Duck Verbosity

I'm thinking about ducks today. A friend of mine, also somewhat outdoors-obsessed, mentioned seeing a migrating Scaup on a local lake and this has put duck-thoughts into my head. I am contemplating Mallards though, not Scaups. A pair made their first arrival of the spring in my backyard a few days ago and have been back every morning since. When I was alerted to their presence, I ran like a lunatic out to the garage to prepare cracked corn and a huge saucer of water for them in the hope I could get it into place before they left and without scaring them off. I don't know how successful I was since we had to leave for school a few minutes later, but at the end of the day someone had worked over the corn and there was a sludgy corn-mess at the bottom of the water dish. I realize there is nothing particularly compelling, or even interesting, about Mallards arriving to my suburban backyard--unless the rest of the story is considered.

In April of 1995, my husband and I arrived home from a trip to Europe. The morning after we got back, jetlagged and wide awake long before we wanted to be, two Mallards arrived in our yard. At the time, our backyard was a virgin stand of suburban desolation, with tiny trees, new sod, and few birds to watch. Thus, the arrival of ducks was magical and a possible sign that our efforts at rewilding the place were showing some success. We had lived in this house, a pre-fab, slapped-together, charmless box, for a little over a year. In that time we planted a lot of twenty-dollar ( I wanted the $100 eight foot tall ones, but Mike is an optimist) trees, built a vegetable garden, put up a split-rail fence, and generally spent a lot of time dreaming about what things would look like in 20 years.

The Mallard pair did their part by returning every day that spring and I did mine by ensuring there was corn available to them as well as a lot of water with which to wash it down. They appeared religiously for over two months and then disappeared for the rest of the season. I was happy to have had them here but didn't think much more about it.

The following year our son was born and I was lucky enough to be staying at home with him. This allowed me to watch the avian goings-on of that Spring as well. Again, the Mallard pair arrived at about the same time. Or, some ducks were there. I never knew if it was the same pair, but now, after watching ducks return close to the same time each spring and seeing them come every morning, I have questions.

It seems impossible that the same pair is still alive after so many years. I don't know what the lifespan is of a Mallard, but fourteen years seems like eons in the waterfowl world. So, does this mean that different ducks show up in my yard, (now overgrown and as wild as the neighbors will tolerate) every spring? Is it coincidence that they fly in and land in exactly the same spot each morning? The place they choose to land is difficult for aerial navigation to say the least--they come in along the fenceline and under a huge cottonwood tree. There is a large open area between the house and gardens and trees which would provide a far easier landing strip, but they choose the more difficult route each day. Though it's tougher to get to from the air, their chosen spot under the cottonwood, is right where I leave their corn and water. Coincidence? Possibly. But what I cannot shrug off to coincidence is the fact that there is virtually no way these are the same ducks who came in 1995. This leads me to conclude that there must be some sort of communication happening. Did my original ducks covey to others the location of the stores of corn I offered each day? Did these ducks then pass the informational torch to others? How many generations of Mallards have now visited my cottonwood over the years?

There is a good deal of anecdotal evidence as well as solid research regarding the sharing of knowledge in the corvid world. It is no secret that corvids have mental capacities beyond those of other animals, mammals included. Bernd Heinrich''s book The Mind of the Raven, discusses his observation of tagged ravens, with singular knowledge of a food store, communicating to others (at the roost, Heinrich supposes) about the cache. Different birds arrive, without the presence of the tagged birds, the next day to eat the carcass he has left for them. Obviously, discussion of some fashion is occurring somewhere during the daily comings and goings of these birds. But ducks? I don't know how high on the list of brainy birds a Mallard is thought to be, but I assume they don't approximate the intelligence of crows and ravens. Whether or not the same or different ducks show up at my house each spring is really no matter. But the possibility that each pair has been part of a succession of birds sharing knowledge is fascinating to me.

Fourteen years ago, my quarter acre was a veritable wasteland with little to offer any form of wildlife, including starlings. Over time and through a lot of effort, we've managed to give back a little of what was taken. The maligned, scrawny twenty dollar trees are huge, much to my surprise. There is a small pond now, which breeds dragonflies and the occasional mayfly I haul in a Nalgene from the river. Ample bird feeders and more importantly, natural food sources abound for anyone who shows up here. Happily, they do show up. Squirrels nest in our screech-owl box, which distresses me, but they are amusing and give Kola something to do. The starlings are more prevalent than I would like, but they don't keep away the Cardinals, Blue-jays, Wrens, Juncos, or Goldfinches. Robins, who litter the lawn and sing for us every evening, are a reliable presence on the fencepost when I start turning over earth in the vegetable garden and actually wait for me to toss them a worm. It's relatively easy to forget the opossum living under the shed until I am outside late and startle him...and am myself startled by his creepy grin in feigning death. I wish the chipmunks were nocturnal so the owls would start killing them, although the rabbits we lose to the owls are not missed. I would rather, as well, that the Cooper's Hawk only take the Starlings and the occasional Mourning Dove, but he takes the slowest, not the least-liked. No-one bothers the crows who noisily and joyfully announce their dominance from the cottonwood. It is the four of them I am most excited to see when they arrive for a peanut or morning meal of scrambled eggs. It took years of offering them food before they deigned to take it, and they still do so warily.
So although I am completely unable to unravel the mysteries of nature, I am happy to be offered a place within it; though I am sure I will never know whether it is a fourteen year old mallard couple visiting my yard or a pair with amazing communication skills. Either way, I am grateful.