I like geese.

I remember an 8 year old me playing at Mill Lake, and chasing the ducks and geese - trying, desperately trying, to win them over with my nuggets of bread, thinking maybe if I gave them enough, they'd be my pets, my private avionic companions.

They always ran away when the bread was gone.

It was different then. The air was more clear; today, the closest I get to that air is when Kirsten and I are hiking in the Kananaskis; but even the air there seems tainted by pollution.

There was less rain, and the sun somehow wasn't so hot when it touched your skin. Clouds were whiter and fluffier, and the sky was a richer blue.

Mom would keep the ends of the bread for me and my sister from every loaf she bought. We'd never eat those crusty pieces anyway, being the picky kids we were (and Susan, being only two, didn't have a great fondness for bread yet).

She'd save it up, and we'd drive down to the park to feed the ducks (though there were more geese than ducks, really, but we didn't discriminate).

Susan and I would scramble down from the parking lot, near-empty bags of bread swaying wildly, clutched in our hands, while we ran haphazardly in the direction of the lake.

Sometimes we'd park right by the boat launch, where most of the ducks (geese mostly) 'lived'.

Sometimes we'd park at the shopping mall, and take a trail through the woods to get to our destination.

Most times, we'd leave the car at the far end of the park, wandering by the outdoor pool and playground before feeding the ducks. I'd run up to the 'hidden' trail in the trees alongside the paved sidewalk, pretending I was a great explorer, or divert our little group to the playground, where I'd brave the rope bridge.

When we finally got to the lake, I'd set my bag down and rip a somewhat-too-large piece of bread, then start running towards the ducks *honk*. The ducks would run away *honk*, I'd toss the bread over my head, landing a few feet in front of me, and the ducks *honkhonk* would rush back. Chaos reigned as the ducks fought over the scrap of bread, and a duck tide would come in and out as I gave them bread.

Mom would rip up smaller pieces of bread for Susan, and she'd toddle towards the ducks, drop the piece of bread in front of her, and happily squeal when the ducks came rushing to her feet.

I'd eventually run out of bread, then start stealing pieces of Susan's bread to keep feeding the ducks. We'd keep feeding them until all the bread was gone. We'd sit and watch the other families, or maybe head back to the playground, then go home again for some dinner.

Within a few years, we stopped feeding the ducks at Mill Lake. I'd taken up fishing with my dad on the weekends, and had a bike (and was old enough to bike a further distance than down the street, still in full view of my parents). I still went down to Mill Lake - be it to fish, or float around in my inflatable boat (carried sherpa-like on my back the entire hour-long walk from our subdivision to the lake) - but I never fed the ducks again.

It was different then.

More pictures coming tonight... I promise. There's actually a bunch sitting on the hard drive that Kirsten took at the Callingwood Farmer's Market last Sunday, and some on the camera from this morning.