Since last Friday I have been returning every day around midday to the same spot in town.
Last Friday I had a late breakfast at the General Store with an old friend. Because it was a sunny day, and we had more to talk about, I decided to show her how beautiful our town is within walking distance of the Common. We took the narrow walkway on the west side of the Congregational Church and the cemetery, crossed the driveway at Cronin Auditorium, made our way behind the school and onto the grass between the tennis and basketball courts to where a brown sign indicates the direction to Barba’s Point, and stepped onto the trail.
We navigated loose rocks and downed limbs on the steep downhill trail. Stone walls and their remnants were scattered about. From the top of a few boulders and rocky outcrops, covered in moss, pine needles, and leaves, we saw the glittering blue water of Bare Hill Pond in the distance through the trees. The colorful buds of the tall trees were about to burst into bloom. A few small trees already had flowery pinkish blooms. The tangled limbs of trees, the branches of shrubs, and the stems of vines were entwined, forming a dense backdrop.
The ground was carpeted with dry, packed leaves of many shades of brown. As we walked downhill, we heard gurgling water that flowed toward the pond and collected in pools. At the lowest part of the trail was a puddle of mud and wet leaves. Boards had been placed on the ground to facilitate walking through the wet ravine.
An American woodcock sits on its nest. (Photo courtesy USFWS)
Once we were on the boards, my friend and I saw a little round creature, about the size of a softball, stepping gingerly on longish legs and toes through the muddy leaves. It had a tiny, pointed tail, which made it look slightly unbalanced, and it moved with a funny rocking and bobbing motion, poking its long curved bill into the mud. It was the color of the leaf litter, had black striped markings, with some yellow areas, and if it weren’t moving, would have been perfectly camouflaged. It had shiny-black, round, bulging eyes that were placed a bit far back on its head, which seemed to always be looking at us. However, it didn’t react to our presence.
Immediately, we knew it was an American woodcock even though we’d never seen one up close. They’re usually seen flying up out of grasses or brush when startled, or, being crepuscular animals, at dusk or dawn.
In early spring, the males perform their famous mating ritual. A male flies into the air, circling, all the while twittering, to a height of 200 or 300 feet, when he stops twittering and begins a new song while dropping in a zigzag pattern, hoping to land near a female. One chilly evening I joined a group of people hoping to witness this ritual in the Oxbow National Wildlife Refuge fields along Still River Depot Road. It was almost dark when the birds finally became active, but they moved so fast that by the time I located the sounds, they were blurs in the shadowy sky.
But last Friday, midday, I was within touching distance of a woodcock. We should have stayed there as long as it would let us, but after a while, we moved on as though we had somewhere to go, as though staring at the bird any longer was impolite, as though it might be irresponsible to put aside our human interactions for a rare event in nature.
At the time, I didn’t want to neglect communicating with my friend, but I missed the opportunity to communicate with a wild creature and I feel that loss.That’s why I keep going back to that spot at Barba’s Point to see a woodcock, hoping that we might reconnect.
Margaret Kusner is a retired art teacher, a lifelong artist, and a walker who considers humanity to be a part of nature.
