The Curious Incident of the Japanese Girl in Red Rain Boots

There had been a precipitation cold war escalating for the last week. Each day seemed more hell-bent on the conjuring of ominous clouds, chilling winds, and horrifying forecasts - threatening at any second to commit to full out thunder showers - but it seemed nobody up there had had the guts to push the button. In defiance of this situation which kept me darting from coffee shop to coffee shop when all I wanted was to depart on my backcountry trip, I had purchased myself a large piece of olive bread, a jar of hummus and sat down by the pier to read.

As I sat there reading and trying not to notice the group of thirty Japanese tourists all holstering their digital cameras with ichy trigger fingers, I was suddenly aware of a great many ducks around me. There were about twenty of so of different shades and species all angrily quacking about as if they were owed something just for being ducks. I was angry at them - I was reading a book of dense philosophy and had enough trouble understanding it without distractions. I was in one of those causal moods where you take it personally that ducks are quacking at you. As I thought more about it more however, I made the connection - the ducks were not out to get me, they just wanted my bread.

My first instinct was that there was no way in HELL these things were getting my bread. Firstly I refuse to be annoyed into action - especially by animals. Secondly, I don't think feeding wild animals is a good practice, and thirdly I didn't want to create a situation that would send those looming digital cameras into a frenzy. I took the bread, stuck it into the plastic bag it came in, stuffed that into my backpack, pulled the draw string tight and went back to my book.

I then had a moment of realization: I am no longer a child. It may seem like a strange thing for a twenty-seven year old to say, but I had realized that the act of feeding a duck to longer held any thrill or excitement for me, I was made to think of consequences and meanings rather than simple delight. I was saddened for a moment and put my book down.

A few meters down the pier a seven year old Japanese girl was trying desperately to get the attention of the ducks. She wore a bright red rain coat and red rain boots which might as well have been the only colours left on earth on this grey day. I reached into my bag and tore off a piece of the bread, called her over and gave it to her.

"Little bits," I had told her, indicating the size with my fingers and pretending to toss one to the ducks. "Little."

She smiled and made off with the bread, tearing off little pieces and was probably as happy as a human being is capable at that age. With the ducks called to action the Japanese tourists started snapping like crazy as lens-caps were popped, auto-focus beeps chirped, and flashes went off all around her. The girl turned to her mother, who like me was face down in a sea of words. The girl in the red rain boots jumped with excitement as the ducks fought over the pieces.

She looked at me and smiled and I smiled back, but a cool aloof smile, like for some reason I just happened to be looking her way. I of course was watching her out of the corner of my eye and I may well have been as happy as a human being is capable at my age.

I decided then, as the waves lapped against the cement below me, and the winds conspired to push everybody around, that I would head off on my trip into the backcountry the next morning no matter what the forecast. I too have my duck-feeding to do, it just takes on a different form at my age.