Two summers ago, our family took a vacation to Oregon. We had planned a trip to Iceland, but COVID put the kibosh on that.
The main portion of our vacation was a guided rafting trip down the Rogue River in southern Oregon. I knew my family would enjoy this because of our previous rafting trip in the Grand Canyon, and I wanted my daughters’ guys to experience a similar trip.
It was a four day/three night all inclusive trip, with guides going ahead of us to set up our gear. The guides also did all of the cooking and most of the paddling. It was a wilderness version of a pleasure cruise.
One of the advantages of touring a river in this fashion was the slow pace and quiet surroundings as we drifted peacefully on stretches between more exciting rapids. We could enjoy the quiet majesty of the cliffs and mountains, learn about the plants, animals, geology, and history of the area.
But the peak experience came when we were sitting on the bank of the river one afternoon while the guides began to cook dinner.
Frantic quacking interrupted our conversations.
Now, a quacking duck isn’t usually described as frantic, but this was one frantic duck.
Across the river, near the opposite bank, there was a duck in the air, facing the bank, making a racket. Looking closer, we saw a bald eagle, also in the air. These two were in a face-off with each other. What in the world?
Then we heard, “Peep, peep, peep,” and a line of ducklings swam out from behind a cover of shrubs on the bank. Now we understood. Momma duck was trying to divert the eagle’s attention away from her babies. At this point, momma duck flew off down the river, and the eagle followed her. She came back just a few minutes later and tried to shepherd her ducklings back into safety, but the eagle had followed her and snatched one up. We watched as the eagle ate his catch and momma duck silently secured the rest of her brood.
Whew, that was something! But it wasn’t over.
The same scenario played itself out three more times until all the ducklings were gone and the mother duck left for the last time.
Our own personal National Geographic nature special had played out in front of us.
Of course we all tended to feel sorry for the brave momma duck and were rooting for her to save her babies. Who doesn’t root for the underdog? Or a mother protecting her babies?
It didn’t effect me quite as emotionally as it did some members of our party. I guess I have been in nature long enough to understand that this is the way of the world. The eagle wasn’t evil. It was just surviving, and acting like an eagle.
But the bravery of that duck was something! One lone duck trying to fend off a bald eagle? Amazing! It’s tempting to anthropomorphize her, but it’s obvious she was protecting her young, trying to ensure the survival of her brood. Thank goodness mothers of most species have this instinct.
If you’ve reared children, you doubtless related to the momma duck. If you have been a caregiver or work with a vulnerable population, you probably had the same feeling. Defenseless and powerless persons need our vigilance and protection in order to thrive and survive.
And this is what we are doing when we care for our loved ones living with all forms of dementia. At the least, we are called to keep them safe and content. If we can manage to make them feel loved and cherished, even better.
I was certainly a mother duck to Harvey. I fiercely protected his privacy early in the disease, and covered for him in social settings, keeping him sheltered. Later, I staunchly defended his personhood to uncaring staff at a few facilities. At the very end, I let nature take its course and held his hand as he crossed into the “whatever comes next.”
May you be as brave as a duck when caring for a loved one.