Sandhill Quartet

While plentiful in other parts of the state, Sandhill cranes are relatively rare in Sawyer County. I remember when the first pair came, nesting in our southern field. They arrived in the spring, circling high over the farm. I would never have seen them amidst the low-hanging clouds except that the unmistakable, haunting ring of their cries to each other let me know of their presence. Lower and lower they circled over the farm, until at last they decided to land.
Now a pair (or sometimes two) return each year, staking out their claims and raising their young. The cranes are frequent visitors to the barnyard throughout springtime, their towering stature intimidating Steve’s 20-year-old Cockapoo. They strut and dance and check to see if the pigs left any of their tasty grain un-munched for them to snitch. They perch atop the round haybales stacked up for winter’s feeding, surveying the territory with snaky necks.
And then, like the hummingbirds in midsummer, everything goes quiet. We don’t see or hear the Sandhill crane pairs anymore. There might be just one of them sighted on occasion, but the contrast is noticeable. Have they left? Did something eat them?
In early August, a solo bird would sometimes join me for morning chores in the pasture, hoping to catch some spilled chicken food. Not certain of the gender but presuming this was a brave male, I named the crane “Tristan” and always left “a little something” for him to munch on in the field. At first, I wondered if it was last year’s adult chick, hanging out on its own, but now I believe it was one of the nesting pairs because now the whole family eagerly awaits morning chores. They come close enough for me to appreciate the brilliance of their red eyes, which remind me of loons.
Just over a week ago, both parents began visiting the north field with not one but two mostly grown chicks in tow. Both still had a bit of fluff on their heads and stood a little over half as tall as the red-faced adults. Even so, their bodies are fully feathered, and they can fly. Sandhill cranes will often lay two eggs but typically will only raise one baby to maturity. It is a special treat to see them raising two together.
One of the chicks is calm and stays close to the parents, even when they venture rather near me during chore time. The other is more skittish, keeping a greater distance from all the action until I leave. When they see me pull up in the utility golf cart bearing food and water for the chickens and turkeys, they raise their heads back and give their haunting cry, announcing my approach.
That was the only call I’d ever heard a Sandhill crane make until this morning. With one poult between them and one flying over to check on the situation before landing further away, I had the chance to hear the family sounds they made to each other—gravely grunts and chortles not meant to carry long distances. No longer fuzzy headed, the chick watched the parents’ every move, nipping in for a bite when it felt safe.
Cranes are not only beautifully majestic; they are also a helper in the pasture—eating grubs and bugs and watching for predators. One thing that predators hate is being noticed in advance, and cranes with their height can see farther than chickens or turkeys. Their calls alert everyone to approaching danger, just as our guard donkeys sound the alarm when they see predators.
Just like the chickens, the cranes are molting—the parents preening themselves regularly to pull out old feathers as new ones grow in. Interestingly, the cranes never look as mangy as my chickens, but they still leave behind their lovely grayish-brown feathers in the lawn and pasture. In molting season, I can tell where the cranes have been!
It won’t be long and they, just like my hummingbirds, will be thinking of flying south for the winter. One summer in years past, the chick was born rather later, and a whole crew had gathered in the southern field for migration. The flock would fly up into the air and then back down by the chick, then up again in an arc and back down. This repeated until one day the chick flew off with them. Perhaps this year’s chicks will return someday with their own partners. For now, it’s a special treat to see our family of four each morning in the pastures, enjoying their life on our farm.
Tending to our wild helpers like cranes and bumblebees is part of learning to farm with the natural ecosystem instead of in a constant battle with it. Think how much happier and healthier our planet could be if we could all find ways to integrate harmoniously with the natural environment. And then think on what your part might be in that story. See you down on the farm sometime.