The Cranes are Congregating

Sandhill cranes are fiercely territorial. Every year when they reach their nesting site, they drive out every other creature from a broad area around their nest. But in the fall, something triggers their migratory instincts and they gather together in large flocks in spent cornfields. There they fatten up for the long flight southward. Just as in the spring, they congregate along a sixty mile stretch of Nebraska's Platte River on their way north. True snowbirds!

Several days ago we went to Crex Meadows Wildlife Area in Wisconsin, near the St Croix River. In farmers' fields south of the refuge, the cranes were gathering. We watched them - and they watched us. Small groups would rise up in the air, a picture of grace par excellence. I think there is nothing more beautiful than the sight and sound of them, churrrring to each other as though they live year-long in large flocks.

Wheeling overhead, they practice for the journey. The first-year chicks have become adolescents, still "living at home" with their parents. They are trying out their wings to go somewhere they have never seen, trusting their two protective parents will guide them across the miles.

Their migration remains a mystery although research has given some tentative explanations. A combination of cues passed on from generation to generation guides them south in the autumn - and north into the Canadian and Siberian tundra in the spring. This year, the lingering warmth of one of the warmest Octobers ever has meant the cranes are late to migrate. As are the geese - "late to come down," as one local man put it.

How like us are the migrating birds. We live by regular patterns in our lives, scarcely aware of cues that guide us through the days and the months. Sometimes abrupt changes remind us of those cues, such as shift-work or jet lag that disrupt our body rhythms. Or people in our lives behave unpredictably.

And we like our weather patterns to be regular. How many times this past month, have I heard people remark about the glorious autumn we have had - and then follow it with either the we-will-pay-for-it-later comment or say something about their fears of climate change.

I'm not a migratory being. My travel is more erratic and the cues come from schedules of conferences or available experiences. At the same time, as the last leaves swirl down from the trees and the light softens, I respond to old rituals. Washing windows. Cleaning out closets. Making sure evergreens and shrubs get thoroughly watered in preparation for below-freezing temperatures.

Perhaps that is why when the sandhill cranes fly overheard, constantly calling to each other, I am stirred in the deepest part of my soul.