When I started at Conservation Foundation in 2018, I used to take I-75 to State Road 681, then come around the series of scenic twists and roundabouts of Honore and Bay Street; for a change of pace, I would even take Honore and its many roundabouts all the way home. Working out in nature has slowed me down and taught me to observe my surroundings. I’ve caught cooters (turtles) crossing the road, I’ve noted the change in season when the swallow-tailed kites begin their dances in the spring, and I’ve watched the surprisingly rapid building of new Publix along my old commute. Things have changed at a breakneck pace since 2018, but one evergreen event has been constant: My drive will inevitably be interrupted by Sandhill Cranes.
For the unaware, Sandhills are those tall, elegant birds with red faces and a deep love of being on the road when you are; unfortunately, they’re locals who don’t press the button at the Legacy Trail to cross. Their young are a gorgeous golden color, emerging in the spring to adults who mate for life. Early in the morning, you can hear their loud trumpeting as they fly to local marshes and retention ponds. It’s incredible that they can fly, given that they seem to spend so much time in front of cars. Some people see them as an avian-shaped nuisance, but I can’t help but admire their slow, intentional gate across the singular lane I happen to be in. “Slow down, it’s fine,” they seem to tell me as they come to a complete stop in front of my car. If I’m late for a meeting, there’s a high probability that Sandhills are the reason why.
For several years, I’ve served on a national steering committee for K-12 environmental educators. In February 2020, we held our first summit for land trust educators in Northern California. While there, I observed the sights and sounds of a natural community across the continent from my own. I gawked at the size of the Sierra Nevada pines, and I watched local birders point out birds and name them with ease, just as I do here at home.
On the way to the airport in Reno, a few of us decided to detour through some lands conserved by the host land trust. On our way out, we ended up on a small two-lane road past a vast marsh that eventually fed into the Feather River. As if to reward me for going slow and observing fully, the rolling trumpeting cries of several Sandhill Cranes caught everyone’s attention. As we slowed to a stop, the driver, the local host, pointed a flock out to me as I pressed my face to the glass and took the worst photo ever.
“Those are called Sandhill Cranes; do you have those at home?” he asked as we all watched the cranes step through the marsh, but never on the road. I laughed, it was the first time I had felt at home all week and the first time I understood the true global love of nature. There is a whole world for us to marvel at and strive to protect, but sometimes, we need a simple reminder. As we move into the summer, observe and cherish those evergreen events. And if you travel, stay observant, you never know who you may know!
