Akayo'kaki A'pawaawahkaa: New Marsh Nest

07 May 2010

New Marsh Nest

IIII ) lllllllllllllllllllll New Marsh Nest (7May10)

1827 Sspopiikimi - here with Mahoney for an evening of natural therapy and learning after a long day indoors

1831 Walking in at north-pond, right away the triplet couple is swimming past, still with Miracle (slightly larger and a bit more pale than the other goslings) in their family group. The subpond couple, Miracle's biological parents, are here as well. Contrary to various adoption and abandonment theories we've come across, they are not at peace with the arrangement. They're following the family, and we just witnessed the subpond gander fly over to land practically right on top of the goslings. Mama triplet gave him a sharp whack with her wing, then papa chased him away. The gander returned to his wife and the two of them are back to following the family at a distance

1842 One of the north-end coots is way out toward midpond alone, which suggests to us that it is the male, and that his hen (unseen) is sitting her nest in the reeds. Again I feel compelled to bring my waders soon, perhaps over the weekend, to see what she's got

1846 Between north-pond and the ksisskstakioyis there are two aapsspini couples (one on our shore and the other on the wet-meadows), as well as a lone goose we figure as the protester from yesterday, possibly the grown gosling of the canal couple's brood from last year

1854 The goose couple on our shore proves to be the big island nesters. When we approach, the mama stands and there are six goslings under her... one more than what we counted yesterday when we only got a glimpse from a distance

1857 The canal couple are still on their nest number two for the season. Beyond them, out into south pond, the small island nesters are continuing incubation and there are seven additional goose couples spaced around the wide expanse. This is more than we are used to seeing. As the eggs hatch, much of the pond is becoming a neutral zone, welcoming to non-breeding and nest-failed aapsspiniiksi to move over from the river. The big island itself, though, is now up for grabs, and it must not be too late in the game for some couples to start over, because we are witnessing a few battles over this space

1902 From the bench above the peninsula, looking over south-pond and counting ducks, both redhead couples are here diving, there's a lone shoveler drake, a lone blue-winged teal drake, and a blue-winged teal couple. Another female duck just flew in and landed quite a distance from us, behind the islands. The shoveler drake has started giving little quacks, so we suspect it is his mate. She comes nearer to him, but then paddles away on her own toward the wet-meadows. The mallard drake belonging to the nest by the blind is also here, closer to the shallows

1917 Hiking around south-pond via the levee-walk, we hear chorus frogs and red-wing blackbirds. A conspicuous absence is the sound of house finches, which we haven't heard for a while. They must be nesting. And speaking of such things, we believe we've just spotted a new goose nest in the marshy shallows, with a gander concealed in the reeds along one of the beaver canals. I'm going down to check it out

1931 It is a new nest! And a really beautiful one at that. This goose, hereafter to be called the marsh mama, has woven a perfectly symmetrical, down-lined, round platform of bulrush stems, cupped in the middle to hold five eggs. No telling if we've overlooked it on our daily passes along this trail. I doubt it. And her gander is not the one in the reeds, who flies away when I approach. Rather, he is another, standing on one of the island mounds below the blind, where we've previously seen this pair together. I’d say this nest is no more than three or four days into incubation

1937 This marsh couple is not defensive at all. The goose lays low as I approach, with her husband watching from a distance. When I get close, she flies to him. Then the two walk over and proceed to feed along the bank of the levee. I've rejoined Mahoney now, and we are waiting to see them return to the platform. They make one fly-over to ensure the area is safe, then come to a landing to inspect their eggs. All in all, the goose was away for ten minutes, a typical feeding stretch

2005 Our next stop is at the blind, where we survey for new asparagus shoots. There are plenty coming up, but most of them are too short yet, and we always leave a couple good shoots to perpetuate the older, most productive plants. We collect a few fat, juicy stalks and go on our way

2022 Walking through the forest, we see the female flicker exit from her new nesting cavity high in the poplar snag that she was working yesterday. She goes to sit on another tree within sight, expecting us to pass. We decide to wait her out though, and almost as soon as we've settled on the idea, she returns and climbs back in. She must be setting down eggs

2036 Before leaving the forest, we sit on a log and listen to the hoo-ing of resident mourning doves, who we suspect will be nesting soon. As if to confirm this, a pair comes swooping in and out of the canopy above us, a mating chase

2042 Moving up to the cutbank overlooking the river island, we see both aapsspini mamas visible from this shore are sitting on their nests. We know that the downriver one has at least one gosling. The log-nester upstream should have hatched by now too. Probably they are both still using their nest sites as places to sit and keep their babies warm. The Sun passed over the horizon of the coulee rim about a half hour ago, and the temperature is dropping. We’re heading home

