Home is Where the Heart is
I have an affinity with swans. Theirs is no easy grace, but a beauty earned from suffering. I’ve watched Bella brooding, as the water rose in Spring, her nest flooding. How she struggled to build it up, each day a little higher. How she sat patiently for 40 days, often hungry (some mates spell their partners on the eggs. Not William). I watched her grieve as her babies died (I watched her lose William). Bella should have a pond full of babies. She is a fabulous mother, but all her skills and instincts could not protect them (snapping turtles and heron. I watched a heron fly off with a mature mallard).
I’ve watched William hide his entire family when the coyote was stalking. I’ve seen him offer his own life as a diversion to distract a predator, and keep his loved ones safe. I’ve sat with William through the loss of three partners, the grief palpable, and when he had young to raise alone, I was their nanny, so he could nap. The cygnets are Spring’s highlight. They come to meet me as soon as they can float; heads bobbing, squeaking like a puppy’s chew toy. I love them with a mother’s love ~ deep, devoted, powerful and unwavering.
I’ve watched William go after the rescue team who were trying to capture his girl Mia, when she had a fish hook embedded in her face (sadly, they didn’t seem to want my help. All bravado and “We’ve got this.”). Mia broke free of the net and skittered off, William close behind. I said to the crew, “You might as well leave. She’s not coming back any time soon.” (they returned the next day, asked where they might find her (I felt a traitor, but I couldn’t remove it myself), successfully snared her, took her to the wildlife clinic and returned her, wiser and lovely as ever. Poor William was beside himself. That was the year he lost his first partner Sophie, and a cygnet (pre-digital camera, I’m not positive the year).
William was a wonderful father (after the hatching), and an attentive mate, though he did wander off, protecting his territory. When he returned, there was always much rejoicing (reminding me of how excited Scotty was to see his daddy, after Doug had been at work all day!)
Swans mate for life, but if you live in the woods, you’re never really out of the woods. Poor William lost three loves. Sophie, his first, coyote. Lily, his second, drowned by a very large male swan (cob), who wanted William’s alpha status (I surmise this because the week that Lily went missing, I saved a young female swan (pen) from being drowned by that sane bully. The cob was on top of her, pummeling with his wings and pushing her body down, holding her head under so she couldn’t breathe. I pulled him off her (adrenaline), and waited in the water until she had fled to safety. But I don’t live there, and I couldn’t protect Lily, and William couldn’t either. Angel was William’s third mate, and I’m fairly certain a coyote got her.
Swans are exquisite creatures, beautifully graceful, elegantly regal but they will fight to the death over territory. Even the females will help defend (not in the thick of battle but will support their partners in the relentless chase). By late Winter, this chasing/nipping includes their own offspring. Before the arrival of the new brood in Spring, the existing brood is banished. This is the part that breaks my heart. The young swans, befuddled, turn to their nanny for protection. I’ve stood out in the water as a human shield, William charging, churning across the water with those massive wings outstretched and refused to budge. He might have flattened me like a rag doll but he always stopped at my feet, The babies (grown, but still my babies), relied on my protection until the day they came to fully realize the time had come for them to leave their home and make a new one, elsewhere. I’ve watched the young ones fly away, (always a bittersweet event), so proud of them, knowing how much I would miss them, and worry about their safety. To watch them growing their great wings was a magical gift. I never know where they go, but sometimes they’ll come back, and it’s the sweetest visit (I can tell immediately if they know me. A wild swan will rarely approach a stranger. Even if you have food, they’ll keep their distance). One Winter, one of William’s boys climbed up into my lap like a Puppy and settled on my chest. I was laughing so hard I could hardly breathe, but I wanted a picture so badly! It was hysterically unforgettable. I love them so.
The April day I came upon William in the distance, apparently napping, I came to understand that he was dead. “NOOOOOOO!” I yelled, as loud as I could (because I could, in the woods). I thought he would live forever (William had juvenile children, when we first met, so he was about four. I knew and loved him for 23 years, so he was roughly 27 when he died. A ripe old age for a swan in the wild (in captivity, swans can live to 30. William had the best of both worlds). I believe he had a heart attack from chasing the Canada Goose couple who returned each year, only to be persecuted. I have no idea why. Home is where the heart is. I buried William close to where I found him, but not so completely that Bella couldn’t find him. I wanted her to know, when she was finally off the nest (nearby, interestingly), but I’m fairly certain she knew, after hearing me scream.
Sweet Bella lost her mate and all nine cygnets, and for a little while, lost me as well. She went away (as I knew she must. the chances of her finding new love in that tiny, remote pond where nil), and in Autumn, returned with Buzz! (who looks so much like William, he really might be an offspring). I wouldn’t have known about Bella’s return (saddened by so much loss, I stopped visiting), but my friend Ursula who lives on the pond saw two swans flying in and alerted me. How exciting! I raced over there to see if it was Bella and it was! So Buzz (I don’t know why I named him that but it stuck) and I became acquainted, and he slowly learned to trust me and come in closer. In the Spring, the happy couple had six cygnets. I was so happy for Bella and her new love, it seemed a time of healing and moving forward. One by one, the babies disappeared. It broke my heart and I put me boot down. When they came to me alone, all the babies dead I said, “You cannot live here. You must find a new home, a safer pond, where your babies will grow to maturity. I will miss you and love you forever.” And I left. I hope they understand, and realize how very much I love them. I’m sure Bella will miss my warm Winter oatmeal. It’s the toughest thing Love’s ever asked of me.
