I’ve only had my lake house for six months, and already I’ve witnessed and encountered several wild animals, some in their world, some in mine.
Washing up in the bathroom one day, I noticed a lizard, an anole, on the soap dish. I picked up the dish and walked outside. However, just as I got to the door, he scampered up my hand, then my arm, and finally to my shoulder. I may have squealed a bit. I wrote about an encounter with a bird inside the lake house here.
Sitting on the porch of the lake house, I can watch snowy egrets, cormorants, osprey, ducks, Canadian geese, and a great blue heron. I’ve even seen two bald eagles riding a thermal high above the treetops. I’ve written about a hummingbird encounter at the lake here.
The cormorants are interesting birds. Their feathers become waterlogged after diving for fish, so they stand on a sunny rock or treetop with their wings half-spread to dry off. We have a flock of them on the island in front of the house, and they all silently swoop out together in the morning, then gather again in the branches of pine trees in the evenings. I had to look it up, because the first time I heard the noise, I thought a herd of wild boar were on the island. But no, cormorants do not sing or squawk; they grunt like pigs when settling in with the flock.
I love watching the great blue heron stalk and hunt it’s prey in the shallows, moving like a tai chi master in the grasses. And watching him (or her?) fly lightens my heart as he performs a beautiful port de bras against the sky. But when he opens his bill to let all know he is here, it is a shock. It’s a pure pterodactyl roar. Surely birds are direct descendants of dinosaurs.
One autumn afternoon, my friends and I were returning to the house after an excursion on the boat. As we were approaching the house, I noticed a few swimming animals in the water directly in front of me. I assumed they were the ubiquitous cormorants and that they would fly off. But as we drew nearer, we could see a family of three raccoons swimming from one small island to the one that is directly in front of my house. I didn’t know raccoons could swim, but that’s exactly what we witnessed, their little heads bobbing above the water, making good time. It may not be its official name, but that island is now Raccoon Island in my mind.
There are turtles sunning on logs, and when I get in my kayak to travel around Raccoon Island, I can get especially close to them if I’m quiet enough. The egrets and the great blue heron don’t mind my presence as I slip into the shallow areas of the island to examine the plants and trees more closely. This is when I’m glad my house faces the island rather than the open water. It’s my own private nature sanctuary.
So may we learn from these creatures and noisily gather with our flock of friends. Or alone, dance a silent ballet. Or put down our technology and rely on our instincts for rising, eating, and resting. Or relax in the sun, rolling into the cool water when the time feels right to swim to a different shore.