A Story of Cranes and Control, My Papaw, Mystery and Me

(Here's a link to the audio version on Sound Cloud.  Click HERE.)

This story began in mid-October and has been endless until this weekend.  It began as I sat outside with my journal in hand.  Writing the date "13 October 2013" jogged my memory.  The date was my paternal grandfather's birthday.

I wrote:  "If I could sit with Papaw for a day what would I ask? What might I say?"

The first thing that came was: "What made you so afraid?"

Immediately I knew.  Papaw did not want to loose things especially my father his only child, his only son. 

Thus Papaw became controlling, controlling and intrusive.

In a flash I realized I think of myself as so unlike Papaw, and in overt ways I am, yet deep down inside we are alike.  I do not want to loose things.  I don't try to control others and pry into their lives as he did ours.  I control my own heart and mind with subtle messages just below the radar of my awareness.

"Don't want. Don't get too attached.  Don't get your hopes up." 

Intellectually I know these messages are not my truth.  They took up residence in me over lifetimes of despair and disappointment.

I came into this world a Feeler so I understand how many people do not want to feel.  At times living feels too much for me yet who I am is one who leads with her heart.

Initially I accidentally wrote "leads with her hurt."

This accident held my truth.  Leading with my heart means leading with joy, elation, wonder and yes, sorrow, pain and hurt.

What hurts me?

Sitting outside when this story first began I felt such sadness.  I had been aware of it since the prior day.  I was at a loss as to its source until I came inside.  Walking through the kitchen, I glanced up and suddenly knew the reason why.

A photo by Steven Llorca of the sandhill cranes took my breath.  There on the wall was the source of my present sorrow. 

I had forgotten that particular weekend licenses were distributed in Tennessee for hunting the sandhill cranes.  Consciously I had forgotten what my soul Self remembered and my heart was feeling. Nearly 300 licenses were distributed at Birchwood School near Dayton, TN on October 12 the day my sadness began.  

Ask many people today of their association to cranes and they'll likely think of the cranes visible in cities like my Nashville home where developers can't build fast enough as they cover remaining green space with assistance from towering cranes.

There is fossil evidence of sandhill cranes having been on Earth for millions of years.  I first learned of them through hearing them as they flew over my home outside Nashville.  I had only been in this house for 2-3 months when I heard the strangest of sounds.  I raced outside and stood in the driveway scanning the skies.  A neighbor who saw me walked over to explain what I had heard.

After that I traveled to the Hiwassee Refuge just north of Chattanooga where the Eastern band of cranes spend winter.  In 2011 the refuge was covered in snow and cranes.  At that time I was not one to enjoy winter, yet I stood bundled in the cold for over two hours mesmerized by the cranes as they flew in and out of the area and bobbed and danced for their mates.

Hiwassee Refuge at Sunset

The two years that followed thousands of people arrived during January's Sandhill Crane Festival at Birchwood School to board buses to the refuge and attend related talks, hear music and purchase art by area artists

Art & attendees - Crane Festival 2013

This is how the photo came to live on my wall and their sound came to live in me.  Aldo Leopold called the cranes the "trumpet in evolution's orchestra."  Hearing them I understood  this.

Contrary to the subtle message suggesting I not get attached, I got attached to the sandhill cranes. I allowed these birds that are millions of years old and sacred in many cultures to stir my soul and open me when I didn't even know my soul needed stirring or I needed opening. 

This is why I was sad the day this story began. 

In a few short days the refuge becomes a trap, a killing field.  This summer, fourteen men on the state wildlife and fish commission voted unanimously to hunt the cranes.  Not surprisingly they are all hunters.  (I am not anti-hunting when it is done with a sense of the sacred relationship between animal and man.)  Most troubling is these men blatantly ignored overwhelming public opinion opposed to hunting the cranes.  Beginning Thanksgiving Day, hunters will be able to shoot the sandhill cranes in the lands surrounding the refuge.

Cranes are revered in Mongolia, home to six species of cranes.  It is believed a person who kills a crane will soon die.  When I first learned this I hoped the Mongolian belief transferred to Tennessee.  Yet thinking this way is not really me.

