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.