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When you're out walking, it will soon become apparent why we called it Eagle Ridge Campgrounds. There are several nesting pairs of bald eagles that call this part of the woods home. You also might run across some of the wildlife native to this area: wild turkeys, deer, osprey, and wood turtles to name a few.
Today bald eagle numbers continue to soar despite threats like illegal hunting and electrocution from power lines. A 2019 survey found that the population in the lower 48 states quadrupled since 2009.
While bald eagles occasionally live in arid areas, most reside in woods by rivers, lakes, and other bodies of water rich with fish, their main food source. Their diets also include birds, turtles, and small mammals such as squirrels and rabbits.
Untethered to a breeding site, young eagles tend to roam far from their nests in directions that appear random. Adult birds are more intentional, migrating only as far as necessary to find sustenance. When lakes and rivers freeze, for example, Northern bald eagles fly to the coast or south to open water.
Green billows of corn, golden seas of wheat, white lakes of cotton meet and fuse and intercross. Cattle string across in frightened procession; multitudes on multitudes of horses, black, dun, grey, gallop away after them, jarring the earth with theirPage 145hoofs, beating up dust in heavy fluffy clouds. Far away the sun lies still over broad. patches of silence, sparsely green, where an eagle hovers or an antelope starts up or a sly half-starving coyote is seen. The sun looks into yellow castles wedged in the cliff that were old when the first explorers saw them, and on white bulging palaces tinselled with marble and gold. The sun sees engines that rattle and cough, black derricks that wave their arms in circles aloft, crazy log cabins toppling into the marsh. On every side are symbols of man's desire made with his hands, hurried, glorious, sordid, tragic, clashing, insane; the sun looks down and does not understand but pours over them its heat, and cold, and rain, and light, and lightning, always the same.
I leave the spider crab on its back
as the sea withdraws, many small
appendages digging among miniscule
coquinas and broken cockles.
The purple sea-whip a thin animal
because it hungers for its own and leaves
a history in a filigree of nerves that is
like a branch dragging on the ground.
The pelican circles like an eagle,
the marsh fills from the sea,
small things burrow deep that have no bone
or iridescent shell risen from soft digestive parts.
The sun lowering into a purple abyss
because I toss a beached crayfish back
into the tide and wonder what external
skeleton I need to bear the weight of nothingness.
Our initial instincts are to stay warm and cozy during blizzard-stricken months, huddled indoors with blankets, warm drinks, a crackling fire and taking in an unhealthy amount of Netflix, while silently praying that our neighbour or significant other will shovel the walkway. Winters have such great potential though, why surrender such glorious opportunities to see the remarkable beauty Canada boasts in its backyard?
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