The Whooping Crane Festival has wrapped up and we have so much to share that we’ll be breaking it into a multi-part series. As we migrate back to New York City, we’ve been reflecting on everything we learned and how inspired we have been.
Before we get into the full story, we’d like to dedicate this poem to the Operation Migration team and all the Craniacs out there.
White Marsh Dawn
The fog hangs low in pockets, still,
The sun a line behind the hill,
The crows snack roadside, get their fill,
The morning breathes a sigh.
And in the marsh, hear life’s refrain,
The birds, the bugs, the critters reign,
No wind, no rain, good day to train,
It’s time to take the sky.
Tumes and Wellies* on, can’t be late,
Trike’s in sight, we’ve got a date,
Whoopers, eager, peck the gate,
They just can’t wait to fly.
The trike’s a go, the whoopers free,
They rumble tumble out with glee,
They run, they jump, and whoop whoopee,
No time for a goodbye.
From down below, we see them soar,
They slide, they glide, first aft then fore,
They form a line and flap no more,
Fly low and then fly high.
And now the sun is glowing bright,
As man, machine, and crane take flight,
Through grit, invention, and pure might,
All odds we can defy.
Weather permitting, the 2015 class of 6 young Whoopers will start their guided fall migration this Sunday, September 20. More from us soon as well.
*Tumes and Wellies = the white cosTUME and Wellington boots that Operation Migration folks wear when they work with the cranes.
TwoHawksNYC 