oti0sus

There’s really no polite way to put it. You’re not welcome. These birds can’t talk, but that’s the vibe they’re sending out, and the closer you get, the stronger their message becomes. The ground around you is stained white by countless droppings and littered with the remnants of their large blue eggs. Overhead in the tangle of dead branches, dozens of nests sit clustered together, guarded by families of the majestic Grey Heron. They follow your every move, warning others in the heronry with a spooky cackle.

That's the first paragraph of a newspaper piece I wrote. I've visited the site regularly since moving the to Korean countryside, and I only make mention of it here to mark the passing of the season. It's fall now according to the method I've adopted. The herons have gone south. Actually, a few of the older guys who didn't want to make the journey are still around, but my Friday visit confirmed that most had already left for the Thailand penninsula.

The Grey Herons of Asia are no where near as celebrated as their Blue cousins in North America. In Korea, at least, they are usually confused with cranes - in fact the "county bird" of Dangjin is the crane; this despite the fact that I've yet to see one here. I've gained a small reputation as a local expert simply because I could point out that cranes fly with a straight neck while flying heron neck's are s-shaped.

I can't finish this post without relating a story which has had a powerful effect on me. Once upon a time, while taking a walk on the Leslie Street Spit in Toronto, I came upon a vast nesting ground of seagulls. It seemed as if every seagull in the city must have been hatched here. The spit, by the way, is truly a remarkable place, the only man-made wild life area I know of, right in the heart of the city. As I passed their nests, the seagulls would fly up into the air so that I would never get too close to them. After a few minutes of walking though, I paused, turned around and saw that I was completely surrounded by thousands of angry birds. The scene overwhelmed me. I felt a panic in my stomach and left the nesting ground quickly. I guess some of this feeling informed the above newspaper article.

Anyway, the story has become something of a personal political allegory for me. Had the gulls consciousness of their collective strength, I may not have been able to leave their nesting ground alive. This is the lesson I took home with me. If people (or gulls) act together as a community, they would have great (or terrible) potential. But before anything is accomplished, an awareness of that potential is necessary.