The Geese

My obsession began long ago. When they would come in flocks, flying over the fields, onto their next home. The geese.

            They would come back every spring. Landing on the small pond behind Uncle Jim’s house. They built their nest out on the tiny peninsula, where it was even hard for us to get to. But my father would take us over and when the Mama goose had left her nest, we would quickly count the large eggs and touch the softness of the small goose feathers mixed into the sticks of her perch. It was a beautiful process to observe. We would go back when the eggs hatched and watch as the babies would swim behind the Mama, never leaving her sight. The family would move together as one in the water, back and forth through the twists and turns of the creek.

            Every fall the geese would leave. Scavenging the fields for fuel for their long journey south. It was in the fall that I remember hearing the geese the most. As they would fly over our house and land in the fields. The honking and slight sound of their wings flapping felt like the sound of freedom, and how I wished at times to be flying with them. To have a bird’s eye view of the valley below. How different the Valley would have looked from above and how I tried so hard to imagine it.

            When I began playing soccer, the geese became a prominent symbol in the start and end of every season. My school was built amongst the farm fields and high hills of Cherry Valley.  Our soccer fields were some of the most beautiful in the county, maybe even the state. On the occasion of a night game, the sun would set right over the horizon, displaying sunsets I will never forget. How privileged we were to be playing soccer games in the essence of nature in upstate New York, as opposed to amongst concrete buildings and city streets.  I have moments that take me back to those “under the lights” soccer games and the feeling of being invincible. Like a gladiator in his Colosseum. To us, we felt like superstars in our little hometown under those great big lights. And when the wild geese would come, it was a whole new ballgame.

            We would be playing, and then start to hear them. Louder and louder they became. The honking, the wind under their wings, and when they passed over, it was like a bolt of lightning hit us and sent the extra energy we needed right through our bodies. As they flew over, we would run with them and sprint to keep up. The geese would push us to fight harder, to score, to win. They were our unofficial coaches, urging us on in a way I sometimes couldn’t understand. Their calling was different than a lion’s roar, it was the celebration of a group of individuals all playing as one. The geese were always with their flock, as we, the players, were always playing as a team. We were just like them. Always flying onto victory.

            My sister calls me the goose girl. My heart has seemed to take on the spirit of the geese. How they come and they go. Never staying stuck in one place, but never abandoning the flock. Their family. Mating for life and protecting their partner with loyalty. I couldn’t relate to any other animal in the way I did with a goose. I was envious of how they could swim, fly, and even walk if they wanted too. How I yearned to be on the water with them, or in the fields, and over the Valley.  What I would give to fly south with them each winter and return to the Valley in the spring.  In a way, I have come to live like the geese. Being pulled to the warmer places in the dead of winter, and fully committed to one person. “We are like the geese,” him and I say to each other.  Not needing a piece of paper or ring to officiate our relationship and commitment to one another.  How our bond goes beyond the title and encompasses the love we have for this land and our connection to it. Our connection to each other. How like the geese, I shall always return to my true homeland.

How we all should be a little more like the geese. Our calling to what came before us, and will always continue to carry us, all the way home.