i feed the geese in the park. apparently you aren’t supposed to but everybody does. i bring them blueberries and tell them that they’re good geese even though they’re usually actually quite foul tempered and actually, bad geese.
i grow fond of a bonded pair and i call the male “poppa”. they follow me sometimes and give me their goosey head tilts and hiss at me if i don’t make with the berries quick enough. one time a security guard yelled at me for feeding them. he said feeding birds is bad and i think of all the crows and seagulls posted outside mcdonalds hoping for a dirty ass old french fry to come their way and i nod and shrug and play dumb.
ive been saying to the geese that there’s no such thing as a free lunch and that when they’re ready im expecting a feather or two. i really want a real big goose feather for my hat. feathers are few and far between until last week in the parking lot i see a huge feather blowing in the wind and i slam on the brakes and yank my keys out of the car and go chasing after it, much to the amusement of an older man who feeds the crows.
“did you get it?” he calls across the parking lot and i did and i go up and show him and he’s amused at my craziness but then i tell him about how feathers are important and how they’re gifts from creator, good medicine and his amusement turns to excitement for me. he says he will keep an eye out for feathers for me.
i am delighted with the feather. i wrap it safely in my car and begin my walk to work. as i walk, i find another feather. just as huge.
my tax return came in.
walking the beach later that week, there are feathers everywhere. the geese are molting and there’s so many baby geese waddling around. I end up surrounded by geese on the beach as tourists from china take photos.
a tourist from australia asks if i can take her photo with the geese and i do. she becomes emotional looking at them, tears rolling down her face. i get emotional because she is emotional. two women crying over baby geese in the park.
i collect feathers so my mother and i can bead them for smudging, for ceremony and a rude lady stomps up to me and tells me i can’t keep the feathers. i tell her i can and with my eyes i dare her to make a fuss of it. goose feathers are legal to own. she says they aren’t. i tell her im native and she replies, “you don’t look it”.
i just laugh and greet her in anishinaabemowin.
she backs down and stomps back to her bewildered husband who she left eating ice cream on the boardwalk. but she doesn’t bother me. surrounded by babies and life and humans being human together watching the babies and watching life, i feel strangely transcendent and happy.
an older native guy greets me and we talk about the babies and the river and pow wow coming up. i ask if he’s dancing and he says he’s too old but he’s gonna go watch and asks if he will see me there. i say yeah and tell him to check out my cousins bannock burgers. he says he can’t wait. and we talk about fish and life and watch the babies.
i come home with so many feathers and i feel really lucky about it. an elder told me that any feather we receive is medicine from creator and our feathered relatives. sacred.
i dream about feathers and my friend katie who died.
the geese are in the park again when i walk to work.
poppa honks at me as i walk past.
no blueberries today.
hospital vespers 