Magnetic North: Hope Hatches

 Welcome back to Magnetic North, a place of constant beauty AND almost hourly surprises…most of them pleasant. But others...well, others might just prove to be somewhat of a trial.
 

Case in point - a few weeks ago when I opened the door to the goose pen and heard an unfamiliar peep along with the usual wild honking of Hold Me and Touch Me. My two White Chinese geese are without a doubt the least appealing inhabitants of our farm. They drown out conversation with their ear-breaking shrieks. They hiss. They bite. In short, they offend everyone. Except each other, of course. Devotion between mated geese is legendary. And my pair are mad about each other.

Naturally, such involvement leads to more geese, so I have conscientiously gathered Touch Me’s eggs, allowing her to set only on fake wood eggs to satisfy her maternal instincts. I figured when she was sick of zero results, she would get up and rejoin Hold Me on his rounds. I was anxious for that day to come only because the male goose was so lonely without his mate that he followed me everywhere, nibbling my ankles and even pinching my arms if I didn’t pet him or pick him up for a little cuddle.
 

My prayers were answered on Father’s Day. Another proof positive that when I pray I really, really MUST remember to BE SPECIFIC!
 

As the late John Lennon so aptly said, “Life is what happens when we are making other plans.” And life in the form of a fluffy, yellow, wildly peeping gosling is what greeted me when I opened the door to the goose pen. Oh, yes. I am Gramma goose. Lucky me.
 

The proud mama and papa now parade their little fuzz ball all over the property, terrorizing any goat/duck/dog or chicken that dares to gaze their way. As for me, well, I am allowed the usual gramma perks. I can help the gosling up a steep step. And feed her without fear of losing an eye. Other than that, I’m on the D list.
 

Her name, in case you wondered, is Grace. Not for her sense of balance or manners. She is every bit as fractious as her parents. No, I call her Grace in the fervent hope that she is a female. Goose eggs, you see, are very big and very useful. And if one of the parents go missing, an extra girl would be way better than two grief-stricken bachelors. Trust me on that one.
 

And what if she is a he? In that case, the name will be pretty close to unspeakable on a family radio station, I can assure you.
 

That said, Happy Independence Day, everyone. May your fireworks be glorious, your charcoal stay lit until the burgers are done and all children be willing to go to bed before July Fifth.
 

As I said before, specificity in prayers is vital. Vital!