I am chin-deep in American Lotus. As I paddle into the marsh, huge round leaves brush against me and my kayak. My destination is a small, bird-laden island I usually view from a distant shore. I ease into shallow water at the island's edge, and the wind escorts me into the lives of birds. They seem to welcome me when I am in my kayak, and I often have close encounters on the water. This trip is no different; I will soon be face to face with incarnate wildness.
This is one of your best essays in my estimation. The sandhill cranes are sacred to some of the Pawnees, at least the Kitkahakee band to which I am related by marriage and some upbringing to. The cranes were often migrants in the Pawnee ancestral homes in Nebraska.
But cranes were also sacred in the temple I spent time in Korea at. In the Main Hall if you looked carefully into a corner of the high vaulted ceiling, you could see two wooden cranes suspended by wire from a timber up there.
At my Seōn pang in Oregon, I have another two suspended at the entrance. Very auspicious birds.
Wonderful essay Bill and such an amazing variety of encounters with different bird species. I like the idea of using a kayak as well. Sort of meeting the birds on the water at their level. Sandhill Cranes seem otherworldly in some strange way - I cannot quite figure it out.
Sad but hopeful with your point: "We have been coerced into an indoor existence. Sunshine, blue sky, bird song, and the feel of the wind call us outdoors. The elemental beauty of nature is ready to embrace us."
It's all I think about while sitting at my cubicle farm Monday - Friday: how long until the days grow longer and I can hike after work in the sunshine? There are the weekends, but, it is not nearly enough.
I just love your writing voice. It transfixes one’s etheric soul to the last word. (At least mine anyway. 😉)
When I took my dad to Florida the winter of 2013 for what was supposed to be his “Last Hurrah”—according to him anyway—I had a lot of alone time taking walks during the early mornings and late afternoons.
In the community where we were staying, There was always a sandhill crane or two just lying about under a palm tree preening. Often I was able to get within six feet or closer to them. I’d sit down slowly and just watch them preen or sleep. So meditative! And one day I got to watch a couple with their new babies walking along a foot-path.
You’ve inspired me to start writing my own story about a trio of baby birds that were thrust upon me to raise, and I mean that literally!
I agree with Michael. Truly one of your best. Many threads , tied together beautifully.Exploring for birds via kayak . All senses at play. A physical and mental endeavor, to slow your own heart and find the silent rhythm of moving through water. Reaching the heart of destination time to drift, observe and feel. Like knocking on their front door and asking to be welcomed in.
As someone who loves birding by kayak, I enjoyed following along on your wonderful outing. There is a peacefulness on the water, among the birds and other wildlife, that feeds my soul. I also loved all the information on cranes. I've seen the thousands of migrating cranes in Nebraska on three occasions and it is awe-inspiring. Wonderful post.
There’s an interesting novel by David Leavitt called The Lost Language of Cranes…not actually about cranes (although they kind of play a role), but about gay men.
Thank you, once again, for such beautiful photographs and words that take one with you on your encounters. I really love your posts, they play a beautiful part in my Substack experience.
While living in Russia in the late ‘90s, my wife and I were walking across the Borodino battlefield park looking at its monuments and reading the terrain in a vaguely military fashion. There was a Russian family doing the same, parents and one young child, and I think we all sensed them at the same time because we looked up and stood transfixed by the flock of cranes in their Spring migration flying north - a longstanding natural event in Russia.
Thank you for your meditative piece. It had the effect of transporting me to a calmer place. The mute swans reminded me that I must post a story about George and Georgina, two mute swans I came to know a few years ago.
So beautiful. I adore our Australian brolgas and the jabiru (black necked storks) from up north. I don’t think we have any storks down south where I live. I’ll have to check out the local bird books to see. Thanks so much for sharing your wonderful experience and your thoughts. As a retiree I’m so glad that I have ample time for the outdoors. It makes for a much healthier lifestyle, both physically and mentally. Hugs and best wishes dear Bill. 🤗🤗
I think my favorite line in this post is: "We can settle into a like-minded community that supports our efforts to cut the ties that bind us so we can live above the fray like high-flying cranes migrating through the heavens." We used to see Sandhill Cranes migrating over eastern Kansas, on a regular route between Kansas City and Omaha. They covered the sky certain times of the year, as I recall. This is a reminder -- I should have been paying more attention.
This is one of your best essays in my estimation. The sandhill cranes are sacred to some of the Pawnees, at least the Kitkahakee band to which I am related by marriage and some upbringing to. The cranes were often migrants in the Pawnee ancestral homes in Nebraska.
