People often ask me if I miss Paris now that I live out in the boonies. This question bewilders me, as it seems so OBVIOUS to me how much better life is out here in the country and what could I possibly miss about the stress/noise/pollution/dog-poop on the sidewalks/overcrowded and smelly subway/constant aggression from your fellow Parisian/no smiles/not nearly enough trees or space or sunshine, etc etc etc.
In my mind, what sums up the perfection of where I reside is something quite simple.
It is this:
I see blue herons every day.
Ever since I was a little girl in Texas, blue herons have been one of my favorite birds. I think they are strikingly beautiful, so graceful, and then that unusual color…
We used to get so excited on the exceptional occasion that we would spot one on Lake Livingston or Lake Conroe.
Now I see them all the time. Literally every day. Sometimes in groups of 5 or 6, usually just one on its own. Yet I am never blasé in their presence. I saw one swoop down and nail a fish last week, a first, and I almost shouted out loud with joy.
I always know that the best way to ensure that I get really, really close to one before it flies off is to forget to take my camera on a walk. Somehow, they sense this.
I never take them for granted.
I also see countless crows, starlings, goldfinches, thrushes, buzzards, kestrels, robins, white egrets, ducks, geese, cormorants, coots, etc. and the occasional couple of swans. But it’s the blue herons that get me every time. Their beauty moves me, in much the same way as the southern Burgundy landscapes.
Yes, sometimes I wish I could eat sushi every week, or just walk downstairs to pick out some of my favorite cheeses and maybe a new pair of shoes, or not have to worry about driving home after a late night at a fabulous restaurant… but those times are rare, while here, blue herons are not.
