Great Blue Heron: Feather and Balance

We are following a familiar path along Pequea Creek in Southern Lancaster County on an early September morning, the sky suspended equably between two seasons. Streaming sunlight continues to hold the warmth of summer and yet, wrapped within that light, there's a mellow glow reminding us that autumn draws nearer, day by day.  As we walk beneath breeze-stirred sycamore, birch, and a favorite weeping willow, I say—as I often say when we're walking by water—I hope we see the great blue heron. The... a definite article merges all of the great blue herons we have seen across the miles and through the seasons into one. Somehow, in my mind's eye, the large, exquisitely feathered wading bird of shore and open water, of streams and rivers and wetlands, has become a connecting force—sometimes a sign, sometimes a symbol—of balance, reflection, and stillness.

The trail rounds a long, sweeping bend in the creek, and there we spy it: the morning's great blue heron. Perched on a tumble of detritus and debris collected from recent rains, the great blue heron seems the color of water mingled with the color of sky—mist gray and rippling azure feathers—slate plume and slender legs, watchful eyes—elegantly poised between blending in and standing out—the spirit of reflection.

Across miles and many seasons: we have seen the great blue heron in springtime, wading amidst water lilies on a cool mountain lake; in summertime, tracing a path through the shallows of a balmy, algae-covered pond; in autumn, perching on a partially submerged log, angled light tinging water and leaves teal blue and lime green; and in winter, pensively hunched on river ice, braced against the chill-flowing Raritan River. We've seen the great blue heron fishing in rushing rapids of the Susquehanna near Shocks Mill Bridge, and we've seen it in breathtaking flight over a freshwater pond at Cape May Point. So lovely in flight and yet, this morning, we wish the great blue heron would stay here on Pequea Creek, here in September light and shadow. The bird is moving, flexing with each step-by-considered-step before assuming a quiescent stance. It is watching, it is waiting, and in time, the great blue heron extends purposefully and catches a small fish. We trace a deliberate swallow down its long, graceful neck. And then, as September sky wavers between two seasons, the great blue heron returns to feathered stillness for a time of balance and reflection as we continue on our winding trail. — B.

Great Blue Heron

 wading

through morning in ancient waters,

cloaked in mist, draped in sky,

placing one lissome foot,

then another—

waiting

in the shallows,

then across the seasons—

the way of the heron

is feather, reflection,

and balance

to stillness.

— B.

The great blue heron (Ardea herodias) is commonly found throughout the United States. It is an ancient species--the blue heron fossil record dates back almost two million years, and records of the heron family date back millions of years before that. The blue heron is a manifestation of stability, balance, and calm. It can adapt to all kinds of environments—marshes, woodland streambeds, ponds, oceans, even deserts--if it is near a reliable source of water. It is the largest heron found in North America, standing up to four feet high, yet weighing in at only 5-6 pounds, mostly due to its light, hollow bones. Its distinctive anatomy allows the bird to walk with grace and elegance through shallow water and over rough obstacles in the terrain. A patient bird, it rarely lifts a second foot until the first one is planted.

The blue heron is well practiced in stealth, spending almost all its waking hours hunting for food. With excellent night vision, it can walk and stalk, day or night. The blue heron is no picky eater, its prey including small mammals, fish, frogs and toads, reptiles, even other birds. It lives its life slowly and deliberately, sometimes migrating to warmer climates in the winter, and sometimes choosing to stay put. When it finds harmony in its environment, a blue heron can live up to 25 years. Knowing this, Algonquin peoples hold a tradition of The Way of the Heron, a method for establishing understanding, mediation, and justice in community. — D.

Think about balance as equilibrium. When we stand on one foot, we often are not still.  When we start to fall left, we adjust to the right; when we start to fall back, we lean front. In our bodies, in our lives, in all of nature, it’s easy to take balance for granted until it is lost. Hatha yoga is a practice designed to help balance body, mind, and spirit—and it’s not just about standing on one foot. Take some inspiration from the blue heron and seek stability. Mountain pose (tadasana) is one of the foundational poses of hatha yoga, and it is an easy, accessible start to improving your posture, breath, and mood. To come into mountain pose, stand up tall with your arms hanging comfortably at your sides. Breathe naturally and steadily. Keep your feet together, or hip-width apart; either way, feel all the weight of your feet pressing firmly on the ground. Tuck your lower back in slightly. Pull your shoulders back a bit and relax them downward. Try to keep your head, heart, and pelvis in vertical alignment. Take a deep breath in and feel your lower abdomen push outward. Exhale and feel your abdomen contract. Now take a simple flow (or vinyasa). 

With a deep breath in, raise your arms up overhead to the sky, keeping your palms facing inwards. Imagine there is energy coming up from the earth, flowing up the front of your body.  Lower your arms slowly as you exhale. With the exhale, imagine there is energy moving down the back of your body, from your head to the earth, grounding you. Take two more slow, deep breaths in and out, raising and lowering your arms, imagining the energy flowing with your breath. Pause and notice how you feel. Reset your mountain pose and repeat as often as you like. — D.

To walk in The Way of the Heron, one has to be at peace with oneself, even prepared to meet the Creator in the spirit world.

—Evan Pritchard, 1955-present, Mi’kmaq descendant and Algonquin scholar