What the land trust means to me

by big loe

Emus are from Australia. They can run up to 40 miles an hour and live up to 30 years. Big Lou died in 2022 at about that age. A memorial gathering at the Land Trust amphitheater drew an emotional and appreciative crowd, including several adults who remembered him from childhood and had brought their own children to meet him. This two-part autobiography was serialized in the Lake Claire Clarion in 2012.

Part 1

Well, it’s an honor to be asked for my point of view after I’ve lived here among

you humans for all these years, quietly minding my own business.

On the other hand, come to think of it, it’s about time!

No one seems to know exactly when I arrived at Amata, Norman Glassman and

Marilyn Rosenberg’s place behind the Land Trust on Nelms Ave. Noah

Glassman remembers that he was fourteen or fifteen when his parents had the

idea of inviting me to live here, along with my mate and our baby. Noah is 33

now, so that puts the date around 1993.

I don’t remember much about that time myself, since I was only about a year

old. I only recall feeling traumatized by the journey, during which my beloved

mate fell and broke her leg. She had to be euthanized as soon as we arrived, so

my residence here began on a very sad note. And while I was still grieving her,

dogs broke into our enclosure and fatally attacked my little one. After that I was

the lone emu here in the neighborhood.

I wasn’t lonely, though. Besides Noah’s family, I had lots of visitors. Most were

humans, but I also enjoyed gossiping with my neighbors in Norman’s “chicken

camp.” Several of the hens were quite talkative. And before long, two goats

came to live with me and became my close buddies. We didn’t always agree

about things, but we were rarely seen apart.

My fenced enclosure in those days extended all the way around the pond and

included a lovely grove of bamboo where I could get out of the summer heat, or

hide when I didn’t feel like company. Noah’s family built a shelter on that side

for me and the goats. At the other end of the enclosure, on the Arizona Ave.

side, I could wander all the way up into Dawn and Wing’s back yard.

Dawn soon began bringing me treats to supplement my diet. Norman

considered me more or less a wildlife exhibit, so he didn’t feel treats were

strictly necessary. But at Dawn’s end of our enclosure, the goats and I were

pampered pets.

Noah seemed to outgrow his interest in wildlife after a while, but Dawn had a

group of kids at her house every day after school, and the little ones were always

happy to see me. It was one of them, a precocious young writer named Amy,

who gave me the name “Big,” which came from an acronym she made up –

“Beauty In the Garden.”

Noah and his family had originally named me “Louise,” thinking I was a

female. When they learned my true gender, they shortened the name to “Lou.”

Eventually my two names merged into “Big Lou,” though Dawn still calls me

“Big” for short and other folks call me “Lou.” Naturally I prefer “Big,” since

when Dawn calls me she’s usually bringing me my lunch. But I’ll answer to

either name, just in case it’s someone bringing me a snack.

Even if no food is involved, I enjoy my human visitors, especially the little ones.

I miss the crowds who used to show up for Treeman’s tree-climbing classes

before the two big trees got sick and had to come down. And I miss the

Soulshine folks who rented Amata for a while for their after-school childcare

and summer camp. It was fun to have kids around again, so many years after

Dawn closed her childcare business.

Most of my visitors these days wander down from the Land Trust, which now

owns the pond. Though sometimes I’m not in a social mood and will act a little

shy, your visits give me a warm feeling of being part of the community. I

especially appreciate the neighbors who bring their children to see how I’m

doing, which is very thoughtful. It’s even nicer when they bring me some

grapes or crackers. (In the summer, by the way, I do love melons!)

Other humans come by with their dogs, which makes me nervous, especially

when the dogs start barking at me. It brings back unpleasant memories of

several occasions when dogs got through the fence and chased me just for fun.

When I’m frightened, I puff my feathers up to make myself look more

threatening. But these dogs were too excited to notice. I could have hurt them

pretty severely with my big clawed feet, but in my panic I only wanted to run

away.

