Thank you for this piece, Susan. I’m reminded of how seeing flocks of snow geese in Quebec was so uplifting, with similar social murmuring as they settled in Havre du Bic on their stopovers.
Thank you, Bette. When I used to caretake at TAC (Thomas the Apostle Center) now and then for Jay and Connie Moody, the sandhills that nest in the old hay meadows toward Sage Creek would sometimes fly over low in the evening, calling to each other. They always lifted my spirits.
I miss the sounds of the cranes as I have never heard them here. However, I often here the calls of flocks of Canada Geese and more occasionally Cackling Geese, Snow Geese or Trumpeter Swans. The latter have come back from the brink and have proven tougher than we thought. Rebecca and I found two swans on Lake Washington at one point. Apparently in 1960 Lake Washington was an open sewer and the park we walked in was a garbage dump. It is remarkable that the parks along the lake are now verdant with native and non-native trees and shrubs and one park is a refuge for the Pacific Tree Frog! At these parks I have seen Wood Ducks, American Wigeons, Mallards, Gadwalls, Ring-necked Ducks, Greater Scaups, Ruddy Ducks, Cackling and Canada Geese, Pied-billed Grebes, Bald Eagles, Cooper's Hawks, Red-tailed Hawks, Ospreys, Belted Kingfishers, American Coots, Anna's Hummingbirds, Ruby and Golden-crowned Kinglets, Golden-crowned Sparrows, Purple Martins, Violet-green and Tree Swallows, American Goldfinches, Spotted Towhees, several different sparrows, and of course numerous American Crows. To top it off Rebecca found a Northwestern Garter Snake along the path at one park. A remarkable comeback from what the area was sixty years ago. Nature has remarkable regenerative powers!
The community of nature is far more resilient than we realize. As your experience shows so vividly. Enjoy the verdancy and the profusion of lives in recovery.
Beautiful, Susan. Being in transition and temporarily homeless is a lonely state. But like your temporary home, may this loneliness drift into the past.
Thank you, Trevy. It is a lonely state, but I have chosen a solo life for this homestretch of my years, and I don't regret that, honestly. I was paired for life, and as with sandhill crane pairs, when one dies, the other doesn't always find another mate. Some of us just don't. I do look forward to settling in my permanent home though! :)
Well, I hope you're not left behind. But if so, strength to you on the solo path.
As for my new life, I'm already exploring my new neighborhood on foot, discovering how many places I can walk to for my regular errands (grocery store, massage therapist, medical clinic, home improvement store, etc) and really enjoying that. Also, I'm planning a field trip to a gallery in a nearby town with a friend here next week, and that will be fun. Weaving the threads of a new life.... :)
Walking is my medicine. Literally and metaphorically. I love a good road trip, but driving around town is just stressful. So I plan my life around walkable routes.
Oh Susan, what a beautiful piece of writing. I was moved to tender and beautiful tears. Thank you for sharing the ways that the world speaks to you-- it inspires me to want to listen to and observe my surroundings more carefully, and with greater appreciation. ~stephanie
Thank you, Stephanie. That means so much coming from you. I was told recently that my writing should be more concerned with what's going on in the world today. I responded that the "world" to me is the community of the land more than the world of humans. Perhaps I should have said "equally with the world of humans." But the truth is that nature is my home, and my surcease, especially right now. Many blessings to you, and a snowy hug. :)
I think so, Sue. In fact, it seems to me that if more of us spoke for those in the more-than-human world whose voices do not get heard, it might inspire positive change. Practicing terraphilia is my beat, and I'm sticking to it!
Thank you so much, Susan, for sharing not only your knowledge but also this gift of the cranes. And then the ending, in which you repeat that beautiful opening passage to BLESS THE BIRDS... well, it brought me to tears. You and I have been walking on with grace and love for thirteen years now, missing our beloved husbands and holding them in our hearts. Perhaps that lost crane had also lost its soulmate...
