It is amazing to be so closely woven in, with the earths process of changing seasons. Often we take these things for granted, and in today’s society we are very much disconnected from nature. I’m in the 5th month now in this isolated nature area in Burgundy, France, where nature is setting the tone for our rhythms. I have been enjoying the energy of summer, the transition into autumn, with all its lush and beauty, to have woken up to -6 degrees Celsius and a desire to sleep more.
My sleep patterns changed with the slowing down of the earth, my desire for warmth and comforting food came arrived with the changing of colours of the leaves. Being in an area where people live in attunement with the seasons, as farmers have to do, the anticipation was growing for the coming migration of the crane birds. Crops had to be harvested, and wood had to be organized before the freezing cold would arrive.
I have been told many times of this puzzling phenomenon, how these huge birds will suddenly decide that the temperature will drop, and thus marking the arrival of winter. Somehow orchestrating this enormous travelling party with hundreds, maybe even thousands of chattering creatures in the sky, causing awe and wonder all around.
I mean, just reading this makes you wonder, right? The miracles of nature, how does a crane know when to leave? Who leads? What do they bring? Do they always take the same route? Why is it such an emotional sight?
This year I eagerly waited for the migration to start, in the same way that I have, and continue to do, for the last weeks. I spend time walking many km in the hope to bump into a specific huge deer that has been sighted, which is apparently called a stag. The old boy has been avoiding me, and I feel played, as I am the only vegetarian walking around in this area, but also the only one to never see him. The stag has even been spotted in the borders of the woods, looking at me closely, probably smiling, whilst I drove past him. Needless to say, it has become personal. But, enough about that, back to the cranes.
The farmers knew it was still too warm, this time of the year, too warm for a crane to think winter was arriving. There were speculations, a magazine had an advert for people to come and sit outside on a specific day, convinced that this would be THE migration day.. Myself, one with a Disney kind of imagination, was instantly obsessed to know how this information had arrived to the writer. How had the crane birds told them? Was there a pattern, a hidden message? Could the writer speak crane? The point would surely be lost if all these hopeful spectators would have to leave after a demotivating day of anticipation in the rain.
On the day mentioned in the article, nothing happened. The air seemed to be too warm still for a crane to migrate, which by itself is one of the effects of climate change. Flooding happened a few hundred km’s to the north, and we had weeks of rain. I carried on during my walks looking up at the sky (and for the stag), until one day not so long ago, the cranes decided to migrate. I cannot even begin to tell you what it sounds like. This year they did not all leave together, but in small groups spread over a few days, some in different directions, making me wonder if they had a dysfunctional navigation system. Since I don’t speak crane, I would have to leave the reader wondering.
I can tell you that there is nothing quite like the sounds you hear, before they are visible. A filled up ball pit at the MC Donald’s holds nothing in comparison to the amount of noise these birds make. On one of my searching for a stag trips (deer, not man) in the woods, I heard them arriving. I couldn’t decide if their sounds were just sheer enthusiasm for the trip ahead, or if they were laughing at us and saying goodbye.
When I arrived at an opening, I finally saw them. Small groups, passing by, huge birds, chattering all together at the same time. I shouted “Good-byeeee!!!” when at that moment I realized that I wasn’t only saying goodbye to these amazing birds, I was saying goodbye to the autumn, and in a way it represented the shedding of the old, to make space for the new.
The silence after the beauty was overwhelming, and a week later I woke up to freezing cold, with the last leaves dropping as we speak. This is when animals hibernate, when silence is all around us. It is a period of rest and silence, and quiet contemplation. 5 months from now the cranes should return, marking the spring, as they will come when the air is warmer. There is something comforting in knowing that things can return. Not everything changes radically, some things can return to the intended origin. I find that warming and hopeful in a way, realizing it is something we all need right now. A bit of warmth, and a bit of hope. Miracles are in nature, and we, are part of nature.
I will add a beautiful video with narration of David Attenborough showing the beauty, and especially the sounds of crane birds for you to have an idea. After which, I will return on my stag searching trips. Wish me luck.