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Posts Tagged: Sandhill Cranes
My Dirty Little Secret – Nature Knows
On April 1, 2020 by Gail Howarth With 1 Comments
- Beauty, Birds, Bud & Lydia, Nature, Sandhill Crane, Uncategorized
I have a confession. I lied. It was unintentional, but still, I lied.
I am a storyteller. I observe, gather information, and translate. Sometimes when I do not have all the facts, I make up “stuff” to fill in the blanks. Is that lying? Or, is it just an attempt to make sense out of an unknown thing. Perhaps it is just an exercise to entertain my busy brain. No matter, as time passes, the stories I tell myself become more intricate, and fact and fiction begin to blur. Soon, I am confident that my story is infallible and entirely correct. That is until one of the square building blocks turns into a circle, and the whole tale crumbles.
The Sandhill Cranes of the Lakehouse have taught me more than I could possibly share. Humility is a common theme, and so it is in this case. It has become apparent that I misreported a few of the facts. I contemplated never sharing the truth out of pride or embarrassment. But, honesty and integrity won.
It all began with Lydia. Lydia was one of my best friends. I am solid in what I know about her. She loved me. She was a fierce protector of her colts, and the lake, and a faithful mate to Roger, and then, Bud. When Lydia was injured in the spring of 2019, she lost her status as the matriarch of the lake, could no longer produce offspring, rear her brood of colts, or be a mate to Bud. She had lost everything that had defined her as a crane, except for me. Her gift to me was to allow me to see her frailty. Her vulnerability deepened our relationship. I lost her at the end of the season, but she lives on in my heart.
Lydia’s last surviving colt was not a typical crane. Crystal was born without fear. Baby cranes should be afraid of humans, but she would wonder about my feet so much at times that I feared I might step on her. She possessed a level of athleticism and grace that I had never seen in another crane, and I often thought of Crystal as a ballerina. She loved to ham it up for the camera and me. Crystal warmed my heart. Lydia and I were both so very proud of her.
When the cranes returned in 2019, I was shocked that Crystal was allowed to linger in the nesting area. In the past, I observed Bud and Lydia turn their backs toward the colts born the previous year. The message was clear; You are no longer welcome here. Bud and Lydia mated, as usual, eggs were laid, and everything seemed normal, except that Crystal was always around. When Lydia was injured and then disappeared, Crystal stepped in as mate to Bud and shared the responsibility of lying on eggs and even attempted to raise colts that were not hers. I was very proud.
This year I was delighted to welcome back Bud and Crystal. But, Bud seemed smaller, and I was concerned about his health. As time went on, I began to wonder if the bird was, indeed, Bud. Mostly, the bird seemed like Bud. But, one day, as I peered out the window, I noticed the cranes doing their special spring mating dance. Oh my. Oh, dear. Nope. No, indeed! My mind refused to process what it was seeing. My square building block became a circle, and the story I had told myself of Crystal fell apart. Crystal and Bud were not mates last summer, but companions. The new bird is not Bud, and the old bird is the same, but not Crystal.
Thus, I humbly introduce you to the Sandhill Cranes of the Lakehouse; Patriarch Billy Crystal and his mate Rosebud.
Song of The Post: I Heard it Through the Grapevine By Marvin Gay https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hajBdDM2qdg
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Nature Knows – Moms, Kids, & Grief
On June 3, 2019 by Gail Howarth With 22 Comments
- Beauty, Birds, Death, Nature, Parents, Photography, Sandhill Crane, Spirituality
Saying Goodbye to Hans
The Sandhill Cranes of the Lakehouse have had a tough year. The matriarch of the lake, Lydia, was injured early in the season. She was no longer able to defend her territory, be a suitable mate for Bud, or to care for her unhatched colts. In a strange twist, Crystal, Lydia’s colt from the previous summer stepped in as a replacement mother and mate to Bud. Lydia’s fate is currently unknown. She may be living on the fringe of the lake with the other unmated birds, or she may have died. Either way, her departure from the Lakehouse has been a devastating loss.
Crystal cared for the eggs as though they were her own, taking turns with Bud to keep them safe and warm. She has been a good and doting mother to this year’s colts, Hans and Solo. But as any mother knows, it only takes a moment for a child to step into danger. Hans did just that on Wednesday, May 29.
