This morning I heard the sound I had been eagerly anticipating for a few weeks: the strange, trumpet-like gargle of Sandhill Cranes. These are the first of the year cranes for me, and more significant because they are my local pair. Each year they live, breed, and raise their young (called colts) in the field next to my house. Every morning from now until late September their strange calls will greet me as I leave the house. Spring is in the air.
On Saturday, I make the pilgrimage to the White Goose Capitol of Freezout Lake, hopefully during the height of migration.
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