Sandhill Cranes at My Door

By Jill Rubalcaba

John James Audubon said he would sooner try to chase down a deer than sneak up on a sandhill crane. Obviously the famous scientist never met cranes like Mr. and Mrs. Beardsley. I live near some wetlands in Florida, and they come daily to my patio door, hollering in unison. Their call sounds like a sheep bleating, if the sheep were a soprano.

I thought they stomped their feet to show how they felt about my not having their bread cubed and ready to go. I've since read that they stomp their feet to raise bugs, grubs, and worms, which they love to poke at with their beaks. I'm not convinced.

They crowd me at the door, barely letting me slip out. Mr. Beardsley grabs the bread from my hand before I can spread it on the ground by their big three-toed feet.

I thought him quite rude until they began bringing their children along. He still is rather grabby, but takes the bread from me and then holds it out to one of his chicks. Not until they are fed does he eat. Often he will stand guard while the others feast. I've softened my feelings toward Mr. Beardsley.

Sandhill cranes mate for life. Mr. and Mrs. Beardsley started dropping by last fall. I would watch them dance after they ate lunch. Mr. Beardsley would leap into the air with his wings arced out and his feet thrust forward. He often tossed sticks or grass into the air. Then he would land near his mate, where he would execute a rather formal bow. Mrs. Beardsley would crow and bow right back. This continued for weeks, and then I didn’t see Mr. and Mrs. Beardsley for a while.

The next time they showed up, hungrier and more demanding than ever, they had two babies in tow. The babies were larger than most full-grown birds. Of course, at about four feet in height, the adult sandhill crane is one of the tallest birds in North America.

Even though the babies were big, they had that baby-bird look: feathers that look like frazzled yarn, each feather pointing in a different direction. It would be ten months before they stood as tall as their parents. During that time, their heads showed signs of the red skin caps they would have as adults, and their sandy-colored feathers gradually turned gray.

Female sandhill cranes look exactly like males. I can tell Mr. Beardsley from Mrs. Beardsley only because he is slightly bigger and he chases the squirrels away from the scattered bread. To threaten them, he spreads his wings to their full seven-foot span. Mrs. Beardsley tilts her head as if she is annoyed by the fuss he is making.

I’ve seen them take flight only once. They ran for several yards, then leaped into the air, flying low for quite a distance before they spiraled upward.

They flew with their slender necks stretched forward and their long leathery legs stretched back. I think they prefer walking, stopping to probe the ground for some delicacy or to take a sip from the marshes they call home.