Sleeping Bear Dunes NL, Michigan - August 4, 2007

The piping plovers are all gone now, flown south for the winter. It's been a busy few months, monitoring them. Some days on the island, at the height of the season, as the plovers were just beginning to fledge, we'd stay out surveying them until 9:30 at night, then rise at 6 the next morning to begin again, to get a complete count. We watched as the pairs went through their courtship rituals, laid their eggs and incubated them for the next month. We watched as the eggs hatched and the chicks took their first faltering steps, looking like little puffballs on stilts, and we watched, a month after that, as the chicks began to make their first flights, looking now like perfect models of their parents, missing only the mating plumage that would come a year later, on their return to the region where they were born. There were losses, of course, to crows and disease and predators, but it was nonetheless remarkable to watch the birds go through their rituals, guided so well by the instincts passed down in their genes.

There were, of course, exceptions to this. There were parents that abandoned their chicks to starvation; last year a father flew south with the more attractive chicks of his next-door neighbors, leaving his mate to care for his own children. And, of course, there was Rocky.

Rocky's Tale

This story begins a year earlier, with a bird then named 'Dumb-boy.' He received this moniker after the piping plover monitors noticed him depart his own eggs and wife ('Skittish-girl'), and create a new nest several feet away, filling this one with four egg-sized rocks. Why he did this is unclear (although excessive inbreeding was considered as a contributing factor): perhaps his original nest's location didn't suit him, perhaps he and his mate had a falling-out. Perhaps he just liked rocks. (These are, after all, quite a bit easier to raise than children; I'm sure there are a number of human geologists who could relate). It might be that he saw the eggs his mate laid, and, mistaking them for rocks, thought 'I can get my own eggs, and get twice as many chicks!' For whatever reason, when the bird banders came to the island and set a trap over his rocks, he circled the cage suspiciously for several minutes, then obediently entered, to sit upon his nest. He was given his band, and the plover monitors awaited his return eagerly this year.

Dumb-boy returned to the island, and this year found a new mate. The new mate should perhaps be credited with his change in behavior, or maybe he just noticed last year that his eggs showed a strange reluctance to hatch. In any case, his wife laid four eggs, and this year he consented to remain on the nest – with the only caveat, that he added to the nest one egg-sized rock. In honor of his new change in attitude, Dumb-boy was re-christened 'Rocky.' After his four eggs hatched, Rocky dutifully cared for his chicks, leaving, perhaps with some sadness, one unhatched egg on his nest. After these grew, he migrated south for the winter. It may only be a fanciful plover-patrol legend, but it is said that, as he flew off, he clutched in his talons a small, speckled, rock.

The End

Returning to the human world, my last few weeks have been fun. I've seen two films at the Traverse City Film Festival, I went kayaking down the upper Platte River with a bunch of coworkers and their friends, and we threw a big party to mark the departure of three of my coworkers. Additionally, I met some new relatives in Traverse City.

I've long known about my many aunts, uncles, and cousins, and have met most of them on a score of occasions. However, it was only recently that I learned that my parents also have aunts and uncles, and – now, this is the really incredible part – that these aunts and uncles themselves have had children and grandchildren. My mom's aunt and uncle (or, in genealogical terms, my 'great-aunt' and 'great-uncle' live in Traverse City, where they were visited last weekend by two of their children (my 'first cousins, once removed'), and four of their grand-children (my 'second-cousins'). Surrounded by this whirlwind of new relations, I was led to several neighborhood functions, introducing myself at each as 'Nathan, Florence and Eli's nephew; am I related to you?' Since Elliot had a number of other relatives there, I would get responses like "Why, yes, I'm Margo, I'm Elliot's fourth cousin."

Me, arms wide: "Cousin!!!"

I also went sailing, swimming, and water-skiing (great fun, by the way), fed my great-aunt and uncle's trained chipmunks birdseed out of my hand, and got to know my relations better.

They're all cool.

Best wishes to you and all your near and extended families,
- Nathan