https://cafelitcreativecafe.blogspot.com/2020/05/migration.html
Here's the story if you don't want to use the link:
Migration
When Phil arrived at
the viewing platform there were maybe twenty people. Half an hour later, as the
sun was sinking low in the western sky, there were over a hundred with more
arriving by the minute, all excited to see one of the greatest spectacles of
the bird world: the nightly flight of sandhill cranes to their roosting spots
along the Platte River in central Nebraska.
He watched in awe as huge flocks of cranes boiled out of
the stubble corn fields north and south of the Platte where they'd been feeding
all day and made their way to the river. They were big yet gracefully birds
with six foot wing spans, the tips of which barely moved as they skimmed the
tops of riverside cottonwood trees before dropping low and coasting to a
landing on one of the many sand bars scattered up and down the river. There
they would spend the night, safe from roving coyotes and the occasional bobcat.
In the morning they would rise in unison and head back to the fields to feed.
At any one time between mid February and the end of March there were as many as
three-hundred thousand sandhill cranes in the area, half a million all total
during migration. People came from near and far to view them.
Count Phil among
those coming from afar. He'd spent the day making the nine hour drive from his
hometown in Long Lake, Minnesota, and he was happy he had, but there was more
to it than seeing the cranes. He'd also made the drive to help alleviate some
of the loneliness he'd been feeling. Divorced now for just over a year, his ex
had taken their two kids (along with her boyfriend) to Cancun for spring break.
They shared custody but this was the longest he'd ever been separated from ten
year Jason and six year Sara, and he'd been unprepared for how lonely he felt.
He'd come to Nebraska to see the crane migration, sure, something he'd always
wanted to do, but as stunning as it was he still missed his kids. A lot.
Toward sunset the crowd of crane watchers in the viewing
area swelled to over five hundred and for Phil it got to be a little too much.
He shouldered his backpack and walked along the riverbank to nearby Alda Bridge
where there were fewer people. The river was a quarter of a mile wide at this
point and he savored the relative calm before stepping onto the bridge. The sun
hung poised on the horizon and the sky was on fire in blazing orange. The
rattling, prehistoric voices of the cranes drifted through the ever deepening
twilight. The air was clear and clean and the river murmured in poetic harmony
with night time falling over the land. It was like being in another world and
Phil loved it.
Groups of three to twenty cranes coasted over his head as
he walked along the wide concrete bridge. Some were so close he could hear
their wing beats and see the amber irises of their eyes. The only people around
were couples wanting to be alone and families with young children and babies.
He was walking by just such a couple when he couldn't help but overhear the
frazzled voice of the mother.
"Frank, could you do something with your son? Frank
Junior is driving me nuts."
"He's just excited to see the birds, honey. I'll
take him for a walk, maybe that will help."
"Well, do something. Emily's getting fussy,"
the mother said, bouncing a small bundle wrapped in a blanket. "We might
have to leave soon."
"Okay. I won't be gone long," Frank said. "Come
along Frankie." He took his son, an eight year old boy it looked liked, by
the hand. "Let's go check out the other side of the bridge."
They fell in a few steps behind Phil.
"Dad, where do all these birds come from?" Phil
heard the young boy ask.
"I think they come from South America," the
father said. "I'm not sure."
"I like them," Frankie said. "They're
cool."
Phil smiled. He liked hearing the exchange between the
father and son. For eighteen years he'd taught tenth grade biology at Long Lake
High School. He liked kids, liked being around them. He was also a dad who
missed his own children and felt drawn to this young father and his boy.
He turned and smiled by way of greeting, "Nice
night," he said to the father.
"It sure is," he smiled back. "Great night
to be out."
"It is," Phil responded, slowing down so he was
walking next to them. "Do you guys live around here?"
"We do." He pointed behind them. "Five
miles that way. Over across the highway in Wood River."
Locals, then. "Cool," Phil said.
