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A Place Called Home

April 17, 2015 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

There is a place called Home. It’s not a house or a certain building, and you may not even reside there. But something happens to your soul, your spirit, and your body when you return to this Place. When the Place envelops you–you see it, smell it, hear it, and experience it–your blood pressure drops, as my friend Ruth says. You breathe it in with a deep, contented sigh and wonder why you’ve been away for so long. The place called Home for both Ruth and me is the Prairie. We are both Dakotans living in Central Minnesota among the trees and lakes. Don’t get me wrong–I love the trees and lakes and find great pleasure in their beauty and abundance. But when I returned to South Dakota a couple of weeks ago, I felt that place called Home once again.

I arrived Home at dusk to the familiar din of tens of thousands of geese circling, then settling down into the slough for the night. The Snow geese were on their way north, happy for a rest stop along the way.

Later that week, I was able to walk the pasture. It was grazed short from the previous fall with hints of green for the new season. The wildflower hill, with its rock landmarks, is misnamed for this time of year–not even the early blooming pasque flower had peeked its head from the sod.

A dried thistle ‘shepherd’s crook’ accented the horizon, waiting for the animals to return to their summer pasture.

Other thistles lay like bleached bones on the prairie, remnants of time past.

A buffalo wallow, encircled with green grass and dried cow pies, is used by the cattle to rub their heads or to roll in the dust or mud.

The home geese were in the near slough. These Canadian geese stay all summer, making their nests and raising their young.

As I walked along the edge of the bigger slough, I saw Greater and Lesser Scaup ducks body surfing the white caps. Like the Snow geese, they were also making a migratory stop on their way to breeding grounds in the far north.

I scared a mama goose from her nest, and with great honking distress, she retreated into the water.

Her nest was perched on the bank above the slough and made of dry grass and down feathers. It contained five large cream-colored eggs.

The mama goose continued her distress calls and very soon her mate flew to her side, where he heard the whole story of the intruder on the bank. Their indignant honking continued as I walked away from the nest.

I followed the cow path to the top of the hill.

M-m-m, it was good to be Home.

The place called Home, where our spirits soar and our bodies relax, may be our birthplace or a special place that changed the way we feel about Life. It could be the Prairie, the Mountains, the Lake country, the Bayou, or the Great Mississippi River. We leave and find these special places by our own migrations due to schools, jobs, and mates. We make our nests and raise our families in the best way we can, giving our time, energy, and love to the herculean endeavor. At some point, the remnants of the past whisper in our ears, and we ask ourselves if we are on the right path. When the whispers become loud, incessant honks, we finally walk away from the things that no longer work in our lives. And we walk towards ourselves and find that the special place called Home is also inside us. It’s good to be Home!

Land of the Free

July 4, 2014 by Denise Brake 5 Comments

Besides our bright, waving, stars and stripes flag, what best symbolizes America–the land of the free and the home of the brave? Yep, the Bald Eagle–our National Bird! Two evenings ago, we went to visit Eagle Park–the home of a pair of these great birds–not far from our house. It was our first outing there for the season. The nearby Sauk River was out of its banks with all the rain that had fallen in the month of June. The prairie surrounding the eagle tree was lush and blooming.

I had another borrowed camera with more powerful zoom (thank you, Aaron), a tripod, a gracious helper (thank you, Chris), and a beautiful evening. (We did, however, forget the mosquito repellant.) When I focused in on the nest, I was surprised to see the two fledglings, nearly as large as a mature eagle! And what a nest! Eagles usually return to the same nest each year, repairing and adding to it. Most are around five feet in diameter, while some get up to eight feet across and are estimated to weigh almost two tons.

Now using the term fledgling would imply that the eaglets have ‘fledged’ or left the nest. I don’t think these two have done that yet, though they must be close to the 11-13 weeks when that normally occurs. One eaglet stayed in the nest while the other perched on a branch, flapped his wings, and hopped from one side of the nest to the other. He looks like he is ready to fly!

Eagle chicks grow very rapidly and are almost adult size by six weeks old. By eight weeks, their parents are hunting almost continuously to feed them. This fledgling looked like he was waiting for one of his parents to return with a meal.

But look at how sharp his beak is! Once he has fledged from the nest, he will learn to hunt as the parents still provide food. It will take 4-5 years for the eaglets to mature. Gradually their head and tail feathers turn white while their eyes and beaks turn yellow. Eagles mate for life, and both parents can incubate the eggs, though most often the female stays on the nest, and the male hunts for food for her. After the chicks hatch, one parent stays on the nest or close by.

The sun was getting lower to the horizon but shone on the top of the tree where the young eagles were patiently waiting for the return of their parents.

Then as we were walking back, we heard the fledglings start to vocalize–and there was mother eagle! She came back empty-clawed–no food from this round of hunting.

