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More Down Yonder

• Down Yonder: Feelin’ froggy
• Down Yonder: Are we aware enough to learn from the past?
• Down Yonder: Enjoying the Floridays

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Humankind can look pretty silly when it tries to figure out the ways of nature.

Just when you think you’ve got nature figured out she’ll throw you for a loop and leave you feelin’ like just another dumb human bein’.

It all started one Saturday not too many weeks ago.

Out in the yard stood a magnificent great white heron — or great egret, dependin’ on who you talk to.

Among the most beautiful of the many beautiful birds that grace the ponds and savannas of South Florida, the great egret is regal in demeanor. Its feathers are so white they should be called another color.

When it flies, it does so with grace and elegance unparalleled.

When it walks along the ground, its steps are deliberate and refined even though its knees are on backwards.

Its eyes are sharp and piercing, taking in all sights around it but never letting on about the degree of its surveillance.

When it hunts, its head and long neck waver from side to side like they’re being blown about in a fresh breeze. But when it strikes, it does so swiftly like a meteorite dashing across the night sky.

This particular egret seemed more approachable than most. It stood its ground calmly, even though the little girl slowly walked within five feet of its magnificent plumage.

It hung around all day, hiding in the shade of the areca palm and acacia tree.

By evening it settled on a pillow of grass it had managed to shape just at the base of the areca palm.

That’s when the revelation struck — or what we thought was a revelation.

“It’s building a nest,” we said. “It’s getting ready to lay eggs.”

With the diagnosis firmly established, the next obvious step was to protect the egret’s nest from rampaging children and dogs. With the help of neighbors, the nest was properly cordoned off with rope and everyone nearby was notified of the expected blessed event so they would be mindful of it and not bother the soon-to-be mother egret.

In the glorious glow of one of those South Florida sunsets that fills the entire sky, it was unanimously agreed that come day-break there would be little egret eggs and a brand new neighborhood rookery.

Non one could quite figure out why the egret decided to lay its eggs so near so many people. But after all, there were plenty of babies around and the cat next door is pregnant. We reasoned that with all that motherhood happenin’, the egret just felt right at home.

But the next morning brought answers to question we hadn’t even asked.

The next morning also revealed the original diagnosis was an error.

Stepping outside, into the cool dawn, I decided to check on the progress of the adopted mother-to-be.

Instead of a nest filled with eggs, I found the egret lying on its side in the yard — stiff as a board and dead as a doornail.

Instead of waiting to give birth, the egret had obviously been too weak to fly away when we approached it. It was hanging around, waiting to die.

I felt like a fool. Maybe should have called the Conservancy’s Wildlife Rehabilitation Clinic on Saturday to come get the bird. Maybe even the clinic couldn’t have helped.

Maybe the bird was just going to die, no matter what.

The children were duly informed of the tragedy, which left only one remaining step: what to do with the body. The crows were already beginning to notice.

Animal Control said the only thing to do was to bag up the bird and throw it away.

The county landfill hardly seems like an appropriate burial place for such a magnificent creature but that’s where it lies.

The lesson to be learned from all this is that we humans don’t know near enough about the ways of nature as we think we do.

He who knows, knows nothing. He who knows nothing, knows.