{"id":121,"date":"2026-04-07T21:54:35","date_gmt":"2026-04-07T21:54:35","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-2\/?page_id=121"},"modified":"2026-04-09T17:50:38","modified_gmt":"2026-04-09T17:50:38","slug":"flights-of-friendship-at-pier-84","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/euphemism.illinoisstate.edu\/21-2\/non-fiction\/flights-of-friendship-at-pier-84\/","title":{"rendered":"Flights of Friendship at Pier 84"},"content":{"rendered":"

James B. Nicola<\/span><\/p>\n

Block by block and pier by pier over the last few decades, New York City has been reclaiming its waterfront on the Hudson River, not for more cargo ships or luxury liners, but for folks like you and me, locals and tourists, biped and quadruped.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Riverside Park has extended uptown from West 72nd Street since the 19th century. The new waterfront, including Riverside Park South and Hudson River Park, extends down more than five miles, all the way to Battery Park City, across from Lady Liberty. Piers with parks provide grass lawns for summer sunbathing or astroturf faux-lawns for year-round exercise; these latter were particularly populated during the pandemic, indoor gyms being closed. There are also tennis courts, caf\u00e9s, playgrounds, a bike lane, kayak\/canoe\/paddleboard launches and lessons, dog runs (fenced-in areas where quadrupeds can gambol and frolic off-leash), skateboard parks, plus plenty of places to walk, with or without a dog. Me? I jog. Not along the river, like other joggers, but above it, at my local pier.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Pier 84 opened a dozen years ago at the end of West 44th Street. (You add 40 to the street number to get the approximate pier number, except in Greenwich Village where the numbered east-west streets are crooked and crisscrossed.) Just to the north, at Pier 86, rests the Intrepid Aircraft Carrier, offering a popular museum tour (with terrific guides, I am told, all veterans). At Pier 83 to the south: the Circle Line, which circumnavigates Manhattan with jovial live narration: one of tourists\u2019 best bang-for-the-buck values, as the trip takes almost three hours.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

My ersatz jogging track is the boardwalk portion of Pier 84 beyond the boathouse. Dancers have told me, over the years, that wood is easier on the knees and back than asphalt or concrete; my back has gone out a few times, so I particularly appreciate the wood of the boardwalk. One of my laps measures about a sixth of a mile.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

During the pandemic, I wasn\u2019t the only frequenter of Pier 84 to start saying hello to strangers, trying to prevent masks and \u201csocial distancing\u201d from keeping us completely<\/em> asocial and distant. Fellow joggers, strollers, and dog walkers have become friends of a sort: we haven\u2019t gone out for coffee together, but have begun to learn each other\u2019s names (and their dogs\u2019). Some of my newest friends at Pier 84, however, are unlike any I have ever known.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