The eaglet that had been in the nest and quiet the whole time was very excited to see the mother eagle!

Even after that wonderful display, the mother eagle didn’t pay much attention to the young ones.

With the sun going down, we left the eagles and their extraordinary habitat. I was so happy I saw the three of them and was hoping the father eagle had better luck with his evening hunt.

What a symbol of Freedom! We often look at freedom in the context of purely external forces on our lives, but I contend that a majority of the battles that individual Americans face actually come from within. Be proud and celebrate our country’s Independence today, but be brave and give some thought to what it is that is holding you back, what it would take to make your spirit soar!

Nest Quest

June 28, 2014 by Denise Brake Leave a Comment

My sister found a duck nest in a willow thicket in the horse pasture. Constructed in the protection of branches with grasses growing all around for camouflage, it was a perfect place to build. The nest was lined with down that the mother duck pulled from her breast and used to cover the eggs when she left the nest to feed. Her clutch needed to stay safe from raccoons, skunks, and foxes for 23-29 days after all the eggs were laid. Baby ducks hatch alert and covered with down and are ready to follow their mama to water within 16 hours! And it appears like that’s what they did!

A Yellow Warbler’s nest and eggs didn’t fare as well. On my daily walk, I noticed the warbler flying from a young, four-foot high poplar whenever I got close. When I examined the tree, I found a small nest in the crook of the branches–probably only two feet off the ground. Inside the nest were three eggs, one noticeably larger than the other two.

Mama warbler nervously flitted from place to place on the other side of the quarry fence but always kept me within her sight.

Two days after I found her nest, the ditch was mowed. The little tree was tipped slightly and most of the tall grass that had hidden the nest on one side was gone. I checked the nest a few days later–no mama bird and only one egg left in the nest. Abandoned. At first I thought it was because of the damage done by the tractor and mower–and that may have contributed to it. But with reading about Yellow Warblers, I found that Brown-headed Cowbirds often parasitize their nests, which would account for the one bigger egg. Often, then, the Warblers abandon those eggs and build another nest right on top of the old one, but since the site was compromised by the mower, she must have moved to a new place.

Every spring the House Wrens have occupied three cedar wood and birch bark houses we have hanging in the maple trees. But when Chris put up the new bluebird houses, these fierce little competitors took over the larger dwellings. The males build nests of twigs to entice their mates. The nests are then lined with feathers, grasses and other plant material to make it soft for the eggs and newborn chicks.

The mama wren was not happy with me looking at her nest–she flew from branch to branch and chattered loudly.

Her nest of seven eggs has hatched, and when I looked today, the chicks are almost fully feathered. They will soon be leaving the nest.

The search to find a mate and the perfect place to build a nest. The work it takes to build the home. The time needed to lay the eggs and incubate them. The energy it takes to feed the brood and keep them safe until they leave. Things that can derail the whole process. Mishaps and mistakes that change the course. Daily problems that need attention. This is the life of parents–whether warbler, wren or human.

Duck nest pictures by Dawn Gehrke

Nest Crafters

May 1, 2014 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

My sister lives on a picturesque ranch in eastern South Dakota. It is beautiful prairie country with acres of grass, towering cottonwoods down by the slough, and grassy fence lines that provide cover for pheasants. They have a pasture of horses for rodeo and pleasure. The horses have provided an unexpected resource for certain birds in the area–horsehair from tails and manes. The horses flick their tails and rub against fence posts, and the hair gets caught in the fence hardware. The birds use the hair to construct their nests. My sister found these nests in the yard after a stormy, windy day.

The nests were tiny–1 3/4″ to 2 3/4″ outside diameter and only 1″ to 1 3/4″ high. We don’t know what birds made them, but I consider them ‘nest crafters’ instead of ‘nest builders.’ Even having been blown out of their tree or shrub of cover, they were still intact as near-perfect circles of woven horsehair. I think how hard it would be to make a nest like that using two hands and ten fingers–and these little birds did it with just their beaks! I wonder how many trips they made to find the horse hair. I wonder how many hairs it took for each nest. I wonder how long it took to craft that soft, yet tough dwelling. Each nest had some plant material in the cup–cedar and pine twigs–making a unique place to lay and incubate eggs, hatch the brood, and feed and care for the babies until they were ready to leave the nest.

We, as parents, are nest crafters, too. We use the resources available to us to craft a dwelling and family life in which to raise our young brood. Whereas the birds take weeks and months to prepare for and raise their young chicks, we invest months and years and decades of time and energy and love. Each family creates a unique place in which to grow. Sometimes the storms of life may blow things away, and we have to re-build, re-group, or re-craft our abode or relationships the best we can. It takes instinct, knowledge, work, trial and error, and tons of love to craft a soft, yet resilient family dwelling for our kids, knowing that one day they will leave the nest and fly away.

Nest photos by Dawn Gehrke

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