i'm kind of flattered that the neighboring farm geese have been spending most mornings out in front of our house, a sort of petit dejeuner sur l'herbe. the geese spread out on the grass at the water's edge where it's thick and mostly quite tall now, with shorter patches here and there which allow you to see more of the whole goose. mostly all you can see is someone's gray head, long neck and vivid orange beak checking things out like a periscope on a submarine.
these guys are so comical - busy, sociable, irascible. and noisy! i try to imagine what they're saying to each other with all the squabbling and wing thrashing; it must make for some pretty gaggling good gossip. who insulted aunt rhody. who ate more than his fair share of wonder bread on the bridge yesterday. who's keen on elegant eliza. (only two have names so far.) who had a close brush with a marten last night.
who decides where they stop off on their daily outings? how is it determined when they return to the water? though there are a few stragglers, eventually everyone follows suit. why does no one hang back if they're enjoying the snails or their sunbath? maybe you'd be more likely to become foxfood.
in high school i babysat for the same family at their cottage at a resort on lake michigan. after early tennis matches, lessons, or play group, all the women, children and sitters were on the beach by 11. i had 4 children in my clan, under age 6 or 7, a lot to keep an eye on. but it was worth it because i had definitely scored one of the coolest, if not the coolest, mother to work for. all lined up in beach chairs, spread out towels for the children, my job was to keep the kids safe, let them show off for me in the water, build sand castles, play - all so "my" mother didn't need to get wet or sandy, have time to read and tan - and most of all gossip.
i quickly learned to camouflage myself amidst the all pervasive gossiping ladies, and pretend i was enthralled with little sarah's swimmies or little christopher's bucket and shovel, instead of madly eavesdropping. whenever i could i would sit invisibly in my little folding chair and listen to the surrounding buzz as my employer held forth - she was a consummate pro and it was wicked cool to be part of her coterie. her cache rubbed off on me with the other babysitters ("nanny" and "au pair" weren't in midwestern lexicon yet). i had huge beach cred. among the teen set.
i picked up just enough outsider buzz to share with her later in the day while the twins napped and we started dinner to tantalize her and get her going and feel the need to fill me in on the whole story, after story, after story. for a while i was convinced i could write a pot boiler best seller about their dozens of secrets, intrigues and occasionally a genuine scandal. but as it is with all cotton candy gossiping or gaggling, i soon forgot, everything - names, situations, details, those key ingredients to candace bushnell or vanity fair . but i adored "my" mother, practically worshipped her, especially how she took me under her wing, made me her confidante and feel so important and well-informed.
as a result i sought to emulate her high standards of not only parenting (she was truly one of the greats and still is) but also training carefuly selected sitters with my own gossip acquiring skills. looking back on those halcyon days of 12 summers at the swim and tennis club with my own cherubs and mother's helper in tow, i think i did her proud.
