On the Wing vs. On the Ground

When I told Ann and Greenmon, when we had made a rare sighting of a little green heron, that it was my favorite bird, I noticed that Greenmon much later remarked, as it took flight, that it was a rather awkward flyer.

That remark made me realize that I had decided the little green was my favorite based on its ground appearance and behavior and, of course, more. (Part of that "more" is that, after many hours and days of solo canoing, sighting many great blue heron, song birds, swamp birds and even the occasional bald eagle, my first sighting of a little green heron was a rare treat, and I found, in that and later sightings, that it could be approached carefully and viewed at length if it had enough light vegetation at the shore line that it could walk along with my canoe, secure in the knowledge that it could disappear deeper into that vegetation if I became a more aggressive viewer.)

As I continue to read "The Outermost House", by Henry Beston, 1928, I have, since the canoe trip with Ann and Greenmon, read Beston's assertion that, for him, the real measure of a bird is observing it in flight. (I had felt, when Greenmon made his remark about the awkward flight, that he too puts much stock into that measurement.)

When you approach a great blue heron by canoe it is an interesting challenge to see how close you can get. When it takes flight it may scold you for getting too close, and then it rewards you with its wonderful flight and may treat you to a distant view of it selecting a new roosting place and it deftly settling into it.

I've thrilled to see a bald eagle fly almost directly above my canoe, heading to "from whence I had come".

But the little green heron is my favorite bird.