I was devastated over the hunting decision and simultaneously intrigued as Mystery's hand was moving in my life. The day after the vote Jerry was driving to Iowa to visit his mother in rehab following hip surgery.  For some reason, it occurred to me her rehab center might be near the Aldo Leopold Foundation.  I had just seen the film "Green Fire" on Leopold's life and recalled his feelings regarding the sandhill cranes.  I sensed I was to go to Baraboo, Wisconsin only two hours away from Jerry's destination.  I called the Leopold Foundation  to ensure they were open and inquired as to what else might be in the area.  I knew I was to make this trip when the woman on the other end of the phone said, "The International Crane Foundation is six miles from us."

The next morning as we drove from Nashville I held a burning candle honoring the cranes. This specific candle had been poured by Ayesha Nur of "Angel Radiance" in the cranes honor.  The day of the vote when my friend asked if I would be the keeper of this candle, I explained that I couldn't as I was leaving town.  She didn't know my destination.  Then I realized the path we were traveling by land mirrored much of the migratory path of the cranes.

I burned the candle through much of the trip as a means of honoring all cranes but especially the sandhill cranes.  And I was open to leaving the candle with the 'right' person if we met along the way.  I knew immediately upon meeting her who the next keeper of the candle would be.  Her interest in working at the crane foundation happened as a result of synchronistically finding an injured whooping crane while hiking alone one day.

Had Jerry's mother not postponed her surgery months prior she would not have been in rehab at this time and I would not have been in Baraboo, Wisconsin just  after fourteen men in Tennessee made sandhill crane hunting legal.  The hand of Mystery weaves the tapestry of my life and I recognize the threads when I am paying attention and listening. 

On Papaw's birthday, October 13, I wondered what I would feel when the cranes flew over this winter.  What might my reaction be to hearing the cranes overhead during this winter's migration?  I imagined calling out, "Turn around. Go back" or "Land here. Land here."

This weekend I discovered my reaction. 

Saturday, November 23 I was making hot tea for sunset when Jerry rushed in calling, "It's the cranes.  It's the sandhill cranes."  I grabbed the nearest pair of shoes and raced out to stand in the middle of our yard and SEE and HEAR around 80 cranes in huge V trek across the pink sky before us.

It never occurred to me to shout "Turn around" or "Land here."  Instead I called out blessings to these great birds and thanked them for being with us here on Earth.

Sunday hundreds upon hundreds passed over us.  At one time, four V's joined together in the sky high above the property nearby before continuing southward.  It was hard completing this story because I rushed outside numerous times to look and listen, feel and be stirred.

I still cannot fathom someone experiencing this soul stirring call shooting one of these sacred birds.  When I saw the last group fly over at sunset Sunday I blessed the cranes.  Then I asked that those gathering to hunt around the Hiwassee Refuge realize the sacredness of these birds as well as the sacredness of life on Earth.  

I am grateful to all animals and especially the cranes today for offering themselves. They teach us.   Their presence provides a mirror for us to see ourselves, our passions, our differences, our blind spots, our needs, our dark side and fears.  Their presence reveals my fear.

I am kin to Papaw in ways other than blood.  Papaw feared loosing his only child, his son.  I have feared the loss of my children, Earth's winged, walking and crawling Ones.  I have feared the loss of this beautiful world as it passes especially due to humankind's lacking awareness.

Both Papaw and I have feared hurting.  He tried to reign in my father.  I have reigned in myself. 

I reign myself in every time I ignore living from my heart, my hurting heart, my joyful heart, my open, attached, stirred Heart.  Ultimately what hurts me most is closing off my heart.  

The cranes soul-stirring call as they pass over remind me to soar, to express my own voice and find those who are part of my V, my tribe so we can proclaim the beauty of Earth as well as the beauty of feeling.

We are the ones here to lead with stirred, passionate and open hearts. 

-Dawn, The Good News Muse,  24 November 2013

dawn@imaginetheshift.com 

P.S.  This winter's Sandhill Crane Festival is January 18 -19. 

Click  HERE for details.   

Paper cranes by school children lined the halls last year. Sadly I was told the school was closing.