I could hear the horn of the passing car clearly from inside the Lakehouse. This happens from time to time. The cranes are, after all, birds and have very little sense about the dangers of the roadway. Most often, the cranes come away uninjured and unfazed by their close calls with passing vehicles. But in this instance, I felt quite certain that one or more of the birds were injured or killed. Bud & Crystal’s distress calls clearly communicated that a colt was seriously injured or dead. I searched for Hans along the roadside but found nothing. Perhaps I was wrong.
As the day passed, I watched the cranes closely. I saw Bud and Solo together in the bog, but not Crystal. I worried that Crystal, as a new mom, might have been unsettled enough by the event to abandon her new family. Or, maybe Hans was not gone and for some odd reason, Crystal was spending time alone with him. That, however, would be highly unusual. There is safety in numbers, and crane families stay together.
Around 8 pm, I heard Crystal knocking on the basement door. She normally does this to let me know that there is no bird seed on the ground. However, there was plenty, and there was no need for her to knock. She met me at the door and just stood there looking up at me intensely. I don’t know for sure what she wanted or what she was trying to tell me, but I believe she was sharing her loss. I said from my heart in my out loud voice, “I love you, Crystal, I know that Hans is likely gone, I am so very very sorry, I will miss him too. And, Crystal, I am so very proud of you. You did your best. You are a great mom.” She held my eyes with hers for some time. Tears fell as I focused on sending love from my heart to hers.
Thursday morning arrived, and no cranes came to the yard. I could still see Bud and Solo in the bog, but not Crystal. The afternoon passed, and then, the evening came. I could no longer accept Crystal’s absence. I had to find her. Perhaps I could see her more easily from the kayak. It did not take long to locate them. While I was saddened to see that Hans was indeed missing, I was relieved to see Bud, Crystal, & Solo together.
I was disheartened, but at peace. The remaining family was safe and together as a unit. For this, I was grateful. I paddled around the lake for a bit longer feeling my feelings, talking to God, and taking in the sights, and sounds of the lake. As the sun began to set, I recorded and posted a video on Facebook sharing the sad news of Hans passing.
On my return to the dock, I noticed the cranes settling on their nest for the night. I called out to them, “Come back to the yard tomorrow, ok!” At that moment, I saw something that was not right. It was a patch of orange where it should not have been. My heart sank, and tears began to fall. Hans lifeless body lay below Crystal’s feet. She must have carried him from the roadway back to the nest. The mystery of her absence from the others was now solved. Crystal looked down at Hans and then at me with an expression that was not unfamiliar. It was, in fact, an expression I hoped never to see again as long as I lived.
Grief has its own timeline. It comes and goes without warning. Sometimes it lasts for minutes but often lingers for days or even months. Grief feels like a lonely Godless place. No one, absolutely no one can feel your pain. No one can bare it for you. And, God, where is God when every cell of your being aches for someone or something that is no longer here? With just one glance from a distraught bird, vivid images from my mother’s final days played out in my mind’s eye, and I plunged into the depths of grief. Grief makes no apologies. It is an opportunist that shamelessly marches in, sets up camp, and stays until the heart heals enough to send it packing.
Three days before my mother passed, she was standing in our kitchen getting ready to take her night time meds. Instead of opening one section of her pill minder, the entire lid came off and one week’s worth of pills scattered across the floor. She quickly got down on hands and knees and began picking them up. As suddenly as she started, she stopped and stood up. She was confused. She looked up at me and like small child opened her upturned fists to show me what she held. She said, “I don’t know what to do.” At that moment, my mother realized that the cancer in her brain was winning. Her eyes pleaded in the same way as Crystal’s. Both were saying, Help me, can you fix this, won’t you please fix this. I took the pills from my mother’s hands and then held her in my arms and rocked her gently as she wept. I said It’s ok, it’s my turn to take care of you now. When she stopped crying, I put her to bed.
What is a person to do when pleading eyes ask the impossible? What is a person to do when there is nothing to be done? I could not fix my mother’s failing brain or make the cancer go away. I could not bring Hans back to life. I could not give my mother or Crystal what they wanted. In that helpless, hopeless place, all one can do is show up. To bear witness to the other’s suffering and in some small way, help to carry the burden. I sat quietly in the kayak and held Crystal’s gaze until she looked away.
