When the number of swans recently dropped from SIX to flve, I immediately thought that the years had caught up with Caesar and I began reminiscing about his thirty years on Greenook Lake. He has lived there longer than most residents and well remembers when weeds did not shackle his feet as he paddled in search of food and when huge plumes of algae and other floating "stuff" did not make him detour his family around large spots that formerly had been prime eating places.
I used to think that all of this'greenery, though odious to us, was good pickings for the swans. I was surprised when in early summer, I chanced to toss in some extra bread toward the birds and they ran over each other in their ravenous haste to eat. I made haste to my "feed-bread" source, Aunt Min's Bakery, now located on U.S. 12 near Ypsilanti. It had been located on S, Industrial and was the Holsum Bakery outlet. They bag their day-old bread, at least six loaves per bag, and sell it for seventy-nine cents. In winter, I collect about ten bags per trip if available.
This episode made me wonder if our weed explosion was crowding out "real" food stuff for our aquatic friends, much like the purple loosestrife was doing in the rivers to the native plants which ducks eat. When the lakes are dredged, I'm certain the swans will line up with us to say, "It's about time!"
The "oops" came when I looked the brood over to see what was up and there was Caesar - first in line to feed as usual. Happily his obit was premature.
We had a missing cygnet - most likely due to a flying accident. Flying is a dangerous time for the new birds. The lake is confining and the four large birds teeter on the brink of disaster with each early flight and are just plain lucky to live to become skillful in the air. As their wings become stronger, they can get the lift necessary to pass over both the Midway dam and the assortment of electric and telephone wires to emerge over Bridgeway and beyond, but early in their development they have to make a quick turn to avoid slamming into the steep dam embankment and overhanging trees. Each year, this does take its toll of fledgling flyers. If they could start out by flying east they would have maneuvering room for a safe round trip but our prevailing winds do not blow from the east.
I can always entertain the thought that this particular swan was more physically gifted and departed on his own. It's unlikely but maybe possible?
P.S. It would be nifty if lightning would strike the leaning willow tree which hangs out over the swans' winter pond. It would save me from having to stand in a shaky boat to cut out many fishing lines caught in its branches. Are you listening, "Lightning God?"