* * *<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Flight 1<\/u>. Two days a week, to give my body a rest, I do not jog but instead take a long walk, either around Central Park or along the Hudson River. One day, several years before the refurbished Pier 84 opens, I notice two geese, around West 56th Street, floating on the river below. I have never come upon precisely two geese before. (The New England skies of my childhood frequently featured migrating vees of two dozen birds blazoning the bright cerulean backdrop, something of a thrill for a nature-loving kid like me.) I say out loud to the two geese below, \u201cHey, where\u2019s your gaggle?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Flight 2<\/u>. Over the next few years, I take mental note of when I see just a pair of geese or a trio, both of which are quite rare. The gaggles in New York are usually five or six and up, occasionally a dozen, never as many as two dozen. Point is: I begin to notice the wildlife in New York, particularly the geese. I even compose a couple of poems about them.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Flight 3<\/u>. Years later, sometime in 2020. A lone goose nibbles on Pier 84\u2019s lawn, which borders the boardwalk. I have never seen a lone<\/em> goose before. The goose seems to be having a grand time, chomping away at grass with abandon. On one of my laps I say out loud to the goose, \u201cHey, what\u2019s going on? Where\u2019s your gaggle?\u201d Stopping to talk to a goose is a convenient excuse to rest a bit from a grueling jog when there happens to be no puppy to paw at that particular moment. The goose doesn\u2019t mind me. Or even notice me. I wonder if it is a stranded, lone goose. Sanguine as it seems, I start to feel concern for its well-being.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Flight 4<\/u>. Over the ensuing weeks, I see a lone goose more than a few times. It may be the same one each time, but at this point I can\u2019t tell one goose from another.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Flight 5<\/u>. One day I see a pair of geese likewise nibbling the lawn of Pier 84. \u201cWhere\u2019s your gaggle,\u201d I ask. \u201cI mean, it\u2019s nice you have each other, but don\u2019t you need a gaggle?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Flight 6<\/u>. For months, I occasionally see a lone goose again or a pair. On no occasion do I see two<\/em> lone geese, nor two couples, so the chances that I am seeing the same geese over and over is not nil. Still, I don\u2019t think too much of it. One day, though, I suggest to the couple, \u201cSay, if you happen to run into a lone goose, would you check it out, say hi, cheer it up a bit? I don\u2019t think it has a gaggle, either.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Flight 7<\/u>. Some days or weeks later (I wasn\u2019t keeping a diary, so I cannot provide exact dates), I see three<\/em> geese swimming on the river, just to the north of the boardwalk. For a while, the geese comport like a single family: equidistant, benign, blithe. I ask, \u201cSay, are you guys a gaggle of three, or are you a two and a one?\u201d I know that geese don\u2019t understand English. But I don\u2019t think I\u2019m really crazy because I am quite aware that I sound crazy. Right?<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

In any event, a couple of minutes after I ask the question, they separate into a couple and a single, several feet now between them, as if to answer my question. \u201cOh, so you two are just keeping our loner company for a while, is that it?\u201d They leave before I do, and sure enough, they leave as couple and single, confirming my suspicion. It dawns on me that it might not be in the nature of geese to adopt an orphan, but that a couple might hang around for a while just to cheer it up. I don\u2019t believe for a New York minute that they got the idea from me. Although now that I think about it, it was<\/em> my idea. Hmm.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Flight 8<\/u>. On a sunny morning, I see a single goose\u2014my single goose?\u2014standing on the boat-launch platform that floats low on the water alongside my jogging boardwalk. It is asleep, bill snuggled under wing. Never before have I seen a lone goose sleeping during the day. It reminds me of certain loved ones suffering from depression who \u201csleep in\u201d because, one or two have explained, they \u201cdon\u2019t really look forward to the next day.\u201d On one of my laps, then, I say, \u201cDon\u2019t be sad. Can\u2019t you find a gaggle?\u201d A passerby (human) overhears. I tell him that I fear the goose is depressed. He tells me that he has never noticed a goose sleeping during the day, either. He may be saying it just to be kind, though, so that I don\u2019t feel too ridiculous in pointing it out to him.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Flight 9<\/u>. Late summer and into the fall of 2020, the geese start to migrate south, as usual. By the onset of winter, I don\u2019t see any geese at all, as I recall.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Flight 10<\/u>. February 2021. First goose of the new season: a loner on the grass of Pier 84. I say, \u201cIt\u2019s only February. Aren\u2019t you back early this year? What happened? Did you get separated from your gaggle? And by the way, are you the same single goose from last year?\u201d The goose loses me at \u201cFebruary,\u201d I\u2019m sure.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Flight 11<\/u>. I continue to see a lone goose every now and then\u2014never two loners\u2014and a couple\u2014never two couples\u2014at Pier 84. I am still not quite certain they are the same geese each time. Nevertheless, the sightings give me pause, especially because the birds begin to look up at me, just a bit, as if in response to my hello. In fact, this new behavior of theirs\u2014not ignoring me, and being increasingly obvious about it\u2014starts to become the norm.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Flight 12<\/u>. 2022. Spring. One day at Pier 84 about a dozen newly hatched goslings, cuter than kittens, make my day as they swim below. I assume that geese raise kids in two-parent families but am not certain of this, as there does seem to be but one parent watching over them. She (?) has them hide under the boat-launch platform, while she stands on top, for the most part. But occasionally she swims elsewhere, probably as a decoy. I assume the other parent (the father?) is somewhere nearby, but never do see two parents attending the chicks. Could the missing one be acting as a decoy even farther away, in a spot blind from the boardwalk? Meanwhile, in the sky, two hawks are circling. Mother goose is wise to hide her chicks from probable predators. I mention to a few pedestrians with small children to be on the lookout for the baby birds; the kids would definitely get a kick out of them. Not many get to catch a glimpse, though, because for the most part, mother goose keeps her chicks concealed.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Months later on Pier 84, I chat with a bird watcher (or \u201cbirder\u201d\u2014new word for me). She too remembers those new-born goslings here, and sightings of hawks in the area. So maybe I am not misremembering\u2014at least, not everything.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Flight 11<\/u>. Late summer or early autumn 2022. I spot a seemingly rogue goose for the very first time since the day I saw those baby geese. [S]he is swimming northwards, toward the far end of Pier 84 from the far end of the Circle Line, Pier 83. Directly toward me, in other words, as I round the far end of the boardwalk. I stop and say, \u201cHey there, are you my goose, and are you saying hi? If you are, I haven\u2019t seen you around for a while. Whatcha been up to?\u201d I then notice that a goose armada follows behind her. \u201cOh, you\u2019ve got yourself a gaggle now, have you?\u201d Then the gaggle and the lead goose merge and continue toward the Intrepid. As I keep jogging, I wonder if that lead goose might be the parent\u2014mother\u2014of the rest of the gaggle. If the birds had been birthed five months or so earlier in the season, they should<\/em> be fully grown now, right? Like teenagers or young adults. So might they indeed be the same geese I spied as goslings?<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