Dear Liz, Thank you for reading and commenting. I know that you are holding Vince in your heart especially strongly in this season after his death 13 years ago, and I also know his spirit is with you. As for that solo crane, it's entirely possible they were also without a mate, and grieving as other creatures do. It's certainly a time for that with the events in the world and the country.... Blessings and a hug to you.
Thank you for reading and understanding, Melinda! Giving voice to those whose voices are outside the human realm is a major part of my mission in life. Blessings.
As I read your words, I can hear the echoing call of the sandhill cranes. My favorite photo is the one of the strings of cranes in the sky. It reminds me of the V after V after V of Canadian geese that used to fly over our ranch in Montana when I was young. You could hear them all day and all night, for several days in a row in the late fall. Now there are very few that fly over, nothing like they used to be. Sad and a bit spooky.
What an evocative and poignant memory, Jenny! I can hear those geese, and imagine what it must have sounded like--a proclamation of the season and the movement of Canada geese by the hundreds and thousands to their wintering grounds. Your story reminded me of Mary Oliver's poem, "Wild Geese," and those gorgeous ending stanzas:
"Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
Thank you, Sue, both for re-reading the piece and for letting me know it moved you. I still hear in memory the voice of that single sandhill crane, flying and calling, with no response. I hope that crane made it south to the river valleys and playas in the desert where they winter. And I hope we all make it safely through the winter that is coming, literal and metaphorical. Blessings to you.
Thank you for this piece, Susan. I’m reminded of how seeing flocks of snow geese in Quebec was so uplifting, with similar social murmuring as they settled in Havre du Bic on their stopovers.
A lovely image and sound, Lisa! Thank you for sharing it. Blessings.
Lovely.
I miss the sandhills' visit to our property east of Cody; but I can hear them
thanks to you.
May you find YOUR community there in time.
Thank you, Bette. When I used to caretake at TAC (Thomas the Apostle Center) now and then for Jay and Connie Moody, the sandhills that nest in the old hay meadows toward Sage Creek would sometimes fly over low in the evening, calling to each other. They always lifted my spirits.
I miss the sounds of the cranes as I have never heard them here. However, I often here the calls of flocks of Canada Geese and more occasionally Cackling Geese, Snow Geese or Trumpeter Swans. The latter have come back from the brink and have proven tougher than we thought. Rebecca and I found two swans on Lake Washington at one point. Apparently in 1960 Lake Washington was an open sewer and the park we walked in was a garbage dump. It is remarkable that the parks along the lake are now verdant with native and non-native trees and shrubs and one park is a refuge for the Pacific Tree Frog! At these parks I have seen Wood Ducks, American Wigeons, Mallards, Gadwalls, Ring-necked Ducks, Greater Scaups, Ruddy Ducks, Cackling and Canada Geese, Pied-billed Grebes, Bald Eagles, Cooper's Hawks, Red-tailed Hawks, Ospreys, Belted Kingfishers, American Coots, Anna's Hummingbirds, Ruby and Golden-crowned Kinglets, Golden-crowned Sparrows, Purple Martins, Violet-green and Tree Swallows, American Goldfinches, Spotted Towhees, several different sparrows, and of course numerous American Crows. To top it off Rebecca found a Northwestern Garter Snake along the path at one park. A remarkable comeback from what the area was sixty years ago. Nature has remarkable regenerative powers!
The community of nature is far more resilient than we realize. As your experience shows so vividly. Enjoy the verdancy and the profusion of lives in recovery.
Beautiful, Susan. Being in transition and temporarily homeless is a lonely state. But like your temporary home, may this loneliness drift into the past.
Thank you, Trevy. It is a lonely state, but I have chosen a solo life for this homestretch of my years, and I don't regret that, honestly. I was paired for life, and as with sandhill crane pairs, when one dies, the other doesn't always find another mate. Some of us just don't. I do look forward to settling in my permanent home though! :)
I totally understand that. If I'm left behind this time, I'll choose the same. Looking forward to seeing your new home and the life you find there ❤️
Well, I hope you're not left behind. But if so, strength to you on the solo path.
