BY HARRY WEEKES
Sometimes the natural world makes you sit up and pay attention. Sometimes it slips in the back door. Both things happened in the last week of April, when we woke up to fresh snow blanketing the valley, and a common loon showed up at the Indian Creek pond.
The snow is not uncommon; rather, it is that annual reminder that we live in the Rockies and that the weather can change quickly. The hours around when people woke up and got to work were a magical blend of awe and attention. “What about this snow?” “Did you see the light over the mountains?” “Everything was so calm and white.” We took the morning and paid closer attention to everything that was around us.
One of the things I did was stop at the Indian Creek pond in hopes of confirming a text I received on Sunday with several pictures and a simple message: “I spotted a loon on Indian Creek pond….”
I trudged through the snow, binoculars in hand, wondering how hard I would have to look, and there she or he was—slowly moving back and forth, its heavy body held tight to the water, its head up and then down, patrolling the pond beneath. Unmistakable—a loon; yes, a common loon, but the very first one I have ever seen here.
At some point over the last two days the State Bird of Minnesota had slipped into our valley, almost unnoticed and with very little fanfare. And there she was, perhaps fueling up while she waited out the storm before heading off to her summer haunts.
My mother grew up spending her summers on a lake in northern Minnesota. As kids, we would go visit her parents there. There were, of course, loons. And if you have ever spent a night as a kid on a sleeping porch in the great North Woods and heard the tremulo of a loon echoing across a lake, you will know that that sound never leaves you. The first time you hear the call, something is etched into your psyche. The voice of a loon is indelible, and has the wonderful capability of capturing everything around it so that you remember those things, too. My memories were intense. The smells of a forest in summer. Thick wool blankets pulled up around my ears. Days spent catching frogs and toads and crayfish. Great leeches the size of luggage straps. Snapping turtles and camp robbers and black bears. Wading out into Pine Creek. Seining for minnows and then standing listening to the drum of the tiny fish on the tin sides of the minnow bucket.
I often listen to birds and wonder, “How much can be contained in a call?” The arrival of the loon made me realize something: “What if birds have the ability to capture an entire ecosystem in a few moments of song?” If the loon can draw this out in me, how does another bird, one that understands and speaks the language, think and feel?
Both the snow and the loon are familiar to me. The snow brought a pleasant surprise but was not entirely unexpected. I am still sorting out what the loon brought in.
Harry Weekes is the founder and head of school at The Sage School in Hailey. This is his 49th year in the Wood River Valley, where he lives with Hilary and two of their three baby adults—Penelope and Simon. The other member of the flock, Georgia, is currently fledging at Davidson College in North Carolina.