But cranes were also sacred in the temple I spent time in Korea at. In the Main Hall if you looked carefully into a corner of the high vaulted ceiling, you could see two wooden cranes suspended by wire from a timber up there.
At my Seōn pang in Oregon, I have another two suspended at the entrance. Very auspicious birds.
Wonderful essay Bill and such an amazing variety of encounters with different bird species. I like the idea of using a kayak as well. Sort of meeting the birds on the water at their level. Sandhill Cranes seem otherworldly in some strange way - I cannot quite figure it out.
Sad but hopeful with your point: "We have been coerced into an indoor existence. Sunshine, blue sky, bird song, and the feel of the wind call us outdoors. The elemental beauty of nature is ready to embrace us."
It's all I think about while sitting at my cubicle farm Monday - Friday: how long until the days grow longer and I can hike after work in the sunshine? There are the weekends, but, it is not nearly enough.
I just love your writing voice. It transfixes one’s etheric soul to the last word. (At least mine anyway. 😉)
When I took my dad to Florida the winter of 2013 for what was supposed to be his “Last Hurrah”—according to him anyway—I had a lot of alone time taking walks during the early mornings and late afternoons.
In the community where we were staying, There was always a sandhill crane or two just lying about under a palm tree preening. Often I was able to get within six feet or closer to them. I’d sit down slowly and just watch them preen or sleep. So meditative! And one day I got to watch a couple with their new babies walking along a foot-path.
You’ve inspired me to start writing my own story about a trio of baby birds that were thrust upon me to raise, and I mean that literally!
I’ve got two chapters in so far.
Thank you again for your weekly posts. 🤗
I agree with Michael. Truly one of your best. Many threads , tied together beautifully.Exploring for birds via kayak . All senses at play. A physical and mental endeavor, to slow your own heart and find the silent rhythm of moving through water. Reaching the heart of destination time to drift, observe and feel. Like knocking on their front door and asking to be welcomed in.
As someone who loves birding by kayak, I enjoyed following along on your wonderful outing. There is a peacefulness on the water, among the birds and other wildlife, that feeds my soul. I also loved all the information on cranes. I've seen the thousands of migrating cranes in Nebraska on three occasions and it is awe-inspiring. Wonderful post.
Oh love those cranes.
There’s an interesting novel by David Leavitt called The Lost Language of Cranes…not actually about cranes (although they kind of play a role), but about gay men.
Thank you, once again, for such beautiful photographs and words that take one with you on your encounters. I really love your posts, they play a beautiful part in my Substack experience.
While living in Russia in the late ‘90s, my wife and I were walking across the Borodino battlefield park looking at its monuments and reading the terrain in a vaguely military fashion. There was a Russian family doing the same, parents and one young child, and I think we all sensed them at the same time because we looked up and stood transfixed by the flock of cranes in their Spring migration flying north - a longstanding natural event in Russia.
Thank you for your meditative piece. It had the effect of transporting me to a calmer place. The mute swans reminded me that I must post a story about George and Georgina, two mute swans I came to know a few years ago.
Super piece Bill, I especially liked your words on connecting with nature, very well said.
So beautiful. I adore our Australian brolgas and the jabiru (black necked storks) from up north. I don’t think we have any storks down south where I live. I’ll have to check out the local bird books to see. Thanks so much for sharing your wonderful experience and your thoughts. As a retiree I’m so glad that I have ample time for the outdoors. It makes for a much healthier lifestyle, both physically and mentally. Hugs and best wishes dear Bill. 🤗🤗
This morning's reading took me to a very special place, while winter is waning. Thank you!
This is a precious piece. Truly inspiring in so many ways. Taking flight with the spirit of the crane and the wind beneath your writer's wings too.
"we can live above the fray like high-flying cranes migrating through the heavens." ~ absolutely. 💕🙏
A beautiful essay with beautiful photos. It gives me the urge to spend more time watching and actually noticing birds, which I've never really done.
A beautiful, stirring read, Bill. Thank you!
Bill, this essay is spectacular in its breadth and beautiful images. It is therapy for the weary.
I think my favorite line in this post is: "We can settle into a like-minded community that supports our efforts to cut the ties that bind us so we can live above the fray like high-flying cranes migrating through the heavens." We used to see Sandhill Cranes migrating over eastern Kansas, on a regular route between Kansas City and Omaha. They covered the sky certain times of the year, as I recall. This is a reminder -- I should have been paying more attention.