“And the world cannot be discovered by a journey of miles, no matter how long, but only by a spiritual journey, a journey of one inch, very arduous and humbling and joyful, by which we arrive at the ground at our own feet and learn to be at home.”
Wendell Berry, The Unforeseen Wilderness: Kentucky’s Red River Gorge
After a 3 month hiatus from “Writin’ Wednesdays,” I once again re-dedicate myself to the process. I have missed it. Perhaps I feel ready now because I have migrated back to the northwoods of Wisconsin, living by the water and in the woods that I love. Where eagles fly and loons call. Where I love to paddle.
After a long winter, everything is now emerging, and along with this rise from winter’s slumber, comes the annual spring migration to the north.
One of my favorite spring migrating species is the Sandhill crane – that trumpeting, large, prehistoric looking bird that travels back to Wisconsin from winter places like Florida, Texas, Mexico and Cuba. I read an article about them in Living on the Lake, a monthly northwoods Wisconsin publication. I learned that they are one of the world’s oldest known species of bird, can live to be 25-30 years old, stand about 4-5 feet high with a 6′ wingspan, and at around age 4, they mate for life. I love that they mate for life!
They have very interesting markings – grey or brown plumage, black legs, feet and bills, yellow eyes and a bright red patch on their foreheads – quite a kaleidoscope of colors!
One can always hear a Sandhill crane in the distance, with their distinctive rattling, bugle call. During migration, they gather in groups of 1,000 or more and fly as high as 5,000 feet to catch the prevailing winds, according to the article.
The migration of these and other birds is fascinating to me. How do they know exactly when to come back? What is that inner instinct they trust so deeply for their survival? What can we learn from them?
Intentionally, I write this morning on a table my grandfather made. He and my grandmother immigrated here in the early 1900’s from Poland. To immigrate and to migrate are different, I learned. Immigrate is to travel to another country for the purpose of permanent residence, like my grandparents. Migrate is a seasonal movement from one region to another, like the Sandhill cranes. With both, there is movement for a specific purpose. Both take courage. Both share an instinctive knowing that it is time to go, to move on. Whether immigrating or migrating, life shifts.
Out paddling close to shore, I am graced by the sight of two beautiful Sandhill crane eggs, camouflaged in a large nest of tawny colored reeds.
Seemingly unattended and vulnerable, these eggs lay in their fragile nest close to shore, bravely gestating for almost a month. Their parents however, are nearby, watching attentively.
They continually patrol the shoreline, keeping a close yellow eye on their precious offspring. For this is part of their migration process, too, to resettle and reproduce.
Immersed in this unique sight on the water, this cycle of life, I ponder my own migration. After living in the Chicago area for most of my life, I moved north. More important than my physical relocation, however, is something deeper, in alignment with another definition of migration which is movement from one part of something to another.
What have I moved to? Or away from? Here in the north, I relocate to peacefulness, simplicity and a healthy environment. I shift from frenzied speed to a slower, gentler pace. Noise is replaced with quiet. Less “doing.” More “being.” More often than I realize, the importance of this inner voyage initiates a new journey and keeps me paddlin’ on to new waters. Imprinted in me from my grandparents. Good for my soul.
Although essential for me, this migratory shift has not always been easy. My passageway of change is littered with pieces of disconnected feelings and a fragmented sense of belonging. But like the trumpeting Sandhill cranes, my inner knowing guides me here, where contentment and peacefulness continue to etch themselves into the fabric of my being. Stitching me back to wholeness. I am where I need to be. Home at the ground of my feet. All is well.
Which leads me to these questions for you to ponder on your own migratory path:
Are you stuck?
What is it you need to migrate to? Or away from?
Can you identify a relocation, a movement you instinctively know is next for you?
What steps do you need to take today, tomorrow, next week, to keep moving along your continuum?
Write them down and begin!
What a beautiful post. Like the Sandhill cranes, trusting my inner instinct serves me well – when I remember that it’s there for me and don’t drown it out by the louder voices that are also present. My inner knowing is the quieter voice that is my true guide. Thanks for this lovely reminder.