They started talking, talking and walking all the way to
the end of the bridge where they turned around and came back. Phil told them about
the cranes, how they migrated to the Platte River from Mexico and Texas, and
that they were stopping over in the area to feed and rest before continuing
their journey to their nesting territory in northern Canada and Alaska. He
talked about his job teaching tenth grade biology. The dad talked about working
for the highway department and his wife working at the local grocery store. They'd
lived in the area their entire lives but this was the first time they'd taken
their young family to see the cranes.
"By the way, I'm Frank. That's my wife Kathy and
daughter Emily," he pointing up ahead. "And this here is Frank Junior.
He likes to be called Frankie."
"Nice to meet you, Frank. Frankie," Phil said. He
introduced himself and he and Frank shook. When he extended his hand to the
young boy Frankie chose not to shake. That was all right with Phil and he put
his hand down.
"Frankie, come on," his dad encouraged.
"Be polite."
Reluctantly, Frankie put out his hand and they shook. When
he let go his eyes brightened. He looked at his dad and then at Phil, a wide
smile forming. In his palm was a bright and shining quarter. "Wow! How'd
you do that, mister? he asked.
"Magic," Phil said, laughing.
"Can you show me, mister? How do it, I mean?"
Phil made eye contact with Frank to see if it was okay.
He didn't want the father to think he was a weirdo pervert or anything. Frank
nodded, yes, and Phil showed Frankie how the trick was done.
By the time they got back to Kathy the twilight had
deepened and there was just enough light to see.
Frank introduced Phil. "He's from Minnesota and he's
a teacher. He taught Frankie a magic trick."
Phil chuckled. "Hi. I teach biology. Magic is just a
hobby."
Even though she was distracted with her daughter, Kathy was
gracious. "Nice to meet you Phil," she said, bouncing her little girl.
With the last light fading and night settling in, Phil
took a flashlight from his backpack and used it to light the way back to where Frank
and Kathy's car was parked. They chatted a few minutes and then said their
goodbyes. When Phil shook little Frankie's hand he came away with a tiny
matchbox car. He was impressed, "Looks like you've got the makings of a
real magician here," he told Frank. Then he smiled at Frankie, "Good
job." Frankie beamed.
Phil stood in the dark watching the young family drive
away and then used his flashlight to walk to his car. All the other crane
watchers had left and the peace and quiet was breath-taking. There was a light breeze
from the south, bringing with it the pungent aroma of moist, fertile farmland.
It smelled heavenly. Nearby, he could hear the nighttime sounds of the cranes
on the river, quietly talking back and forth, their voices sometimes rising in
volume calling out and alerting others to possible danger, a coyote perhaps.
The proximity of the cranes had a calming effect on him. He
thought about the family he'd met, Frank and Kathy and Frankie Junior. Even
baby Emily. Nice people. Salt of the earth. He was glad he'd spent time with
them. He thought about the cranes resting nearby preparing in a few days to fly
nearly two thousand miles north to their nesting territories, a feat in and of
itself. As he gazed into the darkness, he could feel the immensity of the big
land around him stretching horizon to horizon with stars filling the sky to
overflowing, unlike anything he'd ever seen; constellations spinning in an
never ending cosmic dance; verdant fields waiting to be tilled and planted with
this year's crop. Let his ex have Cancun, he'd take Nebraska in the spring anytime.
He got into the backseat and wrapped up in his sleeping
bag. He'd sleep here tonight so he could watch the cranes rise from their
roosts at dawn. Then he'd head home. As he closed his eyes he knew for sure
he'd be back next year. He'd be back but he wouldn't be alone. He had a sudden,
passionate desire to share the experience of seeing the cranes and this country
with his children, a father's innate feeling it was the right thing to do. Maybe
they'd even make it a yearly event and come down together every spring. Just
like the cranes, he and his kids could make their own migration to the Platte
River. He had a feeling Jason and Sara would love it. He knew he would, being
here with his kids, the three of them together like they were supposed to be.
Having the cranes around would just make it that much better. In fact, then it'd
be perfect.
