Peace on Exner Marsh, 2011
Luke 2:10-14 "For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord...
Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men."
John 16:33 - "These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace."
Hundreds of Canada Geese on frozen ice lake at Peter Exner Wildlife Preserve in McHenry County, Illinois. December winter.
Christmas Eve; Saturday, December 24, 11:18 AM - Huntley, Illinois. While the rest of the family headed out to brave the crowded, honking parking lots for last minute Christmas shopping, Amanda and I headed out to Peter Exner Wildlife Preserve near my brother’s house in Huntley, Illinois. For me, getting outdoors is finding peace.
The Exner preserve is a 230-acre marsh, most likely self-preserved because it’s spongy grass and standing water were unsuitable to hold another cookie-cutter subdivision like those that have popped up all through the area. Exner Marsh is an Illinois State Nature Preserve in a shallow glacial lake bed. Plant life includes rice grass, cattails, water lily, spatterdock and bladderwort. A wetland bog hosting waterfowl during migration.
I previously knew of the marsh’s existence from the park-rangerish green and brown sign at the end of Reed Road where we turn in to my brother’s subdivision. But all the years passing by, I had always only said, “Someday I’ll stop in there.” So this Christmas trip, on the chance I’d have time for an excursion, I brought along my camera.
The Exner preserve is a 230-acre marsh, most likely self-preserved because it’s spongy grass and standing water were unsuitable to hold another cookie-cutter subdivision like those that have popped up all through the area. Exner Marsh is an Illinois State Nature Preserve in a shallow glacial lake bed. Plant life includes rice grass, cattails, water lily, spatterdock and bladderwort. A wetland bog hosting waterfowl during migration.
I previously knew of the marsh’s existence from the park-rangerish green and brown sign at the end of Reed Road where we turn in to my brother’s subdivision. But all the years passing by, I had always only said, “Someday I’ll stop in there.” So this Christmas trip, on the chance I’d have time for an excursion, I brought along my camera.
Exner Wildlife Preserve, Dec. 2011
On the first evening of our holiday visit, we drove by the preserve and my eyes looked searchingly from the road wondering if there would be anything to see making worthwhile the braving of the piercingly cold weather. Given the perfectly level topography of the area, all I could see was what looked to be just another flat, boring, cornfield so typical of the area. Perhaps a corn field waiting for the season to turn and begin another year of sowing. Or, perhaps a cornfield waiting for the housing market to turn and subsequently turn another natural area to a subdivision. But as we passed the park district sign, I saw what wasn’t seen over the other cornfields: two squadrons of Canada Geese (Branta Canadensis), in V-formation, descending into the heart of the Peter Exner Wildlife Preserve. It was settled, this trip we would make an expedition.
The following morning, Amanda and I were very casual about the excursion. We did not rise from bed any earlier or eat any quicker; perhaps because our full contingent of outdoor exploration gear was sitting back in Georgia. After a warm breakfast we layered what clothes we had, donning last our camouflage fleece jackets just purchased the day before at a discount Christmas price.
Exiting the car, after the initial blast of chill in my face, the first thing I noticed was the tall brown marsh grasses, now devoid of any green or succulence in the winter air. So stiff, as if the chilly wind that rushed across them in gusts would cause them to snap and break; for they looked far too brittle to bend. Although the sun was bright and might give the false impression of warmth, all was cold; all was chapped; all was frozen; all was crisp. The frost-encrusted grass of the mowed hiking path crunched beneath our feet. All was cold but did not seem dead; just waiting… waiting for a warmer season.
The following morning, Amanda and I were very casual about the excursion. We did not rise from bed any earlier or eat any quicker; perhaps because our full contingent of outdoor exploration gear was sitting back in Georgia. After a warm breakfast we layered what clothes we had, donning last our camouflage fleece jackets just purchased the day before at a discount Christmas price.
Exiting the car, after the initial blast of chill in my face, the first thing I noticed was the tall brown marsh grasses, now devoid of any green or succulence in the winter air. So stiff, as if the chilly wind that rushed across them in gusts would cause them to snap and break; for they looked far too brittle to bend. Although the sun was bright and might give the false impression of warmth, all was cold; all was chapped; all was frozen; all was crisp. The frost-encrusted grass of the mowed hiking path crunched beneath our feet. All was cold but did not seem dead; just waiting… waiting for a warmer season.
Canada Geese, Branta canadensis, on frozen waterfowl impound pond in Peter Exner Nature Preserve, Huntley Illinois
The second thing to grab my senses could not escape notice. In fact, it was most likely the first thing I noticed, but I had deliberately pushed it out of my mind like a child who ignores the largest present under the tree in order to save the best for last. I could hear the cacophony of the squadrons that I had seen landing the previous evening.
One goose is as abrupt as an early morning alarm clock; three geese are a racket. But the noise we heard was greater than an alarm clock store at six a.m. and greater than the racket of all rackets! Although we couldn’t yet get a clear look, there had to be tons of geese just beyond the tree line bordering the marsh’s frozen water. Each honk was amplified as it bounced off the sheet of ice upon which each goose stood and was carried along by the chilled wind. From our position, no individual honk could be heard, for all blended and crescendoed into… into something indescribably loud. Perhaps they could be called an orchestra, but an orchestra perpetually tuning, blowing, preparing… never getting into a “symphonic” mode.
