When Prometheus warned his son about the coming flood sent by Zeus to destroy the evil of mankind, Deucalion built a chest. Along with his wife, Pyrrha, the two climbed into the chest and floated amongst the tumultuous waves for over a week before coming to rest on the peak of Mount Parnassus. They emerged from inside their vessel to a world ravaged by floodwaters, and they found themselves the sole survivors of this incredible, godly deluge. Once the waters receded, the couple descended the mountain, uncertain of what to do until they heard a voice telling them to “cast behind you the bones of your mother.” Recognizing that the true mother of all things was Mother Earth, Deucalion instructed Pyrrha to take up the stones scattered around them – the true bones of the earth – and throw them over their shoulders. One by one they heaved rocks over their own bodies, and one by one the rocks collided with the ground and turned into people. In this way, Pyrrha and Deucalion repopulated the earth with a new generation of human beings and brought humanity back to life.
When sandhill cranes build their nest, they work together like an avian Pyrrha and Decualion. Partners for life, the male and female birds wade into the reeds and still waters of bogs, marshes, and other wetlands to build their nests. Pulling at the dried reeds, cattails and other vegetation surrounding them, they throw the materials over their feathered shoulders to create a large pile of brush from which they carve out a home for their young. It is the female’s job to stand atop this large mound and settle the material into a respectable nest with a center bowl lined with small twigs in which her modest clutch of one to two eggs will be laid. Rarely, these light brown speckled eggs successfully hatch two chicks – usually one will die off before fully fledging – but this should not discourage us from appreciating the beauty of this reproductive ritual. Trading the stones of Greek mythology for everyday marsh grass, the lifecycle of these gangly cranes begins with the tossing of reeds over a feathered shoulder year after year.
Right now, in the Midwest, if you are observant enough, you might find yourself standing outside listening to the unmistakable trill of the sandhill. With the ability to be heard over two miles away, the birds voice their distinct clattering call on land and in flight. It often sounds like the avian version of an alveolar trill, rolled r’s repeated over and over again as if bragging. When you hear their distinct sound, look up. There is a good chance you might see dozens of them flying high up in the atmosphere in their unmistakable v-formation, their long necks and spindly black legs stuck straight out like a diver in a perfect descent. During migrations, these beautiful birds can often be seen gathering in large groups – sometimes as large as tens of thousands – at migratory checkpoints along their way to breeding or wintering grounds. They frolic amongst grasslands and open prairies, feasting on grains and the occasional berry or snail or lizard. Walking amongst the grass, their plumage can appear anywhere from a milky grey to a rust-colored brown, and their feathers fall alongside their bodies forming a “bustle” of sorts that mimics the fashions of a 19th century woman. Their faces appear almost chubby-cheeked and a vibrant splash of crimson masks their citrusy orange eyes.
Perhaps one of the liveliest attributes of the sandhill is its dedication to the courtship dance. When looking for a mate, these birds will flounce through the grass stretching their wings and pumping their heads hoping to impress their potential suitor. Often, they will repeatedly jump straight into the air with wings outstretched, a move that looks so joyous and free it is impossible not to smile when watching. If multiple cranes perform dances in unison, they take on the appearance of elated children in an inflatable bounce house, arms outstretched for balance as they effortlessly jump and jump.
The sandhill cranes are, for the most part, thriving, although the Mississippi and Cuban subspecies are considered to be endangered due to habitat destruction. (These two subspecies are among the few non-migratory populations of these birds.) Migratory cranes rely heavily on various wetlands where flocks gather to rest and refuel along their journey, and it is vital that conservation efforts work to protect these habitats. If one goes, so will the other, and because the sandhill cranes only produce on average one fully fledged chick each breeding year, their numbers are hard to rapidly increase. The earliest record of the sandhill crane comes in the form of a fossil that dates back at least 2.5 million years ago. This fossil was discovered in Florida at the Macasphalt Shell Pit, and its existence suggests that the sandhill is one of the oldest known species of birds still around today. I can imagine Pyrrha and Deucalion taking great care to preserve the sandhill alongside them in their wooden chest, and together, after the flood, each creature – bird and human – standing amongst the muck, one tossing stones and the other grass, recreating a future for themselves with a simple pitch over the shoulder.
Illustration by L. Hisako Nakashima
Miyako Pleines
is a Chicago area writer who shares her thoughts on birds and nature in monthly essays for Chicago Audubon. Follow Miyako on Instagram: @literary_miyako
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