On the open plains of Australia, where my family is from, there’s plenty of

room to run. My grandparents told feather-raising stories of the predators they

used to outrun, some of which looked a lot like dogs. They advised me not to

use my claws unless I was really cornered. “Remember, an emu’s best defense is

to run away!” they always said. But it doesn’t work so well in a fenced

enclosure.

My enclosure has grown smaller now and I can no longer wander around the

pond, but I have a smaller pond of my own in Dawn and Wing’s back yard,

and my new fence gives me a much better view of the humans and their

peculiar doings. Besides that, it’s much easier for the humans to feed me, too.

Why don't you try it sometime? I may look scary, but I've never hurt anyone, I

promise!

Part 2

Things have changed around here since the old days when my enclosure

included the big pond and the plants grew thick and wild. My buddies the

goats and I were semi-wild critters ourselves, and it was much harder to

socialize with my human visitors through the fence.

I’ll never forget the day a few years back when Dawn lured me into her upper

yard with some food and closed the lower gate. Then the neighbors gathered

and tore down all the fences. I watched in fascination as one fellow climbed

into a big noisy machine and started moving the dirt around. He enlarged the

old pond, dug a new smaller one, and transformed my overgrown pasture and

the surrounding back yards into the beautiful terraced landscape you see today.

Then the neighbors put the fences back up.

My pals the goats were long gone by then. I tried to tell them they were going

to get in trouble if they kept squeezing through the fence to snack on the

various delicacies that grow in our human neighbors’ yards. But they wouldn’t

listen. One day a truck came and took them away. I’m sure they went to a great

home, but I still miss those ornery goats from time to time.

Various flocks of chickens have come and gone on both sides of the big pond

over the years. I miss their clucking and crowing. These days, I have a couple of

male mallard ducks to keep me company. They talk a lot, but don’t have much

to say that’s interesting to a flightless land bird. They love swimming around in

the little pond we share, and I like to watch them.

Speaking of company, Dawn and Wing must have thought I was lonely,

because one day they brought a large crate down to their back gate and released

another emu into my enclosure. A male, if you can believe it! I’ve never been so

upset. I pecked him mercilessly until they separated us, and before long that

young emu was off to another home. It would have been different if he was a

she, of course, but that would have meant a whole flock of little emus to raise.

I’m not really lonely, but every so often I get in a melancholy mood and find a

nice round rock to sit on. To a human it might sound silly, but it comforts me.

You see, among us emus the tradition is that after the female lays her egg, the

male sits on it to keep it warm until it hatches. It’s a very civilized custom, I’m

sure you’ll agree.

All in all, I have a comfortable life here, in spite of the occasional ice and snow.

I just grow an extra-thick coat of feathers when I feel the cold weather coming

– a skill I strongly recommend you practice if you spend time outdoors in the

winter – and Dawn piles some extra straw in my new shelter. She brings me

two meals a day, rain, shine, or snow, with help from Miriam or Danielle or

other neighbors when she can’t do it herself.

Every so often I get bored and stop eating my regular food, so Dawn tries

something different. At the moment I get brown rice, lentils and vegetables,

with a salad of lettuce, greens, and grapes, plus popcorn or sometimes corn

chips. I never did care for the “emu chow” Dawn bought once or twice from

the animal feed store. I credit my good diet for keeping me in good health all

these years.

When I remember my relatives on emu ranches who eat nothing but emu

chow and end up as emu burgers or emu oil, I feel pretty lucky to live here in

Lake Claire. But still I wonder sometimes. Would I have been happier roaming

the Australian outback, foraging for wild food and running away from

predators? Having regular meals and a nice straw bed might not be all that great

compared to a life of freedom in the outback among my own kind.

But whenever I hear a quavery little voice call, “Big!” or “Lou!” or even just

“Emu!” I remember why I'm content to live here so far from my wild relatives.

The humans need me. I’m living here as an ambassador from all the wild

creatures of this planet, reminding the humans that they don’t live in this

beautiful world all by themselves. I am helping both kinds of creatures by

bridging the gap between us. In the long run, my life here in Lake Claire could

help all of us survive, and I feel privileged to serve. Especially when snacks are

involved.