As the armada advances to the north, now with their backs to me, I say (to their backs), \u201cWell, I wish there were some way you could let me know if you are in fact my old lone goose who has finally found\u2013or produced\u2013a gaggle, so I\u2019d be able to stop worrying whether or not you\u2019re OK.\u201d I resume circling, more focused on the jog than on the gaggle. But on my next lap, I glance to the north, and now one goose\u2014the same one that led them before?\u2014has separated from the gaggle\u2014I see its wake diverge\u2014and is making a beeline (again) for me<\/em>. I think (or even say out loud): Are you trying to answer my question in the affirmative? Is this gaggle, in fact, your new family? <\/em>I jog in place awhile and watch the goose approach.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I do not really think that any goose has ever heeded anything I\u2019ve said\u2013or thought. But if a goose did<\/em> sense my concern and want to set my mind at ease, well, what else could (s)he do?\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

And here\u2019s the kick: for the rest of the year, I do not see another lone goose, neither at pier 84 nor anywhere up and down the Hudson. So maybe it was \u201dmy\u201d goose after all. With a gaggle at last. And wanting me to know. In any event, I don\u2019t worry anymore.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Flight 13<\/u>. Late winter 2023. A gaggle of four, also rare, look like they are playing in the water between the Intrepid and me while I jog. Eventually, one pair of geese chases the other two away with aggressive wing-flapping, so I realize this is no gaggle of four, but two couples. The remaining couple then swim directly toward me and, when they get close, look right up at me awhile, as has become the wont of \u201cmy\u201d geese. I imagine them trying to say, \u201cYeah, buddy, it\u2019s us, we took care of those two all right, didn\u2019t we?\u201d or \u201cThose two did not want to play. So how ya doin\u2019 today?\u201d It seems that this couple might just remember me from last season.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Flight 14<\/u>. One day, right when I say \u201cHello, Gertie and Gordie\u201d (sometimes Gussy: I don\u2019t always have names for them, but try to be alliterative, if not consistent, when I do), a dog walker notices that the two geese veer, on a dime, directly toward me. The ricochet is dramatic enough that she says the geese are responding to me\u2013like friends. It is the first time I hear someone else suggest this ridiculous idea. Over the next few months, several humans observe this sort of behavior and suggest likewise.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

