April (week 1)

SPRING

Part I

Gertie had that pensive look about her—the one she wore every year, just as winter was ending and they were about to head home.

“Do you ever wonder?” she asked Gus. “Do you ever wonder what it’s all about?” she added.
Gus gave his head a shake and reminded her that they had this conversation every year before returning to the island they called their summer home. 

Gertie was a thinker. A dreamer. She wondered why they did this—why, year after year, south in the fall, north in the spring—almost always following the same path. Though one year she suggested they go to Mexico and they enjoyed it tremendously Gus preferred tradition. He didn’t question their routine. For him it was comfortable.

Their life was dictated by the seasons. They would head south just after Canadian Thanksgiving and spend the American version of the holiday in the southern states. In South Carolina she knew the locals were annoyed by their arrival, complaining constantly that they contributed nothing to society. This year in particular she felt unwelcome. She had overheard a conversation in the park; a new president had been elected. He didn’t like foreigners and had plans to send them back where they came from. And, even worse, he wasn’t concerned about the climate, a cause near and dear to both Gertie and Gus.

“We don’t do anything down here,” complained Gertie. “Couldn’t we stay on the island next winter, just once, to see what it’s like,” she pleaded.
“Certainly,” responded Gus, confident he knew Gertie well enough that by thanksgiving she would be ready to head south again.
Gus enjoyed their time in the sun. Winter on the island would be unbearable. They would be house-bound and bored to tears. 

And so, as February drew to its close, the two prepared to return to the comfort of their Canadian home. As they lifted off into the crisp morning air, wings beating in rhythm, Gus was the lead. Gertie and their youngsters formed a V behind him.  They were soon joined by old friends returning from their winter addresses. It was good to catch up, to share stories of their travels and take turns in leading the flock.

The island they called home awaited. But the pond was still mostly frozen when they came in for their landing, honking loudly to announce their arrival. They slid across the ice, wings spread wide to slow them down. As always, their youngsters had broken away from the flock with others their own age so Gus and Gertie were alone, for now. It was good to be back. Their island was a sought after address. Others would attempt to move in, but this was theirs and they would fight to protect their little paradise. 

Gus ruffled his feathers and stretched his wings before folding them neatly against his back. He took a few steps forward, testing the ice beneath his webbed feet. It was still solid in most places, but two perfectly round circles of sparkling water suggested the ice wouldn't last much longer. In the centre of each circle sat an unusual looking duck.
Gertie tilted her head, observing the ducks. "They look exhausted," she murmured.

"Long journey," Gus suggested, "just like us. But they won’t be staying long."

An otter watched the homecomers curiously, whiskers twitching. Satisfied the strangers were not a threat, he slipped silently beneath the surface, vanishing in a ripple. Gus eyed the spot where he'd been. Otters could be trouble, so he’d be watching him.

Gertie stepped forward, nudging his wing. "Let's check the island."

But before they moved, something about the ducks caught Gus’s attention. They were oddly still, floating in the open circles of water. Even when the otter had appeared, they hadn’t reacted.

"Strange," he muttered. "They’re not moving at all."

Gertie frowned. "Maybe they’re asleep?"

Gus wasn’t so sure. He took a few cautious steps closer to the nearest patch of open water. The ducks remained eerily motionless. He stretched his neck forward and gave a low honk. No response. He tried again, louder this time. Still nothing.

Gertie fluttered her wings uneasily. "Gus, I don’t like this."

Curiosity burned in him now. He dipped his beak into the water near the duck, nudging it ever so slightly. It didn’t react. He pushed harder. The duck rocked but remained upright. No flapping. No startled quack.
Unsettled, Gus paddled back to Gertie. "Something’s not right."

Gertie glanced at the windmill in the distance. She had noticed when the blades were spinning the water bubbled up around the ducks. “Maybe there’s something in the water. Maybe that’s why it’s not frozen like the rest."

Gus considered that. He didn’t understand why, but something about these circles of water—and the unmoving ducks—felt unnatural.
"Let’s keep an eye on them," he decided. "And stay clear of that water for now."

Together, they skated across the ice to their island. The familiar old cedars provided cover and the tall dry grasses swayed in the breeze. It was good to be home. 

Gertie stiffened. "Someone's coming.” 

A loud honking echoed from above. Gus turned his gaze skyward just as a pair of geese descended toward the frozen pond. Their wings spread wide as they attempted to land, but the ice was slick, and they slid clumsily across its surface before coming to an awkward stop near the open water. They honked in unison, their cries echoing across the water.

Gus stiffened. He knew what this meant. These weren’t just passing travellers—these geese were here to stake a claim.

The newcomers fluffed their feathers and lifted their heads high, eyeing Gus and Gertie and honking loudly to announce their intent. One of them, a large gander with a sharp gaze, let out a deep, challenging honk.

Gertie took a step closer to Gus. "They think they can take our island."

Gus lowered his neck and hissed, then puffed himself up to assert his authority. "We’ll show them they’re wrong."

He and Gertie stood tall and spread their wings, honking to warn the invaders that this land was spoken for.

For the rest of the afternoon, the pond was filled with the noise of loud honks from the two pair of rivals. They strutted along the ice, stretching their necks and flaring their wings, trying to intimidate one another. At times, each pair rushed forward as if to attack, only to stop short and honk furiously.

Gus and Gertie stood their ground, matching every challenge with a firm stance and a resounding call of their own. There was no real fight, only the long ritual of warning and bluffing, the timeless dance of claiming territory.

Finally the newcomers relented. They flapped their wings and  with a final honk of defiance, they turned and lifted off into the sky, disappearing into the distance.

Gertie let out a satisfied huff. “Well that’s that."

Gus watched them go, then nudged her with his beak, whispering, “Home sweet home.”