Today is Saturday, May 9, 2026. I started this walk around 1:30. I’m in the on the loop I regularly go to.
The dog is already done in the water once.
I always see a pair of geese in the same spot. They don’t have babies, but they’re always out here like they’re patrolling the road, and when we approach they make a big racket and jump in the water. I always wonder if they’re sentries for the rest of the flock, but I don’t see any others walking around here. Weirdly, though, they’re almost always in the exact same spot.
The weather is getting nice, and I’m starting to think about getting the kayaks out. It’s one activity Riley and I can share together, and it’s one of the few outdoor activities she actually enjoys.
Oh look, here’s two pairs of geese with their little families. I wonder if those other two were an early warning system for these guys. I love how they always organize themselves into a perfectly straight little line.
I love taking pictures out here, but sometimes it’s hard to capture the tranquility and serenity of it. I realized part of the reason is because you can’t hear anything, and the birdsong is part of what makes it so beautiful. The other thing is that you can’t capture motion.
When the wetland is full of water birds, they all swim along so gracefully and smoothly, and it’s very tranquil and soothing to watch, almost like watching a tank full of fish. Obviously I can’t capture that in a photograph. Maybe some people can, but I can’t.
The dogs are already panting with their tongues hanging down to their knees. For a moment I thought I should probably start carrying water for them, and then I realized they can just go drink pond water anytime they want. They never have to be thirsty out here. It’s probably not the healthiest thing, but there’s also no way I’m going to stop them, and in twelve years they’ve never gotten sick from it, so I’m no longer worried.
I just saw a big heron pick up and fly away. They always kind of remind me of pterodactyls. They fly the way I imagine a pterodactyl would fly.
Of course the barn swallows are out catching all the bugs. I wish I knew more about identifying birds by their songs because there are so many birds out here. So far I’ve heard mourning doves and crows, and I think one of those European ringed pigeons because it has a sound similar to an owl, but not exactly like an owl, and kind of similar to a dove, but not exactly either. It kind of goes “woo-hoo.”
I also saw a cowbird, which I haven’t seen in a long time, but I used to see a lot of them when we lived in the farmhouse right down the road from here.
We’re going to turn around when we get to the river. We tried making the whole loop last time and it wasn’t fun. First of all, there were way too many bugs, which made it uncomfortable, and the dogs kept trying to go by the river, which is far too deep for them. There are also a lot of hills and another access point at the other end of this side of the loop, and I can’t see who’s coming most of the time. Overall, I decided that wasn’t my idea of a good time.
I just called the dogs to turn around and they turned right around with me, so apparently they agree.
If I stay on the funny trail by the wetlands there are fewer bugs, probably because the swallows control them all, and fewer chances of picking up ticks. There are also more chances for the dogs to jump in the water and come home smelling like a stinky swamp.
I love watching the swallows dart and fly all over the place. They feel like little aerial sports cars.
Max is so funny. He loves jumping in the water so much, and then sometimes he’ll swim in a little circle if it’s deep enough. When he gets out, for about a minute and a half he bounces around like a puppy and tries to engage Scout in little play fights.
I’m so glad we have this place to come to. It’s so beautiful and peaceful. Ever since I started coming here on a regular basis, it’s just been so good for my soul.
We used to come here as a family and sometimes bring the dogs with us. During COVID we came here a lot because there wasn’t anything else to do, and that’s when it really started to grow on me, I think.
Later in 2020, when my marriage started falling apart, I came out here almost every day when I wasn’t working. It was really peaceful and gave me lots of space to think. Even now, if I have something I want to write or ideas I want to work through, this is the place I do it.
This place is so huge and wild. It changes season by season and sometimes even week by week, but yet it’s always the same, and it will always be here.
Yesterday I was thinking about my dance studio and how much I miss it, and I wondered if, when I can afford to go back, it will still be the same. In my mind it’s suspended in time. All my friends are still there, my instructors are still there, and in my imagination I can go back there anytime and it will still be just the same. If I’m really lucky, maybe Liam will have come back.
In reality, I know the longer I stay away, the more chance things have changed. I know my friend Sam is getting ready to move to India, so I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again.
But this place is constant. It’s been here for decades, and as far as I know it will always be here.
The people I come here with have changed. I used to come here with my husband and my son and different dogs, and now I come here mostly alone with my dogs, and sometimes with my daughter, who used to be my son.
My life has changed so much since I started coming here, and as much as my life is going to change in the future, no matter who I become or what I do with my life, I will probably keep coming back here always.
There will be different dogs, different life circumstances, different versions of me. Perhaps there will be adopted kids someday that I can bring here, or grandkids.
And the day will come when I’m gone, but this place will still be here. Generations of geese will still be raising their babies in the bayou. Sandhill cranes will still stop over every spring and fall. Great-great-great-grand offspring of the herons and egrets I see today will still be fishing in the shallows.
