“Last one back is a rotten killdeer egg,” yelled George, pedaling furiously down the gravel road leading to the campsite. We had ridden down a county road to the river near our campsite, and discovered a killdeer nest, with four precious little mottled eggs like a sweet, secret surprise laid out in a shallow depression amid the gravel. The nest only came to light when the mother flushed as we drew near, and performed the classic, “I’ve got a broken wing, follow me” routine. Once we were clued in to what was happening, we made sure to observe the goings-on from a distance. The George’s later spotted four brand new chicks–tiny little things hatched from another nest nearby.
After losing interest in the killdeer, little George set to work collecting large Canada goose feathers to stick into his bike helmet. The setting sun laid its golden hands on our backs as swallows swooped and dove overhead in the silky twilight.
On the way back to the campsite, we passed the momma killdeer back on her nest, huddled there in the rocks on the shoulder of the road. We pretended not to see her as we rode by, to avoid disturbing her again. It seemed like a perilous place to raise babies…
As we raced back, it occurred to me that children are not unlike birds eggs – sweet bundles of hope. You love and nurture and care for them and hope they hatch into something strong and beautiful. The experiences we give our children are also a sort of hope– for me it’s the hope that these experiences will form their own tiny egg inside him, nurtured along the way by repeated encounters with the natural world. If you asked him whether or not he wants to go birding, he would likely say “no way.” Yet, immerse him in the experience, and he absorbs it through every pore. Adding “killdeer” to the “last one back is a rotten egg” challenge tells me the experience has settled inside of him, somewhere. Hopefully one day these experiences he’s incubating will hatch into a deep and abiding love for nature.
Photos: Jenny Golding