It began on Pentecost Sunday when I stepped out of the front door of the rectory to check on the weather and to enjoy a cup of coffee.
There were some ducks in the front yard. I thought that was great. They had arrived a few days before and spent their mornings wandering around the front yard. Sometimes neighbors would stop on their walks to watch the ducks and little kids would stop and admire them.
But on this day, the female duck was acting strange. She was quacking, a lot, and that was new. I could tell by the way she walked that nesting time was close at hand. I had one singular hope, that she would not nest in my yard.
My reasons were simple. I live on 26th Street, which can be a pretty busy street. I knew if she nested here, at some point she would walk her ducks across the street in the search for water. The rectory is on a hill and cars come tearing over that hill all the time and I could not imagine that turning out well. In addition, we have a number of cats that prowl around the neighborhood at night.
So I kept hoping that she would find a nice quiet place away from 26th Street and the cats and hatch her ducklings in peace. I thought my hopes had come to fruition as I stepped out of the rectory the next day and there were no ducks.
That is until I was informed that there was a mother duck nesting in one of the bushes surrounding our Respect Life monument. I ran out the front door to take a look and, as I quietly approached, I could see her in there, just a few short feet from the street. She did not move as I approached.
“Hey,” someone said, “isn’t that great. She’s nesting in our Respect Life monument.” Well, to be honest, I did not think it was great at all. I could only imagine the carnage on the street in the next few weeks. I knew they were going to be long weeks indeed.
People around me tried to calm me. They told me grand stories of the time everyone stopped on Kiwanis Avenue and people directed traffic as a mother duck walked her hatchlings across the street. “Yeah,” I would counter, “but we’re on a hill.”
I would check on the mother duck every day and there she would be, sometimes facing south, sometimes north, but never anywhere but on her eggs. I would watch at night and will the cats away with my thoughts; and there she was in the morning.
One day Mrs. Sammons, our kindergarten teacher, took her class on a nature tour of our grounds. They gathered around the Respect Life monument, a whole group of kindergarten kids, climbing over and around the monument. I watched from the window, ready to bolt and run if they got too close. They got very close, but did not discover the secret in the bush.
I set out bowls filled with food and water, set them right next to the bush. But, to the best of my knowledge, they were never touched. Not once in all the days she sat on the eggs.
Then came the rains. Anyone who follows the news knows that Sioux Falls has had an extraordinarily wet spring. The rains were nice, but the deluge was not. Basements flooded, streets flooded, there was damage everywhere. I came out the next day and walked across the lawn strewn with branches from our trees.
I tiptoed up to the bush and there she was, quietly sitting on her eggs.
This was when she became one of the most inspiring thing I had ever encountered. She was there, day and night, always and faithfully warming the eggs. She was patient in downpour and sunshine, closing her eyes at night, but not stepping from her place. She might move from side to side, but she never wandered out of the bush.
I had some vacation time planned and I hated to leave her, but I did. When I returned, Father Mark Axtmann and I took a walk and, as we passed by the monument, we stopped to check on the “mama duck,” as she was affectionately known.
She was gone and the eggs were hatched. I quickly looked at the street and found no evidence of a problem and I sighed with relief.
It was an inspiring few weeks for me. I am glad to think of the those little ducks happily swimming in some nearby pond and “mama duck” stretching her legs and flying again.
I was touched by her devotion and care. I know it was instinct and she really did not have a choice in the matter, but it touched me nonetheless. It reminded me I do have a choice when it comes to devotion and care, and perhaps that makes it harder. I have a tendency to think about myself in a way she cannot. That makes it harder as well.
But it also makes it more profound, even more meaningful, because we choose to go beyond ourselves to make our world better, more peaceful, through our devotion and care to God, to one another, to our growth. This is the beauty of grace. Grace and nature can still teach us, remind us and challenge us to choose correctly.