I wasn’t willing at the end of August, but now that it’s September I clearly see the flocks of wild Canada geese (Branta canadensis) preparing for their southern migration. There are thousands of them just down the road on the University of Minnesota’s recently harvested research fields and also the golf course. The spirit of fall has descended with these hoards of grazing geese. 

Now that it’s September and my kids are back in school, I’m willing to let my mind wander again into tight spots. Questions of ‘what work does the world need from me?’ and ‘who do I want to become?’ are my well-trod neural dead ends. I was once a Lutheran pastor, but my masters degree and title are now strangers to me. Cue some good seasonal existential angst. 

Canada geese are strangers to no one. One popular birding field guide stated that they are “found in every state and province at some time of year.” Another claimed Canada geese are the “most common, familiar, and widespread goose in North America.” You know what they look like, I don’t need to tell you. 

Normally, people love to love birds. In 2016 the US Fish and Wildlife Service found that America’s 45 million birdwatchers annually spend around $1.8 billion on binoculars and spotting scopes and a measly $4 billion on bird food. But I’ve never met a serious birder who feels great joy at spotting a Canada goose.

It’s probably because of the poop. Canada geese are prolific poopers. Or it’s their raucous and incessant “ker-honk!”ing. No string, streamers, pinwheels, or fake coyotes will deter flocks of geese from claiming the most beautiful lawns and beaches. They are excellent at defending your yard and your parks- from you- by being terrifying. Have you ever been charged by a head-down, tongue-out, hissing mama goose before? I don’t recommend that kind of a tight spot. 

Speaking of tight spots, I don’t miss being an expert on Jesus. Rather, I’m perfectly content to walk in the woods; just me, my dog, some Icelandic music in my Airpods, and whatever wind is around. Out there I feel full to bursting, connected to the Spirit of the universe; a mysterious, ever-present, unpredictable, creative breath that connects one thing to everything else. That is holiness to me; that I breathe the same Spirit as you, that you breathe the same Spirit as the trees, and the trees breathe the same Spirit as the Canada goose. We are connected to one another- we are to tend to one another- we are interdependent. You, me, the trees, a goose, and everything else in the universe. 

We used to have significantly less Canada geese in Minnesota. They very nearly disappeared from the Twin Cities in the early 1900s because of over-hunting and habitat destruction. They were actually reintroduced in the 1960s- a cooperative effort by city parks, private citizens, nature centers, and the University of Minnesota. The reintroduction work was clearly successful. Maybe too successful, some folks argue.  

Celtic spirituality uses the goose as a symbol for the Holy Spirit. Not a white, fancy, frail dove like the Christianity I’ve been taught. But a substantial, tenacious, ordinary goose. Learning that has made my tight spots feel a little more roomy. If a goose can be like the Spirit, then maybe there’s more room for boldness, for seasonality, and for abundance. 

I’m not always willing, but now that the geese are gathering I clearly see the bold spirit of fall is here.