It is a warm, sunny morning at Grass Point State Park in the Thousand Islands of upstate New York.  The cool breeze flaps the trailer’s awning and keeps the cattail reeds fluttering. 

          That breeze feels so good on the skin that there is no reason to hurry off to do tourist tasks.  That breeze also portends the rain predicted for later this afternoon.  That breeze which creates a gentle rustling in the tree leaves has come down the St. Lawrence River from Lake Ontario.  The breeze that will follow will be moist wind, and then storm.  For now, however, it is just refreshing.

          Our Campsite is fantastic. The awning faces the river.  After twenty feet of grass lawn, are low shrubs for ten feet, then twenty more feet of cattails.  Then there is the wide river, I would guess about a mile wide across the American Channel to Wellesley Island. Beyond that large island would be the wider Canadian Channel.

          The cattails are home to about six varieties of birds.  The redwing blackbirds spend this time perching on tall branches and calling out “Tweedle-Churrrrrr” in defense of their territories.  We can hear at least a half dozen within easy earshot that are satisfied that they have the perfect spot to raise a family.

          We non-ornithologists have trouble identifying the other species, and are not even certain if some of then might be the females of the redwing blackbirds.  We left all our identifier books at home.

      Occasionally, a great clamor arises over a particular spot and birds of several species respond by flying toward the spot and adding to the cacophony of squawks and scolding.  Then, satisfied that whatever danger had been is gone, they all quietly disperse.  Communal nest guarding, in one species, maybe, but this is several different types of birds.

          There are mammals in the area, too.  We have seen bounding chipmunks cross over the grassy lawn. A cottontail rabbit came out of the shrubs last evening hopping along, keeping within a few feet of cover.  We have smelled evidence of a skunk near the rest rooms at night, but never over here by the marsh.

          Suddenly, a loud low pitch sound vibrates the linings of our lungs.  A huge cargo ship has blown its foghorn to warn some tiny speedboat, “Look out!  Here I come.”

          Now we hear the rumble of its large engines turning propellers that push it through the water at the legal eleven mile per hour speed limit.  As it goes by, the respectful speedboat swings wide, then comes about and travels along side the ship whose wake deflects off its bow higher than the speedboat.  Then in subtle defiance, the speedboat accelerates and pulls ahead of the ship.  The speed limit only applies to vessels longer than forty feet.

          All that navigation occurred a half mile or more from us.  The speedboat was just a tiny speck to the naked eye.  In comparison, the ship was the size of a Death Star.

          Very unconcerned, at about a thousand feet off our shore is a flock of hundreds of waterfowl bobbing in the waves.  They have been there since we arrived three days ago.  We have never seen them fly away or land. 

          Last evening, I used my binoculars to see what kind they were.  I discovered that it is very confusing to try to figure out what is what when you are looking at the wrong end of a goose.

          The water where they are must be quite shallow, because the Canada geese just go bottom-end-up and stick their long necks down to feed.  They do not seem to need to dive completely below the surface.  Occasionally, we hear the honking as something disturbs the Canada geese, usually some speedboat going by.

          Nighttime sounds differ.  The birds grow silent, and the frogs begin pretending to be cargo ships, “Glunk-Croakk.:  The speed boats have all gone to bed, but the real cargo ships seem to increase in numbers.  There are fewer small craft to get in their way, so they seldom sound their booming foghorns at night, leaving the frogs to believe they are the loudest beast about.