from the car. Maybe you’ll end up in the backyard with a beer and a burger (though that hasn’t happened in quite some time). One year I even went so far as to bake loaves of pumpkin bread for my neighbors for Thanksgiving. Never mind that the pumpkin bread ended up being harder than brick (and just about as heavy) and tasted of sweet nothingness. It was the thought that counted after all…right? Some day perhaps I’ll be able to hone my baking skills and offer something a little more edible. I have fond memories of the neighbors I’ve met over the years. I love the (nearly immediate) sense of fealty that comes with the territory.
Marvin, the blue heron.
While we don’t have a garden or a lawn to draw us out of our boat/house, we do have a long walk to the bathrooms, laundry room, showers, and ice maker. You can’t help but meet new people while walking the docks at our marina. The neighbors who I’ve especially taken a liking to, however, are the creatures – the ducks, geese, herons, beaver and nutria. My 3am walk to use the restroom is redeemed only by the fact that I get to see some of our neighbors who hang around at night. Marvin is far and away my favorite. Marvin is a great blue heron.
Since I can’t easily ask the new neighbors any questions, I thought I’d consult google.com for a little backstory.
The blue heron (Ardea herodias) is the largest heron in North America. Herons nest together in colonies which are known as heronries (very original) and are generally found near water (swamps, wetlands, lakes, rivers, you name it). Their nests are found in the tops of trees (seems a little precarious) or in bushes, and both parents take turns rearing the young. They are solitary hunters and prefer to hunt during dawn or dusk (wise choice). They walk slowly or stand still for long periods of time waiting for a fish or other aquatic morsel to dart by and then quickly extend their long necks and spear or grab the creature with their blade-like beak. They eat their prey whole and supposedly have been known to choke to death from attempting to eat creatures that are too large for their tubular, S-shaped necks (that would be quite a sight to behold). Supposedly they also eat mice and bugs and aren’t too terribly picky (generally a good survival strategy).
Great blues can live to be 17 years old and the adults have few natural predators. The eggs and young are mawed on by predatory birds (ravens, crows, gulls, hawks, eagles) and raccoons. The herons that breed in colder northern regions migrate south for the winter, with some traveling as far as Panama. They can fly 20-30 miles per hour (just for reference, that is 4-6 times the speed of our boat). Like most creatures, loss of habitat to development is one of the biggest threats. They don’t like humans encroaching on their nesting areas (a trait I understand and share) and according to the Great Blue Heron Nature Reserve Society there shouldn’t be development within 300 meters (almost 1000 feet…that’s a lot of feet) from the edge of the heronry and no disturbance near the heronry between March to August when they’re getting it on.
Some of the colloquial nicknames used for herons include big cranky, long john and poor joe. Marvin could be typecast as a big cranky…I imagine him as a lovable curmudgeon. The beard, cowlick and relentless scowl contribute to this characterization. At night he hangs out by the lights on the dock, Jeff and I surmise that he does this to keep warm or to spot food in the water or because he really has nothing better to do and it seems as good a place as any.
He looks at me every time I walk by and I nod or say hello.
I try to respect his personal space when he’s on the dock, but inevitably he thinks I’m too close for comfort, he squints his eyes, bows his neck, and lets out a deep guttural croak as he heads for shore. He makes it known that my presence is more a disturbance than anything. I’m fairly certain I can’t win this neighbor over with baked goods, but I still have a sense of loyalty nonetheless. The ducks and geese, on the other hand, are complete suckers for everything I bake. Including my inedible pumpkin bread.
-H