As for my new life, I'm already exploring my new neighborhood on foot, discovering how many places I can walk to for my regular errands (grocery store, massage therapist, medical clinic, home improvement store, etc) and really enjoying that. Also, I'm planning a field trip to a gallery in a nearby town with a friend here next week, and that will be fun. Weaving the threads of a new life.... :)
That sounds great. What a wonderful list of walkable locations! Good planning. And thank you.
Walking is my medicine. Literally and metaphorically. I love a good road trip, but driving around town is just stressful. So I plan my life around walkable routes.
Oh Susan, what a beautiful piece of writing. I was moved to tender and beautiful tears. Thank you for sharing the ways that the world speaks to you-- it inspires me to want to listen to and observe my surroundings more carefully, and with greater appreciation. ~stephanie
Thank you, Stephanie. That means so much coming from you. I was told recently that my writing should be more concerned with what's going on in the world today. I responded that the "world" to me is the community of the land more than the world of humans. Perhaps I should have said "equally with the world of humans." But the truth is that nature is my home, and my surcease, especially right now. Many blessings to you, and a snowy hug. :)
Goodness! Sandhill cranes flying IS what's going on in the world today! Their stories are important.
I think so, Sue. In fact, it seems to me that if more of us spoke for those in the more-than-human world whose voices do not get heard, it might inspire positive change. Practicing terraphilia is my beat, and I'm sticking to it!
Thank you so much, Susan, for sharing not only your knowledge but also this gift of the cranes. And then the ending, in which you repeat that beautiful opening passage to BLESS THE BIRDS... well, it brought me to tears. You and I have been walking on with grace and love for thirteen years now, missing our beloved husbands and holding them in our hearts. Perhaps that lost crane had also lost its soulmate...
Dear Liz, Thank you for reading and commenting. I know that you are holding Vince in your heart especially strongly in this season after his death 13 years ago, and I also know his spirit is with you. As for that solo crane, it's entirely possible they were also without a mate, and grieving as other creatures do. It's certainly a time for that with the events in the world and the country.... Blessings and a hug to you.
Thank you, Susan, for giving voice to these birds.
Thank you for reading and understanding, Melinda! Giving voice to those whose voices are outside the human realm is a major part of my mission in life. Blessings.
Thank you Susan! For your words, your grace and your love of life and this planet. I am finding solace with my flock for now.....
Dear Carolyn, I am glad you have a flock to turn to for solace. Take in the love and let it empower you when the time is right. Big hugs to you.
As I read your words, I can hear the echoing call of the sandhill cranes. My favorite photo is the one of the strings of cranes in the sky. It reminds me of the V after V after V of Canadian geese that used to fly over our ranch in Montana when I was young. You could hear them all day and all night, for several days in a row in the late fall. Now there are very few that fly over, nothing like they used to be. Sad and a bit spooky.
What an evocative and poignant memory, Jenny! I can hear those geese, and imagine what it must have sounded like--a proclamation of the season and the movement of Canada geese by the hundreds and thousands to their wintering grounds. Your story reminded me of Mary Oliver's poem, "Wild Geese," and those gorgeous ending stanzas:
"Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things."
"Wild Geese" 🩶. Thank you for reminding me of this stanza. As you say, it is nothing but gorgeous!
Mary Oliver's words never fail to inspire and nurture me. :)
I reread this and realized I didn't comment or like ...because this writing so moved me. Thank you!
Thank you, Sue, both for re-reading the piece and for letting me know it moved you. I still hear in memory the voice of that single sandhill crane, flying and calling, with no response. I hope that crane made it south to the river valleys and playas in the desert where they winter. And I hope we all make it safely through the winter that is coming, literal and metaphorical. Blessings to you.