During one of these months, quite by coincidence, I happen to pick up a pop fiction paperback in which the protagonist, holed up on an off-shore island, develops a rapport with a rare species of whooping crane. An ornithologist colleague informs him that such affinities have been known to develop between wildlife\u2014aquatic birds, in particular\u2014and humans. I do not romanticize a similar interspecies relationship with \u201cmy geese,\u201d but I do not think it quite impossible, either.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Flight 15<\/u>.\u00a0 February 2023. Again, geese have returned early\u2014or February has become their new normal. Anyway, one walking day of mine, a mile or more south of pier 84, I notice a lone goose strutting north while I stroll south. It follows, somewhat, the line of human pedestrians. To my left lies a grassy mound sporting a few dozen geese and ducks. To my right, down in the water, beyond the railing, another few dozen float. This goose, feathers ruffled, is the only one in the pedestrian pathway. I pass it and it passes me, but then I think to turn and say to it, \u201cWhat are you doing in the people lane, goose, and how\u2019d you get your feathers all mussed up?\u201d And what do you know, that goose stops, turns around, and looks up at me. It is five or six feet away and stands as if to talk to me. A few people slow down and watch. I ask the goose, \u201cWait, are you my old, long-lost, lone-goose friend from Pier 84? Or are you maybe Gertie or Gordie? But if you\u2019re Gertie or Gordie, where\u2019s your mate?\u201d Of course a honk in response would be too predictable. But as it continues to look up at me, I somehow get the idea to cross to the edge of the walkway, lean over the railing, and look straight down at an area of the river blind to the strolling lanes. Lo and behold, there swims another single goose\u2014with feathers likewise ruffled. As if the two birds have been engaged in some mutual feather-ruffling activity. None of the other dozens of geese have ruffled feathers\u2014I scan them all now to check, both above and below. The unkempt feathers visually link these two geese as, well, belonging to each other. Like a couple. My<\/em> couple?<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Later I wonder: What prompted me to look for the goose\u2019s mate precisely where it, in fact, was, although hidden from view? Not that I knew<\/em> where it was\u2014I didn\u2019t\u2014but why did I think to look there, without a second\u2019s pause?<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Flight 16<\/u>. Several times over the course of the last few months, a pair of geese have flown over Pier 84, looking like they were headed to some destination farther north or south. I wave at them. One time they honk before I wave; another time they honk after; the other times they do not honk. I say, knowing they probably can\u2019t hear my voice (but possibly my thoughts?), \u201cHey, up there, stop by and say hello!\u201d On four of these occasions, they actually veer mid-air, land on the lawn, patio, or boardwalk, and hang out awhile. I kid you not. (For two or three of these sudden landings, there are other humans about, so I have witnesses.)<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Flight 17<\/u>. March 2023. Two weeks ago. I see my goose couple on four out of my five jogging days on Pier 84. Last week, five out of five. That is far more frequently than I encounter any of my dog-walking friends. The geese do not stick around for my entire jog, but if I don\u2019t spot them when I arrive, I yell out, \u201cHey, Geese, can you hear me? Where are you? Come say hello if you want,\u201d and they, in fact, show up a lap or two\u2014or twenty-five\u2014later.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Flight 18<\/u>. One day last week, on lap 20 of my jog, a single flying goose lands in the Hudson, forty yards north or so, swims toward me for a second, looks up awhile as if to say Hello, and then looks away again\u2014one of the usual patterns for \u201cmy geese.\u201d I fear what might have happened to the absent spouse. So I ask. \u201cOh, no, what happened to your mate? You are Gertie or Gordie, aren\u2019t you? If so, please ask your mate to drop by so I don\u2019t worry about what has happened to him\/her.\u201d Three laps later, sure enough, the mate flies in, drops down, and lands on the water next to the other goose. They look at me for a few seconds. My fears are calmed. Then the pair of them fly off, as if they have something better to do than keep me company, which I\u2019m sure they always have.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Flight 19<\/u>. In the past few weeks, the geese, parading on the flagstone patio, are totally overlooked by tourist families taking photos. One day, a teen-age son wields a camera with his dad in tow; another day, a different teen photographer has both parents (I assume) with him. On these two occasions, I suggest to the humans, Hey, don’t miss those geese, they\u2019re like my friends. The tourists then shift their focus to the geese who, in turn, remain awfully calm about the kid who snaps away and gradually gets pretty darn close to them. (Both camera-happy kids happen to do this, coincidentally.) Not that the birds are actually posing for pictures, but I wouldn\u2019t put it past them. Anyway, it strikes me that my introduction could have, what, broken the ice? No way\u2026 ridiculous… except that…<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Flight 20<\/u>. A few days later, they are on the water, and I introduce them to three paddleboarders on the launch platform, \u201cCheck out these two geese, they\u2019re, like, my friends.\u201d One of the three is meeting them, through me, for the second time, because she says, \u201cYes, I remember.\u201d Only then does the more intrepid goose swim all the way to the platform and look right up at the middle paddleboarder as she readies her craft; the mate is only a foot behind. They seem more than curious, looking her up and down. The intrepid one seems conversive:<\/em> maybe to ask for a free ride; maybe to hurry the humans up so the geese can perch on \u201ctheir\u201d platform undisturbed; maybe just to ask, Whatcha doing? They remind me of myself, over the course of the last few years, saying things like \u201cSo, what\u2019s going on, geese?\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Flight 21<\/u>. Next day, lest anyone suspect the geese feel closer to those paddleboarders than to me, Gertie and Gordie land on the lawn, look up at me as if to say hi (or just acknowledge me), and set about nibbling away at the grass, seeming to ignore me once again, as I jog. Nibble by nibble, lap after lap, they inch closer to \u201cmy\u201d boardwalk. As I jog past, just to see what happens, I decide not to adjust my circuit and give them additional leeway. They reach the very edge of the lawn, less than a foot from me. This is as close as I\u2019ve ever been to them. Neither flinches in the least. As if, between us, there is now some sort of… trust?<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Flight 22<\/u>. March 17. They visit for my entire 32 laps, mostly swimming near or perched atop the boat-launch platform. At the beginning of my last lap, I lean over the railing and say, from above, \u201cOK, geese, thanks for keeping me company, but this is my last lap today, so \u2019bye now.\u201d And what do you know but, one after another, on cue\u2014they fly off! As if they understand what I just said. Which I know cannot possibly be. But they did wait for me to say good-bye first. Pretty considerate for geese, don\u2019t you think?\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Flight 23<\/u>. I have become pretty convinced that the geese are the same two geese every day. Also: that when they see me, and certainly when they hear me, they recognize me as the same chatty jogger. Now, though, I begin to wonder even more: Do they somehow sense I am there before they get there\u2013or that I am on my way there before I even get there?<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

