A Soft Spot to Land...

For the past four weeks, there has been a widowed Canadian goose that has taken up residence along the sleepy lakeshore that laps against the border of my back yard. My neighbor pointed her out to me a week ago while he was mounted atop his riding lawnmower and sipping a Pabst Blue Ribbon beer. He attempted to summarize the life-long partnerships of Canadian geese while hollering over the mower’s sputtering engine and told me that she had more than likely lost her mate and would in all probability stay through the summer until she hitched up with a likeable south-bound flock making that biannual road trip in the sky. For now that hasn’t happened and I watch her while we both enjoy the sun coming up and sparkling on the mirror-like lake we both call home for now. I stretch in front of the kitchen window while the coffee bubbles and drips in the coffeemaker on my countertop. The goose walks out to her goose-knees in the water and sharply plunges her bill below the surface and she shudders when she emerges. It resembles a Noxzema commercial where a towel-turbaned, fresh-faced woman splashes cool water from the sink on to her honey-kissed skin, dousing the cold cream she had previously smothered it in. I am convinced it is the animal kingdom’s way of allowing her to cold-splash her face just enough to alert her to function today. I finish my coffee and head for the living room to catch some HGTV before its time to put my makeup on. I think about the goose. She should really get some breakfast in her stomach. The lake is brimming with plump, fumanchu-ed catfish to quiet her grumbling tummy. Then I remember. She is not here at my lake on vacation eager to check out the all-inclusive seafood buffet that Willow Lake has to offer. Laden with so much grief, her wings lack the propulsion to fly; I reckon she is not interested in food again today. Instead she finds a soft divot of dirt under a maple tree that stretches its arm out over the shoreline and she tucks her bill down into her downy breast and closes her eyes. Grief is the most depleting emotion and often sleep is the only escape.

Though while I do not claim to actually know whether it is indeed a female goose, I have sympathized with this goose and have identified with her. Women were created with an innate desire to give and receive love. We desire this fully. We can trash talk our way through a round of margaritas on a Friday night with our girlfriends and subscribe to superwoman magazines whose covers tell us that we don’t need no stinkin’ man and that what we really need is just a few more lip-plumpers in our cosmetic bags and a few less slices of white bread in our lunch bags if we really want to feel full and complete. While I personally find that one trip through the drive thru of the Dairy Queen can make me feel full and complete on an occasion, I, like my friend the goose, would be left to wander and navigate unfamiliar waters in the event of my spouse’s death. I too, would spiral out of the sky and free-fall into a place where I could tuck my tail-feathers and nap for a while until my tears dried up and I felt like picking up where my flight path last dropped off the radar. Without love, life is barren and unfruitful and it can simply take away our will to fly.

One of the most tragically quixotic love stories of our time and my personal favorite is that of Johnny and June Carter Cash. When Johnny was 18, he spotted June Carter on stage from a distant seat in the audience and pledged to himself that someday he would marry her and he did, nearly two decades later. Johnny publicly succumbed to drug addictions and suicidal attempts and often credits June Carter and their indissoluble love with saving him from a premature and undignified death. Now this is what chokes me up: June Carter Cash died May 15, 2003 in a Tennessee hospital with Johnny clutching her hand. Before his final concert performance on July 5, 2003, Cash took the stage before performing his anthem “Ring of Fire” and said, “The spirit of June Carter overshadows me tonight with the love she had for me and the love I have for her. We connect somewhere between here and heaven. She came down for a short visit, I guess, from heaven to visit with me tonight to give me courage and inspiration like she always has.” Two months later on September 12, Johnny Cash passed away. The internet tells me he died of complications from Diabetes. I believe it was heart-related.

It is my greatest hope that I would be the blessed, lone witness to this goose testing her wings on a crisp fall morning in the coming months. I long to see her get a running start and lift off to join a flock that has created a spot in the flight cluster just for her to seamlessly slip into. I want to hear her honk and flap her wings good-bye thanking us for the corner of the world we shared with her while she needed a soft-spot to land. I am sure that many of my neighbors with their tidy back yards would like to see her relocated sooner than later as spotty goose droppings are dotting the once manicured lakeside. I would like to see her relocate too. Perhaps to a sunny beach in Mexico for the winter with a new gaggle of girlfriends to promenade the seashore with, hearts and wings fully intact.