We’re not travelling very much these days with The Whole Covid Thing. And we’re certainly not crossing any borders except maybe past the big red border markers in Lloydminster. So it’s kind of fascinating to think about how the Canadian geese that proliferate the fields and sloughs at this time of year make their semi-annual trek north and south without any regard for travel bans.

I love Canadian geese. When I was driving some distance in the car recently, I was able to enjoy mile after mile of geese flying in the air and dancing on small ice floes. Plus I witnessed a few cow-and-goose get-togethers in some pastures, the two species standing around a grain buffet like it was a cocktail party. Maybe it’s the “Canadian” moniker that makes me so affectionate towards them, both patriotic and possessive. Maybe it’s just that they are one of the first happy heralds to spring, arriving while there’s still ice on the pond and the threat of a spring blizzard. It’s like they don’t care, they just want to get home even if they didn’t send anyone ahead to turn up the heat in house after a long time away.

There’s also the whole “mates for life” thing. The deeper into spring we get, the less often you see whole flocks. Instead, you witness couples scouting out a place to nest or just having tea for two. I’m a little sad when I see three geese hanging out, because I assume some heartbreak must have occurred for one (or all three). I actually saw one silly goose lolling about in the rocks and muddy leftovers of a former snow pile in a Superstore parking lot like he was the last customer in the pub, maybe looking for love where there was none to be found. Eventually he flew away, drunkenly.

My assumptions may be completely off base. Maybe some geese don’t want to be hitched, tied down or coupled – just like some humans . Geese are known for their adaptability, so why not their individuality, too? I mean, I can’t tell apart one from the other but they certainly know who their significant other is, if they have one. Some enjoy living in the country, others make their nests on the roofs of high-rises. They always seem to figure things out.

Nearly twenty years ago, there was a terrible drought around here. The sloughs dried up and the geese, it seemed, went away. But no, they didn’t. They just figured out where they had to go to find water. My boys and I would find thousands of them congregated in the Vermilion Provincial Park where the river swells at the bottom of the toboggan hill, a whole convention of geese (loudly) discussing their ideas of what they should do next.

Every day, we turn on the news and listen to all the silly geese talking about what’s going to happen – as if anyone really knows. The real geese have it figured out: head to north in the spring, find someone to love and include a lonely third. Don’t judge where others live. And eventually plan a big trip with a bunch of friends or family to someplace warm. Not so silly after all.