One goose is as abrupt as an early morning alarm clock; three geese are a racket. But the noise we heard was greater than an alarm clock store at six a.m. and greater than the racket of all rackets! Although we couldn’t yet get a clear look, there had to be tons of geese just beyond the tree line bordering the marsh’s frozen water. Each honk was amplified as it bounced off the sheet of ice upon which each goose stood and was carried along by the chilled wind. From our position, no individual honk could be heard, for all blended and crescendoed into… into something indescribably loud. Perhaps they could be called an orchestra, but an orchestra perpetually tuning, blowing, preparing… never getting into a “symphonic” mode.
Canada Geese, Branta canadensis, on frozen waterfowl impound pond in Peter Exner Nature Preserve, Huntley Illinois
It certainly didn’t sound as if these geese were lying quiet and striving to remain concealed and unnoticed by predators like the other wild animals that undoubtedly inhabit the marsh. Why so much honking and racket? Do they not have predators? Do they honk away contentedly believing there is safety in numbers? Or, does the cold ice upon which they barefootedly stand cause them to stretch their necks and honk out “Cold! Cold! Cold!” to alleviate the sting in their frozen feet?
Downy Woodpecker
(Photo 201112096)
We turned toward the noise of the geese and walked in anticipation to see just how many geese there actually were. How many there must be to raise such a din! As we walked the path toward the water, our attention was briefly grabbed by the flitting of a cute little Downy Woodpecker (Picoides pubescens). Another addition to the Life List!
Proceeding onward, each step forward revealed glimpses through the leafless trees and shrubs of these plump butterballs scattered across the sheet of ice. As we approached and peered through the reeds, their general honking arose to great honks of alarm: “Hey! Honk! Hey! There’s someone in the bushes! Hey! Honk! Hey!”
There they stood, hundreds upon hundreds! All standing upon the ice; group after group; huddle after huddle… all honking! Without my wide-angle lens, I was unable to adequately capture what we saw. Bearing only my 70-300mm zoom, which goose was I to focus on? They all looked identical; they all stood identically; they all honked identically. But the large gathering, that was not identical… to Amanda and me at least. The majesty of the scene wasn’t in a single goose, or even in a group of geese; for we see groups of resident Canada Geese foraging on fresh grass all summer in Georgia. But so many hundreds spread out across the ice. That was a spectacle! Thousands of motorists must pass by this common scene each day in these mid-west cornfield ponds. If they even notice at all, it would only be to say, “Just a bunch of loud, messy geese.”
Proceeding onward, each step forward revealed glimpses through the leafless trees and shrubs of these plump butterballs scattered across the sheet of ice. As we approached and peered through the reeds, their general honking arose to great honks of alarm: “Hey! Honk! Hey! There’s someone in the bushes! Hey! Honk! Hey!”
There they stood, hundreds upon hundreds! All standing upon the ice; group after group; huddle after huddle… all honking! Without my wide-angle lens, I was unable to adequately capture what we saw. Bearing only my 70-300mm zoom, which goose was I to focus on? They all looked identical; they all stood identically; they all honked identically. But the large gathering, that was not identical… to Amanda and me at least. The majesty of the scene wasn’t in a single goose, or even in a group of geese; for we see groups of resident Canada Geese foraging on fresh grass all summer in Georgia. But so many hundreds spread out across the ice. That was a spectacle! Thousands of motorists must pass by this common scene each day in these mid-west cornfield ponds. If they even notice at all, it would only be to say, “Just a bunch of loud, messy geese.”
Two large white Mute Swans on frozen ice lake at Peter Exner Wildlife Preserve in McHenry County, Illinois. December winter.
As it was too cold to sit in one spot, Amanda and I kept moving along the icy marsh edge. Group-by-group, the alarmed honking would rise. And group-by-group, squadrons would take flight over our heads, affording some good close-ups of geese in flight. But for each small group that took off, another V-shaped squadron would land further off down the marsh.
Two large white Mute Swans on frozen ice lake at Peter Exner Wildlife Preserve in McHenry County, Illinois.
After the immensity of the sheer numbers of geese wore off, our eyes began to notice two large white birds that, unlike the loud and crowded geese, sat in the cattails on the edge of the ice. Swans. Two large perfectly white swans; orange beaks brilliantly contrasting their own white bodies. And not unlike the geese in color alone, the swans were silent; Mute Swans (Cygnus olor) as a matter of fact; and endued with the same grace in which they are always described. There they peacefully sat, preening, content just to be with each other. As all the groups of geese honked and hollered around them, they were at peace.
It is well known that despite their peaceful appearance, Mute Swans, an “invasive species”, are very aggressive in defending their area of the pond from other birds, even from people. But that is how it sometimes must be: you must aggressively defend your little bit of peace.
It is well known that despite their peaceful appearance, Mute Swans, an “invasive species”, are very aggressive in defending their area of the pond from other birds, even from people. But that is how it sometimes must be: you must aggressively defend your little bit of peace.
Mute Swans on frozen ice lake at Peter Exner Wildlife Preserve in McHenry County, Illinois. December winter.
We didn’t sit long to watch the crowded, agitated, frustrated honking geese (for that is what we left the holiday hubbub to escape) but we did stop, cease, rest, to admire the swans. Anyone can add to the tension and honking of the masses, but to sit quietly and contentedly with your partner in the midst of the madness… that’s peace.
William Wise
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