The Migration of Cranes... and a Poem of Gratitude

 Hello All and welcome to Spiritual Journey Thursday, this month hosted by Ruth Hersey from Kampala, Uganda. Thank you, Ruth! Because we are in the Christian season of Lent, Ruth prompted us to write a psalm of lament. I love this prompt, but decided to save it for another time because I have an amazing experience to share. 

I just returned Nebraska where my niece Becky invited me to see the migration of the sandhill cranes. This natural phenomenon was on my bucket list, and it did not disappoint. The count of cranes is the highest ever: 736,000! 

The migration of cranes is one of the most spectacular natural phenomena, comparable to the migrations of wildebeest and caribou. Every year, 400,000 to 600,000 sandhill cranes—80 percent of all the cranes on the planet—congregate along an 80-mile stretch of the central Platte River in Nebraska to fatten up on waste grain in the empty cornfields before continuing their journey to their Arctic and subarctic nesting grounds.

The sandhill cranes' migration is also one of the oldest known bird migrations, with fossil records indicating that it has been occurring for millions of years.

text & photos from internet

Every spring, cranes migrate from Texas, southern California and Florida, coming together for a stopover in Nebraska, and then fan out again to their northern breeding grounds. Within a span of 50 miles or so, cranes gather along the Platte to rest, eat, and dance their dances before heading north to reach their breeding grounds. 

What we saw: Cold wind and rain greeted us. We spent our first full day birding from the car. Cranes were everywhere in the fields, even along I-80, gleaning corn and wheat, insects and any small animal that came in their path . Sometimes we saw a few in a group, sometimes the entire field seemed alive with cranes. A few were close enough to see the red on their heads, and to see them jumping and flapping. 

The next day was dry and we went to the Platte River at sunset to watch the cranes return for the night. The water provides them sanctuary since an approaching predator's splash would raise an alarm. From a bridge over the river, in a cold wind, we heard and saw long skeins of cranes gathering, circling and calling to each other.  In gathering darkness we could hear them before we saw them. Skein after skein seemed to materialize out of nowhere. Huge numbers flew right over us amid a cacophony of ancient voices! Various voices, both low pitch and high, clacked, thrummed, and filled the air with a sense of burgeoning life.  There is something eerie and primeval in their calls, especially when you hear a large group. We almost expected to see dinosaur footprints in the sandbars of the Platte. 

You can learn about sandhill cranes HERE.

I'm especially grateful to Becky for planning and hosting this trip. The sights and sounds will stay with me for a long time. Just to be on that ancient flyway was remarkable. I have been on the Platte in the past, but I have an entirely new appreciation for it now.

Also deep appreciation to my niece Ruth who drove 9 hours in stiff wind to join us. 

Ruth, me, Becky

We hoped the cranes would land in front of us and that we might get photos of them in the sunset. Instead, they roosted further along the river. Still, we experienced the flyover of hundreds, if not thousands, of cranes. I can't find words to fully express it.

David Budbill wrote a poem after seeing a sunset. He ends his poem with the same sense that I felt after seeing the cranes. So... without further ado:

photo from my trip to Alaska

Winter: Tonight: Sunset

David Budbill

... I stop

and look at the sky. Suddenly: orange, red, pink, blue,
green, purple, yellow, gray, all at once and everywhere.

I pause in this moment at the beginning of my old age
and I say a prayer of gratitude for getting to this evening

a prayer of being here, today, now, alive
in this life, in this evening, under this sky.

***

Sometimes we see something so astounding or beautiful, so wrenching or tender, that our hearts are too full to be able to articulate. For me, poetry fills the gap.

Thanks again to Ruth Hersey. Please take time to read her beautiful lament HERE, and to follow the links to other posts in this Spiritual Journey group.

Poetry Friday

I haven't posted for a while as the fall and early winter were crazy for me, but this week I came across this poem and loved it so much, I had to share. Enjoy!

