Two days until the equinox and instead of daffodils, we were warned that another snowstorm was on its way.
My birthday is always a day of reflection. This year, my reflection led to a decision to get into shape before summer. I bought a new journal set aside to keep track of my exercise and eating habits. I set this week's goal of doing 75 minutes of exercise a day. But with the storm set to hit us by noon, I had to get out and go walking early. I was on my third mile when the snow began. I turned toward home when I heard it, that lovely sound that I know from years of doing the annual Midwest Crane Count sponsored by the International Crane Foundation.
I looked up and there he was, a sandhill crane, flying into the snow to get to the cranes' best resting stop, the Shiocton marshes on Van Patten Road.
Never mind the robins who have been around for a week. They are foolish birds who never seem to know when winter is holding on. Their arrival is meaningless.
But the sandhill crane arrives when spring is really on its way so I know this is the last big snowstorm. I know that in another week, the big tundra swans will be flying over along with the big V's of Canada geese. And I know that shortly afterwards the migratory birds will be in the Shiocton marsh.
In the middle of April, the crane count will be on and about the same time, Gary and I will be called to guard sturgeon on the free flowing Wolf River.
Now that is spring for sure.
My birthday is always a day of reflection. This year, my reflection led to a decision to get into shape before summer. I bought a new journal set aside to keep track of my exercise and eating habits. I set this week's goal of doing 75 minutes of exercise a day. But with the storm set to hit us by noon, I had to get out and go walking early. I was on my third mile when the snow began. I turned toward home when I heard it, that lovely sound that I know from years of doing the annual Midwest Crane Count sponsored by the International Crane Foundation.
I looked up and there he was, a sandhill crane, flying into the snow to get to the cranes' best resting stop, the Shiocton marshes on Van Patten Road.
Never mind the robins who have been around for a week. They are foolish birds who never seem to know when winter is holding on. Their arrival is meaningless.
But the sandhill crane arrives when spring is really on its way so I know this is the last big snowstorm. I know that in another week, the big tundra swans will be flying over along with the big V's of Canada geese. And I know that shortly afterwards the migratory birds will be in the Shiocton marsh.
In the middle of April, the crane count will be on and about the same time, Gary and I will be called to guard sturgeon on the free flowing Wolf River.
Now that is spring for sure.
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