The state of Utah built its prison on “reclaimed” swampland. That’s why, a geologist tells me, the geese treat the place like home. The birds operate on so-called “deep time,” letting instinct guide them to nest where their ancestors had for centuries prior to the stubborn creep of civilization.
Every time I arrive at the prison, I am greeted by a chorus of honks, and I am reminded of something that Aldo Leopold said about the single-mindedness of geese. Instead of using the crow’s flight path to measure the most direct route between two points, we should use geese. Crows meander their way through time and space. Geese, on the other hand, do not. They take the most direct path.
When I started teaching history to incarcerated men in January, the geese had already started nesting on the prison grounds. The months passed and I watched as they paired off and laid eggs. A few weeks ago their goslings started following them around with a distinctive waddle.
Only some of them will survive, my students inform me. Owls nesting over by the greenhouses will prey on them all Spring.
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