Our Lake in Wasilla, Alaska
Photo; Redneck Grebe clumsily moving at top Grebe speed across the lake.
Yesterday I looked up from my easel and gazed at the lake, the sun was shining and I could hear the outdoors calling so I took a break. The sun felt good as I walked across the fresh cut grass to the end of the dock where I settled myself on the iron bench enjoying the sun’s warmth on my skin savoring the moment. The lake was calm, the family of five Rednecked Grebes were all asleep floating silently with their heads hidden under their wings. The quiet was pierced for a moment by a high pitched squawking from a few birds as they flew overhead, otherwise I was alone with my thoughts, my Grebes, and my lake.
As my eyes grew accustomed to the sun my focus sharpened, and I saw a group of seven small waterfowl swimming silently along the lilies and reeds of the shore. They were the family of American Wigeons that were born and raised in our cove and are readying for migration. Suddenly, all the birds became alert, necks craned, eyes searching, as if they sensed something. I scanned the water and saw nothing. As quick as a flash the Wigeons flew into the air and the Grebes flapped their wings awkwardly, skimming across the water moving quickly away from a splash from under the water. A magnificent Common Loon emerged, surveying the cove as if in charge, slowly swimming back and forth as regal as a king. It was clear that loons ruled the lake. The other waterfowl cut them wide berth. Then, as fast as the loon appeared, it dove under water and was gone. I watched for a long while, and never saw it again. All that remained were the family of five Grebes asleep again, floating with their heads tucked under their wings, the sun shining on calm water and me sitting alone, deep in thought on the iron bench at the end of the dock. I was privileged to witness a scant moment in time, not forgotten but gone now forever. As if it never happened. And yet, shaped the behavior of the waterfowl on the lake for eternity. Instinct.
My break from the easel left me refreshed and feeling good knowing all is well on our lake in Wasilla, Alaska, and I returned to my easel with a new sense of wonder at the natural order in nature. But I am still concerned for our future as a country, where human nature and natural instinct are sometimes abandoned. Instinct. A strong, primeval sense honed and sharpened for survival. As a nation, I think we need to recognize and nourish our natural instinct, and stop debating until it is trivialized. Trust your instinct in this day of internet scams, phishing, ugly, evil, biased reporting, the twisting of the truth until it somehow seems believable. Trust your instinct.
Gail Niebrugge, Artist
