Nature on the Move

Slowly, signs of activity return to the world around our farm. Yesterday, my sister Kara heard the first Sandhill crane fly over the farm, following the creek north. We have seen a couple robins, heard the cry of a killdeer, and seen swans and geese fly over. These are the first of the first, not the full swing of migration, but their return is welcome.

Rabbits scurry about, ducking into the thicket of the leafless chokecherry trees, then turning around to stare at me with buggy eyes.

“I see you,” I chuckle.

The nose wiggles, ear twitching, but the furry one does not run away.

Undoubtedly, the rabbit activity enticed this morning’s visitor. As we were eating breakfast, the motion sensor on the lane chimed ding-dong, and instinctively I stood up to look out the windows. “Who would come to the farm at this hour?”

There, sauntering down the road, was a huge bobcat! He was walking right down the frozen, gravel lane, pad-padding with its black feet, ears perked. The creature stood easily as tall as our herding dog, fluffy and mottled, with its classic, short tail. We stuck our heads out the door to watch the cat, and it looked at us warily, then continued on its way down the road, as if it owned the place.

There is a folktale about the return of the birds in spring—a “just so” story, where we learn how bluebird got his coat.

Because bluebird was not always blue. No, there was a time when he was but a dull gray. All the birds were happy because everything was nice and warm, and there was plenty to eat. But then autumn came, with the leaves turning colors, and it became very cold. The bugs all went away, and there was nothing for many of the birds to eat.

Worried they would starve and freeze, many headed south, flying and flying until they reached a place that was warm and where food was plentiful once more. All winter, the birds lived here happily, without a care.

Then, one day, Mother Nature came to speak with the birds. “I need someone to be my herald! They must fly back north to tell others that Mistress Spring is coming and to take hope! Who will go on my behalf?” Mother Nature turned to the large and brave birds like eagle and heron, but they just hid their faces and would not volunteer.

“I’ll go!” said bluebird. “I will be your herald.” And off he flew, back to the north, crying, “Mistress Spring is coming! Mistress Spring is coming!” This brought heart and hope to the birds who had stayed. But it was still so early and the weather still so cold, and bluebird shivered and suffered.

But Mother Nature was right, and spring did come, and with it the world greened and the bugs returned. All the other birds came back, and they had a wonderful summer in the north. But then autumn came once more, and the leaves turned colors, and the nights grew chill, and the birds headed back south to the warm places once more. Bluebird went with them. And yet again, Mother Nature came to them at the end of winter. “I need someone to be my herald! They must fly back north to tell the others that Mistress Spring is coming! Who will go on my behalf?”

Once again, the larger birds turned away, unwilling to help.

“I will go!” cried bluebird, stepping forward. “I did it last time, even though it was very cold.”

“Of course you will,” smiles Mother Nature. She bent and kissed his little head, and that is when he turned a most beautiful blue, that all might know how brave and special he is. And to this day, bluebird is one of the first, sitting on the fenceposts and singing, “Mistress Spring is coming! Mistress Spring is coming!”