Sunday, February 26, 2012

Of Crocuses and Cranes

or A Pang at Parting

They're leaving.  Last weekend as I sat on the patio the sandhill cranes were circling overhead, riding the thermals to gain altitude, one small flock after another joining the rising spiral in a sky streaked high with cirrus clouds.  All the while they were calling out, but their normal creaky purr sounded remote, as detached as an echo, as if their thoughts were already elsewhere.  Abruptly, the haphazard circles broke apart and stretched into the trailing limbs of a V.  The cranes locked on to magnetic North, and in a few minutes they were gone.  A little later a new flock appeared, circling, calling, distant, the hive mind already focused on summer nesting grounds.

The cranes are heading north a little early this year, I think.  I often hear them around the third week of February, but just a few, the early scouts rather than the main troops.  This wasn't the vanguard, though.  It was the full migration, a morning's worth of cranes, and not the only one.  They're leaving.  Last week I heard them go overhead by the hundreds; yesterday I heard a few flocks go by; today a few birds.  By now they may all be gone.

A mess of sandhill cranes, in the circling and mixing phase, February 2012, from my garden.  Not an inspired photo, I'm afraid, though if you're interested in sandhill cranes it might be worth clicking through to see the birds full screen.

Their departure is one of the few pangs of winter's passing for me.  I almost always take a trip down to the cranes' winter quarters at Bosque del Apache or thereabouts over Presidents' Day weekend to bid them farewell.  This year I wasn't able to manage it.  Instead I kept vigil from the patio, with crocuses for company.  It seemed fitting:  the fall-blooming crocuses had joined me in welcoming the cranes last November; how right, then, that the spring bloomers should be present to see them off again.

Funny.  In the last post I talked about crocuses nestling among the pebbles in the garden's settled beds.  The central bed, though, is still in the throes of re-planting and is largely empty and unmulched.  A small patch of crocuses there has come into bloom in the open space under a young Agastache rupestris—and it is actually blooming as a patch.*  With these flowers, blossoming on bare earth, I'm not so much aware of happy nestling and groundedness as of the way they reach skyward, stretching with all their might toward the sun.


It's as if they, too, want to travel with the cranes, as if roots and gravity are impediments, as if wanderlust burns hot inside them, and they ache with the desire to fly, to be away, to look over the garden walls to the next hill, and the one after, and the one after that, with the horizon always one siren song beyond.  It's as if they feel the pang of being left behind, the walls closing in behind them.

Bernardo Wildlife Area, NM, February 2011

The way that I do, too.
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* If you want to join me in jumping up and down for joy, I won't stop you.

When you're tired of my exploring different ways of looking at a crocus, please do say so.  I don't have to reach thirteen (and won't, I promise).  In the meantime, don't miss Jean of Jean's Garden's post on different ways of viewing forsythia.  It's fascinating and delightful both, and strikes home for anyone who's ever experienced a dull, gray winter.  (Most likely, that would be you.)

Other not-to-be-missed participants are b-a-g at Experiments with Plants and HolleyGarden at Roses and Other Gardening Joys.

17 comments:

  1. Not tired yet !
    Love that photo - the triangle of the blue sky even aligns with the criss-crossing leaves. It's lucky those crocuses are not in my garden, as I would have waited for them to reach up then picked out the stigmas to make saffron.

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    1. Thanks, b-a-g--I enjoyed trying to find the right angle on that photo. Just as a cautionary note, you might want to double-check which crocuses are saffron-producers. It sticks in my mind that the fall bloomers (C. sativus) are, but maybe others are, too. I just don't know whether anything nasty happens if you get the wrong kind...

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  2. Love the photo and remarks on the crocuses longing to be free... I visited Albuquerque in January last year and was thrilled to see sandhill cranes in an open field with the mountains as backdrop. It was in Rio Grande State Park, if I'm remembering the name correctly.

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    1. Sheila, I LOVE that state park! The view over the wetlands toward the mountains is one of my favorites here. The Albuquerque area tends to get a few small flocks of cranes, but huge numbers of them winter to the south. If you're ever out here between Nov. and Feb. again, you'd love Bosque del Apache--thousands and thousands and thousands of cranes and at least as many snow geese.

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  3. Crocuses and sandhill cranes both retain their magic for me!

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    1. Do holler if that changes... You'd love the cranes, Diana.

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  4. Wonderful to have crocuses and cranes...we have the Canada geese that migrates and this year they were so confused they came back months ago soon after they left...I have never equated the blooming flowers with the geese. I will watch for those wonderful pairs...I am not tiring of your crocuses since mine are barely showing...many never make it due to critters who love to mow them down. I have a bit of crocus in today's post and on TH. I shall think of a plant that I can do as much justice to as you have with the crocus.

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    1. When I lived back yonder, Donna, I was astonished to discover that the Canada geese really do migrate south in the winter. In Colo. where I grew up, they're year-round residents. Your mild winter this year must have confused them a lot, though they seem to have made a fine choice in the end.

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  5. The last photo of the cranes flying shows their wings movement beautifully. The have a large wing span! And your crocuses are delightful. They must have been level with your nose when you took the photo!

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    1. Janet, the cranes are such graceful flyers. I watched a hawk take off from a tree once as some cranes were coming in to land--the only time I have ever thought that a hawk looked clumsy. The cranes' wing span is over 6 feet.

      Pretty much level with my nose, yep. I need to put in softer paths to lie on.

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  6. I'm jumping as I type, Stacy. The photo of your crocuses is beautiful - quite an achievement when the 'sphere is flooded with photos of them at this time of year. Dave

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    1. Thanks for the jump of joyful solidarity, Dave. And I'm so glad you enjoyed the photo.

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  7. The sandhill cranes summer in my area, so I'm glad to know they've started heading my way (sorry you'll miss them but hey you get them all winter!). Your crocuses are absolutely beautiful - what a lovely shade of cream/yellow.

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    1. Spurge, I don't begrudge the cranes to anyone gardening in zone 5a! By this point in the year, you've earned them. I love those crocuses--they're C. chrysantha 'Cream Beauty' for what it's worth.

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  8. That last sentence was sad. I have wondered if the birds are leaving a little early this year. It seems that everything is starting to bloom early here, except my crocuses! I'm still waiting on the majority of them to pop their little heads up!

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    1. Holley, I do miss just being able to get out and GO.

      I'm beginning to think that your roses--maybe even your echinacea--will be in full bloom again before your crocuses have woken up!

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  9. I can almost feel the crocuses reaching for the sky. Lovely light you captured.

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