Obsessing On Purpose

Like most living beings - human or otherwise - I have cultivated a number of behavioural routines and aesthetic predilections that bring structure, or perhaps a sense of security, to my everyday life. In some instances, these quirks and habits border on the embarrassingly obsessive-compulsive. For instance, at nookoowa, I routinely make sure that anything situated on tables or counters be set in an alignment parallel to the edges. Sometimes, nipiitaam or nitana will offset things purposely, just to watch me run around straightening them. On the other hand though, I prefer our tables and countertops to be absolutely empty except when in use, and all items that might otherwise be placed upon them to be neatly stowed away in closets, trunks, and cupboards. I also try to make sure that any like-type objects that happen to be stored on a shelf - such as books, video games, compact discs, statuettes, picture frames, what have you - are neatly aligned and arranged in some pleasing order. My bed must always be made, unless someone’s in it, and nothing beyond sheets, blankets, or pillows belongs on it. It bothers me when clothing is tossed on the floor, or draped anywhere other than on hangers in our closets. Furniture, in the form of couches, cushioned chairs, dining sets, etc. strike me as clutter, limiting the spaces that one would otherwise have available to conduct creative activities. I prefer to sit on the floor, with just a pillow or folded blanket for support. I don’t like any lighting except that which comes from naato’si, nor prolonged periods of electronic noise. The different foods on my plate cannot touch, unless we’re eating Mexican, in which case it must all be mixed together into a bean, cheese, and rice paste. And I don’t think sinks are places to keep dirty dishes, or sponges, or globs of fallen toothpaste… although they are for cleaning such things immediately. The list could go on, all these partialities that are so rarely realized to my satisfaction. The truth of the matter is, in the long run, most of my aesthetic habits bring me more irritation than comfort. Yet I continue to uphold them all the same.

One of my greatest obsessive-compulsive behaviours, a massive sink-hole of energy, and that which applies more than any other to the present project, is an overwhelming desire to document periods of transition in my life. I’ve been journaling since I was about twelve years old, using this practice as a surrogate companion of sorts, with whom to discuss the occasionally strange (and often mundane) changes I’m constantly attempting to make in my life, in whatever direction I happen to be exploring at the time. Over nearly three decades, I’ve experimented with a wide variety of media, from classic stationary and blank books, to audio notes, photography, film, sketching. I’ve written in both first and third person, I’ve tried to approach the practice as story telling, as ethnography, as documentary, as art. But my trouble is this… for me, the final product of my efforts is never good enough. I’m constantly shifting tactics and media. I’ve probably made some stationers fairly rich. In fact, any new idea at all can compel me to destroy prior work and start anew, because my sense is that a fresh journaling project is like an opportunity for the redefinition of self. It’s a personal renewal. A cleansing, a chance to make a vow and completely transform the narratives that guide one’s experiences. An old journal, on the other hand, one that no longer accurately reflects my sensibilities or interests in the present, is to me a blemish, an imperfection, a blatant reminder of the self I’ve already outgrown. Such past projects are like carelessly wrought sculptures, beyond repair. And so I must begin, again and again.

Now I know, some may say that for the artist it is the process that matters, not the product. And there are examples from around the world to demonstrate this claim. There are the Tibetan sculptures made from butter, which melt in the sun. The sacred sand-paintings of the Navajo, scooped-up and discarded at the close of their healing ceremonies. Origami cranes, floating down the rivers of Japan. There are all manner of ikitstakssiistsi to look toward as monuments to the significance of process over product. True. I don’t deny it. But these examples involve at least two aspects that my journals do not. First, they are almost always seen to some stage of human completion, each creative act having a very defined conclusion, the point at which they are left in sacrifice to the sacred beings, the ancestors, the future generations. Which brings up the second distinction they have from my journals – these creative acts are also highly spiritual, inaugurating, feeding, or renewing sacred relationships. And while my journaling practices have always nurtured, I’ve never really approached them as offerings to the forces that sustain my life. Rather, and perhaps sadly, I feel deep down that they have been little more than tools for fostering detachment, as if the immediate activities involved in my pursuits for growth and transformation are somehow not enough in themselves. And I’m aware that it is in large part my history of exposure to an immature and ego-centric global ethos that has conditioned me to such hollow practice.

There is another (and related) reason why I tend to discard imperfect or outdated journals, over-concern myself with the organization of items on my shelving systems, fret obsessively over household clutter, etc. It is because I have been enculturated in an aesthetics that defies nature by placing all like items together, and all unalike items apart. It’s a system partial to concrete categories, surface in its emphasis, allowing little room for metamorphoses, transfigurations, or interconnectivities. In fact, it is a way that fears these complexities and the potential loss of present form. A journal, by its very nature of recording a series of thoughts and life experiences, all of which are unalike except by means of their association to a single person in the midst of constant change, somehow simultaneously calls-to and troubles this aesthetics. As typically carried out, a journal is in essence just another means of imposing false order on the flow of life, both by objectifying experience and by organizing its representation into segments of a linear-time framework that is completely removed from the shifting cyclicality of the natural world. My fluent relationship with both kinds of awareness has, in a sense, rendered me bipolar. I strive for a certain level of systematicity, all the while knowing full well that such order reflects an impoverished approach to negotiating the human condition.

Perhaps what I’ve needed all along is a healthy recognition of both the limitations and potential functionalities of record-keeping practices, particularly in the traditions of aokstakio’p and aisinaakio’p… this, followed by an alterative adoption of those beneficial techniques and media from the established global culture, inwardly, in a manner that augments rather than re-shapes niitsitapia’pii. I am lucky, in this sense, to be already engaged in a learning process through iiyaohkimiipaitapiiyssin, which I’m sure will offer many insights along the way. But all the same, I know that to achieve my vision, to revitalize forms of niitsitapi record-keeping through my journaling practice, I will have to work much more closely with those constant resources I can trust - niitsi’powahsin, akaitapiitsinikssiistsi, ki nipaapao’kaanistsi. I will also need to develop a habit of respecting the advice of my own deeper intuition, and begin responding regularly to the voices of the sspommitapiiksi, ksaahkomitapiiksi, and soyiitapiiksi of kitawahsinnoon. My hope is that in blogging the present journal, Akayo’kaki A’pawaawahkaa, I can explore and perhaps realize this interest. And if nothing else, if the urge to renew strikes again, all I have to do is hit DELETE.

Akayo'kaki A'pawaawahkaa

07 May 2010

New Marsh Nest

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