Grief is a Godless place, but it is often where we find the Divine. It is frequently in our darkest moments that we call on God to lead us out of suffering and into the light. It is the journey back from the despair experienced during grief that strengthens our relationship with God and heals our hearts. As for me, I am shaken, and my heart is badly bruised. But, I know that the grief will pass and that the sorrow will be replaced with gratitude.
This piece is dedicated to the memory of Harold and Lynnie Howarth, Lydia, and Hans.
My connection to nature is a direct gift from my parents. It is where I connect most often with them and is where I see God. Without my mother and father’s demonstration of love and reverence for nature, I would likely have never befriended a nesting pair of sandhill cranes. I am grateful beyond words for my folks. They were good people. I am grateful beyond words for the odd connection I have with these splendid birds.
Song of the Post: How Can I Help You Say Goodbye By Patty Loveless https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z4F_cXGQN9k
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Spring At The Lakehouse
Spring has come to Michigan. We know this because it is April 20th. It must be spring! And yet, the bitter wind is howling, the temperature is below freezing, and it is snowing. This followed by a week of flooding like I have never seen in my more than 50 years. So many of us are convinced that spring has not come, and that it may never come this year.
Still, the plants and the animals know that spring has come! Each year there are signs that spring is on its way to the Lakehouse. First the Red Winged Black Birds arrive in mid February. They come in droves, noisily ending the quiet solitude of winter. Some folks find them annoying. They are, indeed, a greedy bird and often bully others. But, I find myself grateful as I watch and listen to them at my feeder, as they replenish their bodies from their long journey North.
By the end of February I start looking for my favorite couple. Each year I worry, hope, and pray, for the safe return of Bud and Lydia, the nesting pair of Sandhill Cranes that live at the Lakehouse. This year they were a week later than usual and I feared they had perished over the winter. As a result, Bud wasted no time in dancing for, and throwing twigs at Lydia to entice her to do whatever birds do to get babies. The courtship is comical and tickles me to no end.
Shortly after the cranes come home, a variety of migrating ducks and Canada Geese begin to arrive. Each year, all the birds share a small patch of water where the ice has melted, with the two Mute Swans that are here year round. The swans at the Lakehouse are extremely antisocial and it is often amusing to watch their less than hospitable interactions with the new arrivals. I have come to consider Canada Geese the clowns of all waterfowl. They honk all day and night for no apparent reason. They tease and taunt all the other birds until they get a reaction. I have even watched them fly up high above the lake, circle, only to drop back down onto the ice, chest first, to slide across the slick surface.
As the lake begins to thaw the Bald and Golden Eagles stop by for a fishing trip. One year there were at least 28. Quite a sight to see! The Eagles have two fishing methods. The first fits the classic image of the Eagle swooping down into the water, and reemerging with a fish in its talons only to fly away to some unknown destination to eat its prey. The second, less spectacular or publicized method, is for the Eagle to stand upon an ice ledge, grab an unsuspecting fish from the frigid water, place it on the ice just inches away, and unceremoniously begin to eat. The second, less glamorous method, is the most common at the Lakehouse.
At the end of March, the Crocus began to bloom and the foliage of other plants, such as primrose, hyacinth, and daffodils begin to peak through the soil or snow. Soon, the first morel mushrooms will appear. For me, just the thought of morel mushrooms in the early spring, induces obsessive night time dreams of hunting for and finding bushel upon bushel of the delicacy. The reality of mushroom hunting is that it seldom, if ever, matches the imagination.
Lastly, on April 18th, I awoke to the haunting call of my beloved Loons. The loons have not always lived at the Lakehouse. They came one year after a terrible, yet, magnificent thunderstorm. The thunder and lightning was constant! Light flashed brilliantly all about, lighting its erratic path from heaven to earth. The thunder rumbled and the house groaned and shook. Lying in bed I thought of Dorothy and The Wizard of Oz, and wondered if the house would still be standing when I awoke. In the morning, the house was, indeed, still standing. The sun came out, and for the first time, I heard the call of the Loons. I wept with joy.
The spring of 2013 is certainly not the spring we all dream of during the dark days of winter. But spring is most certainly here. The plants know it. The animals know it. And the light grows longer each day. The cold and dreary days have not stopped nature from its annual rebirth. It is the time of year for all of us to renew our hopes and dreams, and to be born again. Thus I take my cue from nature and embrace and rejoice in the spring of 2013. I hope you will too.
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© Gail Howarth and Living At The Lakehouse, 2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Gail Howarth and Living At The Lakehouse with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
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