A lot of water has flowed under this bridge since I was young and so loved to feed the ducks with my father. That was one of the original, great past times of my youth. I still have actual photographs of those good old days picnicking by a stream or a pond where the feathers dotted the grass and the “poop” was scattered everywhere which made us watch our step.
I remember taking my own children on duck feeds, but they won’t remember those times as
much as my grandchildren will. When my children were young, we did not live very close to a duck pond, so they were really not the draw. We lived in Canada where the summers were short and ducks were ‘game birds.’ I know that our mechanic had ducks in his back yard, which we went to see once or twice. More often, we would always see the ducks and the geese fly overhead in the spring and in the fall, watching them land in a nearby stubble field where they could find the gleanings of the past harvest. Sill, I love that picture in my mind of birds on the wing.
Now, I love to spend an afternoon or a few hours with the grandchildren feeding the ducks which takes me back to my childhood. I usually rob the bread drawer of all the old half used loaves and buns with the ends left open that are hard and crusty. I load everyone in the van and we head for the closest grocery store to get a fresh loaf to replace what we have taken and pick up any old day old bread that may be available. Sometimes, we are too late in the day for the day old bread.
When we arrive at the park, I love the interaction between child and duck. One always insists on chasing or trying to pick up one of the ducks. One always wants to make the duck his life long friend. One might be afraid of the duck because he at one time got bit or chased by one himself. One will always love the water. One loves to gather the sticks and the feathers. Finally, of course, there is always one that loves to help me take the pictures. Usually each child takes his turn at being one or many of the ‘one’s’ above.
On a sunny day, early last summer, I remember taking four grandchildren, who were between the ages of four and nine, to the duck pond. It was a beautiful afternoon as we all danced in the grass with the warmth of the sun on our backs. We were feeding the ducks until every bag was empty, even shaking the bag to get every last crumb on to the grass. Darting around the droppings on the sidewalk, we started on a journey - the half mile trek around the pond as we were laughing and talking. Finding very unusual items by the water's edge, turned our conversations to recycling, rain, endangered species, families, and this time together.
Time seemed to float on air until we came to a grassy knoll where each of the children struggled to climb a nearby tree. Many of the lower limbs had been trimmed off so - stuggle they did. In the distance, we could hear the burbling of a small stream. Then, like a siren calling to a ship, it pulled their gaze and they darted off to see how close they could get without falling in. Nervously, this grandmother encouraged them to continue the back stretch of the walk where we were again discussing life in a way only understood by children as they collected sticks - each child attempting to find a bigger stick than the previous find.
Wearily, without any coaxing, we all ambled into the van satisfied that the trip had been worth every minute. We even have pictures to prove it.
I remember taking my own children on duck feeds, but they won’t remember those times as
much as my grandchildren will. When my children were young, we did not live very close to a duck pond, so they were really not the draw. We lived in Canada where the summers were short and ducks were ‘game birds.’ I know that our mechanic had ducks in his back yard, which we went to see once or twice. More often, we would always see the ducks and the geese fly overhead in the spring and in the fall, watching them land in a nearby stubble field where they could find the gleanings of the past harvest. Sill, I love that picture in my mind of birds on the wing.Now, I love to spend an afternoon or a few hours with the grandchildren feeding the ducks which takes me back to my childhood. I usually rob the bread drawer of all the old half used loaves and buns with the ends left open that are hard and crusty. I load everyone in the van and we head for the closest grocery store to get a fresh loaf to replace what we have taken and pick up any old day old bread that may be available. Sometimes, we are too late in the day for the day old bread.
When we arrive at the park, I love the interaction between child and duck. One always insists on chasing or trying to pick up one of the ducks. One always wants to make the duck his life long friend. One might be afraid of the duck because he at one time got bit or chased by one himself. One will always love the water. One loves to gather the sticks and the feathers. Finally, of course, there is always one that loves to help me take the pictures. Usually each child takes his turn at being one or many of the ‘one’s’ above.
On a sunny day, early last summer, I remember taking four grandchildren, who were between the ages of four and nine, to the duck pond. It was a beautiful afternoon as we all danced in the grass with the warmth of the sun on our backs. We were feeding the ducks until every bag was empty, even shaking the bag to get every last crumb on to the grass. Darting around the droppings on the sidewalk, we started on a journey - the half mile trek around the pond as we were laughing and talking. Finding very unusual items by the water's edge, turned our conversations to recycling, rain, endangered species, families, and this time together.
Time seemed to float on air until we came to a grassy knoll where each of the children struggled to climb a nearby tree. Many of the lower limbs had been trimmed off so - stuggle they did. In the distance, we could hear the burbling of a small stream. Then, like a siren calling to a ship, it pulled their gaze and they darted off to see how close they could get without falling in. Nervously, this grandmother encouraged them to continue the back stretch of the walk where we were again discussing life in a way only understood by children as they collected sticks - each child attempting to find a bigger stick than the previous find.
Wearily, without any coaxing, we all ambled into the van satisfied that the trip had been worth every minute. We even have pictures to prove it.