* * *<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

These flights of fancy may be instances of interspecies voice recognition, telepathy, uncanny coincidence, or nothing at all. I may not be interpreting any of them properly, of course; I readily admit that. Still, if you head to Pier 84 one morning and happen to catch me jogging on the boardwalk beyond the boathouse, and there aren\u2019t a couple of geese hanging out on the pier or nearby, I\u2019ll call out, \u201cHey, geese, are you around? You gonna drop by to say hi today?\u201d And you can bet that they\u2019ll show up soon. I don\u2019t guarantee it, but as of the last few weeks, I do expect it.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

* * *<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Flight 24<\/u>. End of March. I spoke\u2013wrote\u2013too soon. Two weeks in a row, I see Gertie and Gordie every day I jog. The last few days, though, I see only Gordie. But he doesn\u2019t seem lonely or sad, only preoccupied\u2013vigilant, I would say. Guess where Gertie is. Well, it\u2019s spring. And the way Gordie loiters around the boat-launch platform, peeking under it from time to time, occasionally chasing away a few mallards or seagulls, I have a hunch we\u2019ll be seeing some goslings in a few weeks. Not that I know, but I got the idea somehow. Ridiculous? Sure. But I\u2019ll be on the lookout. And keep you posted.<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

James B. Nicola Block by block and pier by pier over the last few decades, New York City has been reclaiming its waterfront on the Hudson River, not for more cargo ships or luxury liners, but for folks like you and me, locals and tourists, biped and quadruped.   Riverside Park has extended uptown from… <\/p>\n

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