Easter at Bellevue Pond

By Anna Rudy

Photo by Melanie Rudy

Every Easter morning since I was very young, my family and I have gone for a short walk around Bellevue Pond, a small, shallow body of water at the edge of the Middlesex Fells Reservation. It is our own unique way of celebrating the changing seasons and the birth of new life. When Easter comes early and winter overstays its welcome, the walk is dreary and uneventful. But on this particular Easter – sometime during my elementary school years – the weather was warm, the sun was shining, and springtime was in full force. I could smell it in the stream trickling out from the pond, in the air tinged with wildflower and pollen, and in the grass made extra green by regular rainfall. I could see it in the blueness of the sky and the fresh green leaves. And, as if all this hadn’t been enough, we were instantly greeted by the sight of a mother Canada goose and her goslings standing near the entrance to the trail. The mother strolled down the path away from us, commanding the space around her in that way only a goose can, waddling and long-necked and fierce. Her goslings toddled after her: graceless, fluffy yellow clumps on legs with dark bills and tiny wings. They gradually made their way around the stone wall separating us from the pond, swimming back in the direction of their nest. For years now, a local pair of geese had nested on a small island in the pond, constructing their bed of sticks, moss, and feathers in almost the exact same spot year after year. It was like their own springtime tradition taking place alongside ours.

The calls of common grackles and red-winged blackbirds echoed from above, and the chickadees gave their “my tree” calls from far away. Robins and blue jays mirrored the vibrance of the intermittent flowers that grew down by the edge of the pond. The Fells was filled with color. On a piece of wood protruding from the rippled surface of the pond, a row of painted turtles was sunbathing contently, stripes of red and yellow visible along their sides. They were rather like the red-winged blackbirds in that regard, though one was much noisier than the other. I loved the noise though – it reminded me of summers at Soc’s Ice Cream by the marsh, of trips to Ipswich where flashes of black and red flitted among the cattails, and of the red-winged blackbird plushie my mom got me that screams out the blackbird’s call when squeezed. It was a familiar kind of annoyance that almost makes you want to laugh.

We walked alongside the pond for a little while, looking for the splashes of frightened frogs with every footstep. Then we veered right, heading down a short dead-end trail that halted just a few trees away from the road. Despite the cars roaring past at 35 miles an hour, this area seemed to be a favorite hiding spot for birds and creatures of all kinds, as the path was much more rarely tread by humans. About halfway down the trail, I saw motion below me and recoiled as a garter snake slithered past, a mere inch or so away from the tip of my shoe. It had been hidden amongst the brown, long-dead leaves, and it now hurried away as fast as its limbless little body could take it, winding away to the edge of the path and down the hill out of sight. Harmless as it was, I could feel my heart pounding a little, half from excitement and half from that innate, instinctual fear that most humans have of snakes. We are all anxious creatures, evolved to be overly apprehensive and scared of the unknown. Sometimes our fears serve us well, safeguarding us from harm. But sometimes they hinder us. It is good to freeze when you see a snake, but not every snake needs recoiling from.

There were no notable sightings in the brambles this time around – just sparrows, chipmunks, and the ever-present chickadees that were wont to tail hikers – so we turned back around and returned to the main trail around the pond. I heard a woodpecker, likely a downy, drilling away at some distant tree. What other birds might lie deeper in the forest, I wondered. There were surely rare migratory birds – warblers, wrens, vireos, flycatchers – hiding among the branches. But seeking out those birds was not our goal. On this short Easter walk, our only goal was to appreciate the local harbingers of spring; the snakes, frogs, sparrows, and chickadees. Just because they were common did not mean they were any less special. In fact, in many ways they were more special than those exotic songbirds, because, to us, they signified home.

We circled around the pond, heading back towards the driveway where our car was parked. I was so busy watching the ground for snakes that I almost missed what was above me – my mom stopped me and pointed up, indicating a Baltimore oriole nest. I stared in awe at the architectural marvel, hanging from the tree like a water droplet suspended in motion. A small hole was visible in the side, seemingly much too small for the bird that built it. After a few minutes of waiting patiently, the nest’s guardian and assistant constructor came to greet us, his vibrant orange coloration made even more striking by the juxtaposition with his inky black head and wings. Where his belly met his head, the orange turned a more vibrant reddish color, like the inside of a nectarine. The male oriole eyed us, seeming to assess whether we were a danger to it and its nest. Satisfied with having seen him, we bowed our heads and left.

We stopped to take one last look at the pond before climbing into the car, while territorial grackles and blackbirds looked back at us between bouts of arguing and showboating. The turtles were still there on the log, as they surely would remain for quite some time. The chickadees had followed us all the way around the pond and were now scoping out the newest arrivals, much to another young girl’s delight. The mother goose and her goslings swam near the island, joined by mallards who knew better than to get too close to her babies. It was a busy sight, teeming with life and remarkable moments. It seemed to me more beautiful and colorful than any batch of plastic eggs, more lively than any song or show. And to think that for the creatures of the pond and the surrounding forest, this was just an ordinary spring day, same as any other. Such beauty exists always, whether or not we care to look. In that moment, I wished for more days to be holidays, not for the sake of purchasing more sweets or opening more gifts, but simply so that I could experience this day, and others like it, again and again.