When we lived in South Dakota, I often paddled at Sheridan Lake, just a half dozen miles from our home. Each spring, I would eagerly await the arrival of a pair of Great Blue Herons who would nest near the lake and could be seen fishing in the shallows around the lake. I loved the sight of the giant birds. Herons are graceful in flight and at landing, but seem just a bit awkward launching into flight. Most years I would catch a glimpse at a hatchling sometime in August or September, but for the most part, I would see only the parents as I paddled. If I was careful to be quiet in my paddling and avoid approaching too close, I could get a good look at the birds without stirring them to flight. The squawk of a heron is a distinctive sound and I was generally not disappointed if they flew away and I got to hear their sound as they relocated to a different place on the lake. I enjoy paddling in the mornings when the herons would be fishing. They tend to stay close to the nest in the late afternoons and evenings, so if I paddled at that time of the day I usually wouldn’t see them.

Now we live in a place where there are Great Blue Herons year round. The birds who have lived in our neighborhood since long before settlement are slightly different from the herons I would see in South Dakota. Pacific Great Blue Herons are a subspecies different from inland herons and from the herons that are seen farther south in Washington. The herons here are a bit smaller in size. They also begin breeding earlier in the spring. The range of these birds is isolated by the mountains east of here. These herons can be seen from Prince William Sound south to the end of the Puget Sound near Olympia.

About a mile from our home is a very large heron rookery. The birds nest in the birch trees that give our bay its name. As early as mid-February they engage in courtship and pre-nesting. The eggs are laid from around the middle of April to mid-May. Right now the herons are taking time sitting on the eggs while they incubate. The chicks will hatch sometime before the end of May.

When conditions are calm and the tide is out, we will generally see 4 to 10 herons fishing along the shore on our daily walks to the bay. When there are strong winds or rough seas, the birds are more likely to fish along Tennent Creek. Tennent is a tidal creek with salt water flowing inland for at least three miles to a marshy area right next to the rookery. We cross the creek on our walk to the bay. As soon as the eggs hatch we will begin to see a lot more herons fishing during the day. In June and July as the chicks grow larger and demand more food we will often see dozens of herons spread out along the shore all the way around the bay. Some days there are so many that we lose count as they move around and we walk.

It is a privilege to have such distinctive neighbors and we enjoy watching them. As we approach the bay I start to scan the horizon for the birds and comment on their presence or absence each day. Sometime around the middle of August we will begin to see the year’s chicks beginning to fish alongside their parents after they have fledged. After they have learned to fly they still need to learn to catch their food.

Birch bay is rich with abundant sea life including salmon halibut and lingcod as well as clams, mussels and oysters. There is lots of food fairly easy for the herons to catch, which is necessary for the months when the brood are still in the nest and in need of a lot of food to support their rapid growth.

Our living room is adorned with art that represents the places we have lived. Along one wall we have a print of a Paul Goble painting of two Lakota and Mato Tipi and a Robert Wong photograph of a coyote. We have acquired a few items for the wall of our dining area that show our current home. There is a map of the Salish sea and another more detailed map of the San Juan Islands. Alongside the maps we have chosen a photograph taken by our friend Eva Bareis of a Heron in the trees at Birch Bay State Park. It is fascinating to me that the Robert Wong’s coyote always makes me think of South Dakota. After all we have coyotes here. We can hear them singing at night and I see them around. I’ve even seen a coyote in town in Ferndale. In a similar way, the picture of the Heron makes me think of this home even though I enjoyed seeing Great Blue Herons in South Dakota. I don’t know if my awareness is somehow heightened about certain non-human neighbors in different places or if my associations are the product of many experiences that blend together. When guests are in our home and comment about the pictures, I am quick to say that the coyote is in South Dakota and the Heron in the trees just down the road from our home here.

Like the Lakota people of the Dakotas, the Coast Salish people indigenous to this part of the world have ancient traditions of referring to the birds, fish, and animals as relatives. Their traditions of teaching the interconnectedness of all of life resonate with my own experiences. I think of the creatures including the birds at my feeders and the rabbits along the pathway as neighbors. In South Dakota I often commented on the deer and turkeys as my neighbors. I am grateful to live in a neighborhood that is rich with wild animals. I grew up in a family of aviators, so it isn’t a stretch for me to think of them as distant relatives.