A few years ago, I participated in a project with an artsy group which involved decorating envelopes each month for a year and sending them out with something pithy written inside. Each envelope had a theme which dictated the artwork on the front. One of the themes was green, and I thought I was very clever painting the envelope green and drawing caricatures of my favorite environmentalists around the perimeter. It turns out that my group mates were way more clever than that, and the proof was in their version of the “green” envelope. One even covered her envelope in a collage of bits of green currency.
The envelope project and, more specifically, the green theme came to mind as we recently encountered a green heron at Hilltop Farm. He is a small heron with green on his head and back. He was the picture of patience and the master of camouflage as he sat motionless on the bank. He peered into the water, waiting for an unsuspecting fish or frog to swim by to make himself a meal. He is most often seen in a squat posture, but he can lengthen up, and his neck often is streaked or a rusty color. In flight he makes a one syllable squawk. Look for him on the canal path and in other wet areas around town. In fact, there isn’t that much green on our green heron, but enough on his head and back to give him his name. But don’t be envisioning Kelly green or lime green; it’s a subdued forest green.
At any rate, I was reading that the green heron is seasonally monogamous which initially seemed impressive. But then I got to thinking that these herons kept the bar low in that department. It is easy to be monogamous for a season, but the long haul is more of a challenge. I think back to my college days and all those romances that went swimmingly in the dead of winter when we were covered with sweaters and wide-walled corduroys. But when spring and summer rolled around and one needed to expose pasty awful-looking flesh, sometimes that commitment became more fleeting. Just sayin’ the long run is a whole different animal. Take it from one who is afraid of commitment.
Photo by Joan Heffernan
The crow-sized Green Heron perches over low water ready to spear his next meal.
So now returning from my sidebar, I am thinking of the green heron and wondering why more birds aren’t green. Apparently, many birds that appear to have some green on their plumage are not truly green; it is more of a trick of the eye, described as a structural green rather than a true color green according to James MacDonald, a scholar in environmental biology. For me, it’s one of life’s mysteries. The green heron and my deep dive into green make me realize our days of verdant green in the lawn and woods are on the retreat as fall pushes in. And when the foliage has changed, and the green heron heads south, we can help to hang on to these greener days by circulating green songs in our head. I’ll start with “Green Grass and High Tides”, then move to the theme to Green Acres, and of course finish up with Kermit’s rendition of “It’s not easy being Green”. Kermit seems a bit unsure about being green. I wonder if the heron agrees.