I told my family a month ago that they were here, that they were in the pasture, that they were holding their ground.
Only I hadn’t seen more than two adults. Though, admittedly, I knew what they were up to, where they’d be, what they had planned.
This is March, right? Besides, it was late February when I first spied them.
Yet despite my feeling that it was too early, they proved me wrong. Very wrong.
For that’s what I discovered a few weeks ago. In the pasture. With the cows.
Nest. Eggs. Life forthcoming.
“There are no eggs,” I declared, “because it’s too soon, too early.”
Oh, but I was wrong.
And whose nest is it?
Killdeer (Charadrius vociferus), of course.
Today I almost stepped on it, at least before I was turned away by abrupt and loud diversions right at my feet. Trust me: I mean right at my feet.
I was close enough to kick the bird, to step on the eggs. For I’d forgotten precisely where the nest hid.
But they reminded me. They always remind me.
So along with calves less than two weeks old, we have a vibrant killdeer nest two months earlier than I’d expect.
Two months earlier than I’ve ever seen.
But no worries. My family—my father especially—wants to ensure the birds aren’t bothered. I’m the only one who’d bother them since I’m the only one who understands them.
Still, there’s much excitement here on the farm given this new source of life, this new family, this new pleasure in small things.
So I’m watching them. And waiting. Like before.
Because I know how they are. I know what they plan. I know what they wish to create.
I’m watching. And waiting. Like before.
Because this show is worth patience.