Mysterious, mythical, Maine. Large and shy.
Loons are our unofficial state bird (official: chickadee). We count, love, and protect them. The usual reaction when a Mainer hears or sees one: we stop, point, and whisper, "A loon." We drop everything and stare; we acknowledge the beauty and elusiveness of some aspects of life and nature.
Yesterday at my park, the pond, an old man roared up on a motorcycle, a young girl behind him. She called him "Uncle." He ran to the pond, yelling, and dove in. He didn't shout when he was underwater. He spent too much time above water. He yelled and sang. The girl followed slowly. She was wearing clothes, but waded into the pond. He talked to her constantly, referencing a range of popular topics. Kind of amusing.
Loons popped up beside them. Three of them, one a youngster. I held my breath- how wonderful, how magical. So close. I could see a white ring around a neck, a glossy black head, the spotted backs. One had a small fish in it's beak, and offered it to the young loon. Lovely.
The old man yelled at them, "Go away!" He reached down, grabbed sand and stones from the lake bed and threw handsful at them, "Git out a here! GO AWAY."
The loons dove and bobbed up farther away, dove and were gone.
The man eventually got out and drove off on his motorcycle, wet niece clinging to his back.
Loons are our unofficial state bird (official: chickadee). We count, love, and protect them. The usual reaction when a Mainer hears or sees one: we stop, point, and whisper, "A loon." We drop everything and stare; we acknowledge the beauty and elusiveness of some aspects of life and nature.
Yesterday at my park, the pond, an old man roared up on a motorcycle, a young girl behind him. She called him "Uncle." He ran to the pond, yelling, and dove in. He didn't shout when he was underwater. He spent too much time above water. He yelled and sang. The girl followed slowly. She was wearing clothes, but waded into the pond. He talked to her constantly, referencing a range of popular topics. Kind of amusing.
Loons popped up beside them. Three of them, one a youngster. I held my breath- how wonderful, how magical. So close. I could see a white ring around a neck, a glossy black head, the spotted backs. One had a small fish in it's beak, and offered it to the young loon. Lovely.
The old man yelled at them, "Go away!" He reached down, grabbed sand and stones from the lake bed and threw handsful at them, "Git out a here! GO AWAY."
The loons dove and bobbed up farther away, dove and were gone.
The man eventually got out and drove off on his motorcycle, wet niece clinging to his back.