Snow in the Suburbs 

by Thomas Hardy

Every branch big with it
Bent every twig with it

Every fork like a white web-foot;

Every street and pavement mute:

Some flakes have lost their way, and grope back upward, when

Meeting those meandering down they turn and descend again.

The palings are glued together like a wall,

And there is no waft of wind with the fleecy fall.

A sparrow enters the tree,

Whereon immediately

A snow-hump thrice his own slight size

Descends on him and showers his head and eyes,

And overturns him,

And near inurns him,

And lights on a nether twig, when its brush

Starts off a volley of other lodging lumps with a rush.

The steps are a blanched slope,

Up which, with feeble hope,

A black cat comes, wide-eyed and thin,

And we take him in.

Happy Friday, and happy Valentine's Day. May your day be full of heartwarming words and perhaps a few chocolates!  Thanks to the amazing Linda Baie for hosting today.  You can find her post and links to the rest of the Poetry Friday gang HERE. 

Roadblocks and Open Roads

 Welcome to Spiritual Journey Thursday, February 6, 2025. Thanks to Bob Hamera for hosting and providing our prompt today. Bob suggests we write about roadblocks and open roads.  You can find his response as well as links to others in the group HERE.

Do you remember a time when you hit roadblocks? It happens to all of us.

I remember a particular Saturday morning when I went out to do errands. Upon return, I found that all my usual roads of return were blocked. I drove and drove, trying one road after another. All blocked!  What on earth was happening?  

It was probably my third or fourth roadblock when I began imagining train accidents or toxic spills from local businesses. I began to panic a bit. I called home. Hubby was safe and sound but had no clue about the blocked roads.  I stopped at a gas station on the edge of town to see if they knew what the problem was. They had no idea.

I saw a Public Works vehicle go into town via a road I had tried previously, and I thought I could follow it, but by the time I got to the intersection the barrier was up again. What was it?? 

My plans for the day were fading. I needed a break, a safe place to sit and think. I needed to be still. In my confusion, however, I could not decide where to go. Instead, I kept driving.

Finally -- finally!-- I came upon an open road. And on the way home I saw barriers being taken down.  Then it dawned on me. There was a local 5-K race! Streets were closed for a good reason! The weight of worry and fear lifted, and I had to shake my head at myself. In less than one hour my composure had been called into question, and I had come close to losing it. 

I wonder if this happens in our spiritual journeys. We get caught up in our own plans, our own thoughts, and we forget that we are not in charge. Sometimes, for reasons we have overlooked or forgotten, the road is blocked in front of us. And we can't figure out what has happened, we become frightened, and maybe panic sets in. We feel the need to find a quiet place, to be still and think. And pray.

When there's a roadblock before you, I hope you will stop and find a quiet place. I hope the stillness will bring you closer to God, and to God's peace. And I hope, finally, the road will come open for you.

John 14:27

 Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.

Many wishes for a good month ahead.

Welcome to 2025 and my OLW

Happy New Year! I hope 2025 will be a good one for you.  

Thanks to Margaret Simon for organizing the Spiritual Journey Thursday group, and especially for this new and beautiful image. Find here blog HERE.

It's time to figure out my OLW (One Little Word) which will guide my posts throughout the year. I had a lot of fun with SONG as my OLW last year. This year I'm choosing STILL as my word. 

I'm a Martha kind of person. I tend to keep myself busy. I like my activities: keeping my home, reading, singing in choir, gardening, writing, teaching, praying. As times goes on, however, I realize limits of energy and time. I'm learning to appreciate still times.

Some years ago I had this little quote on my refrigerator. 

God is the still point

at the center

utterly at home

God lives in us forever.

- Julian of Norwich

Winter is a good season to be still.  It can offer quiet time, a slowing of our crazy busy lives. This is a good time to weigh the benefits of stillness. To listen for the still small voice. 

from a 2016 calendar by Wendy Bentley

I hope to hear from you in the days ahead. Let me know if you find solace in stillness.

Here is a beautiful hymn, one of my father's favorites, to the tune of Finlandia by Sibelius.

Best wishes for a safe, healthy, and restful January.