The Mysterious Sandhill Crane

My sister’s house in Florida sports a lovely patio surrounded by hibiscus.   A sandhill crane comes to the bird feeder off and on all day long.  You already know this if you’ve seen my recent Instagram photos. This mysterious winged giant, Phrasier, spent hours with me as I, coincidentally, spent afternoons reading a scintillating mystery by Kathleen West. 

I loved Phrasier instantly and found him to be intriguing company. And yet, his presence didn’t jive with 2 irrefutable “facts” we “know” about sandhill cranes. Back home in Indiana, I could not get this darned bird out of my head. His migration and mating behaviors didn’t make a lick of sense. 

I resolved to get to the bottom of why this crazy crane went against all accepted cultural norms of his breed.  I could have reached out to actual ornithologists who work nearby on the IU campus, but I didn’t have that kind of time.  Instead, I used two or more online sources to solve … the mysteries of the lone sandhill.

Research Question 1: MISSED MIGRATION?  What was Phrasier doing hanging out in Florida in late June? Sandhills are phenomenal migrators.  They travel thousands of miles in huge flocks. Husbandman and I have trekked to the Goose Pond staging area to admire their mixing and mingling.  Was Phrasier staying behind on a whim?  Or was he stranded, shunned, kicked to the curb by an unfeeling, inflexible flock? 

Research Question 2:  BACKYARD BACHELOR? Sandhill cranes supposedly mate for life and, unlike many married humans, they share all nesting and child-rearing responsibilities. Why was Phrasier hanging out with old human beings on a patio eating bird seed made for lesser birds when he could be off with a mate living his best life?

I’m sad to report that while I came up with no conclusive answers to my research questions, I’m definitely getting closer to the truth about the lone sandhill, thanks to my deep dive into the crane literature.  Here are the tentative results of my study.

Finding #1:  I’m happy to report that Phrasier is no castoff reject. He is most likely a permanent resident. 5,000 sandhills live in Florida year round.  Born in Florida, they’ll die in Florida. That’s the way they like it.

Finding #2: Phrasier will find true love in time. As with humans, it can take awhile before the sandhills meet their true loves. Many don’t marry until their seventh birthday.  Phrasier's probably young---sowing wild oats, reaping abundant bird seed.

Finding #3: Phrasier and his ex-partner may have called it Splitsville. Between 2 and 7 percent of sandhill marriages end in divorce, which is impressive when compared to the 43% divorce rate of human beings. Crane divorce might result from territory choices gone awry, but some crane couples split due to personality clashes.  Maybe Phrasier destroyed his marriage with his overly confident, devil may care attitude. Maybe his mate questioned his work ethic.  The good news is that divorced cranes remarry, if not this breeding season, then the next.

Finding #4: Phrasier might not be one bird, but two. I texted my sister about this theory and she confirmed that right after I left she figured out that 2 cranes were visiting the feeder, but she forgot to tell me.  She has named the second one Nell.  Why do Phrasier and Nell visit the feeder separately?  Are they sharing nesting responsibilities elsewhere or simply pulling some type of childish prank? Either way, it’s great to know that they seem to be doing fine.

In conclusion, there are many factors to consider when studying the lone sandhill so keep an open mind while you’re doing your research.  We don’t yet have all the answers about Phrasier's way of life, but we do know that this fascinating bird merits future study. 

Making Friends Can Be Murder by Kathleen West

Listen up, folks. There's a new Kathleen West novel in town.  This is her fourth book and my new favorite.  Before I get into the reasons I love it so, let's all have a moment of respectful silence to honor this author who writes novels while simultaneously teaching our nation's youth full time.   This is no easy feat. As we all know, I can barely get a paragraph on this blog consistently during the school year.  But this isn't time for regrets and recriminations about my lack of focus.  It's time for celebrating Making Friends Can Be Murder by Kathleen West.  

Now, let's get to the point of the matter.  Why do I like book #4 so much?  Using a bulleted list, I'll now provide my reasons.

Making Friends Can Be Murder...

* has a fun quirky PREMISE.  Women named Sarah Jones work to figure out who killed another woman named Sarah Jones, but there's other stuff happening they don't know about, so they sleuth along and get the job done together after a slew of twisty turns.

* is a PAGE TURNER.  How do some writers create books that grab hold and don't let go?  We may never know, but I read this book in 2 days.  When I wasn't reading it, I was thinking about when I could get back to reading it.  

*  is a MYSTERY with some ROMANCE on the side.  BONUS! I love romance and I don't care who knows it.

*  is refreshingly NON-AGEIST. Not only does the book feature strong, smart women characters, all the Sarah Joneses are different ages. Not super typical in books about women who are not in the same family.  The age differences make for some funny conversations and text threads, but the way they support one another is also absolutely endearing.

* is set in marvelous MINNEAPOLIS, one of our greatest American cities.  You know how Anne Tyler sets all her books in Baltimore, where she lives?  Well, come to find out, KC sets all her books in her home town of Minneapolis and references to key landmarks feature importantly throughout the book.  

There are other reasons I love the book, but we'll stop there because I don't like to spend a lot of time writing these blog posts, but if you feel like reading Making Friends Can Be Murder, you definitely should!  

 

The Museum of A and A

We’re having a heat wave here in America’s Heartland.  I don’t know about you, but extreme heat makes me both sleepy and short of breath. To avoid the tragedy of heat stroke, I’m visiting various museums in this vibrant and charming town of ours.

The City on the River exhibit at The Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology explores the culture of the people who lived at Angel Mounds in Southern Indiana from 1100 to 1450 or thereabouts.  No one is positive why these people left their busy city on the Ohio, but they did. Lucky for us, an IU professor was the principal archaeologist at Angel Mounds, so the museum has an impressive collection of artifacts. The museum took care to include Indigenous artists and historians of today in the curation of the exhibit. 

Between 2 and 3 thousand people lived in this city which was built using sophisticated geometric and astronomic principles. In addition to building mounds, the people grew crops and made a boatload of pottery.  They traded far and wide using river transport. 

To tell you the honest truth, I already knew a lot of the information in the exhibit because I’ve been teaching about this time in prehistoric Indiana for years now and have done quite a bit of my own research, but I predict that you, who may not know as much as I do, will learn a thing or two.  You should visit the museum if you feel like it. 

The Indoor Recess

 Break is rolling along nicely.  No complaints.  I'm doing a lot of walking, reading, writing, weeding, and watching of the Mets.  

Here's a short story I wrote at the Writer's Conference.  It needs more revision, but I'll just leave it here until it's ready to work with me again.  It's a fictionalized account of an indoor recess episode from the past.  We were supposed to write something with "tension and transformation."  I did my best and now I'm going to forget the rest. You should read it if you feel like it.

Indoor Recess

They speed walk across the room to nab the best materials, the prime locations.

I down the final section of my orange and put my lunch box back in my tote.  Why is this happening? 3rd day in a row.  It’s not even raining that hard right now.

Finn and Keesha fill solo cups with water. They will watercolor a bunch of pictures they’ll neglect to take home.  Brad and Cora and Sheldon nab the basket of popsicle sticks and masking tape so they can tape sticks together.  Emma and her posse huddle behind the iPad cart with UNO.  Chess, Mancala, Sorry. Set.  Let the games begin. 

Doesn’t take long for Gage to start growling and balling his fists.  Turns out he likes to play SORRY a different way than Leah and Marta do.  They’re standing firm and he’s fixing to escalate the growling, so I lure him away with poster board and fancy markers.

Henry reads Dog Man at his desk.  Should he be interacting more?  Anna complains about April rolling her eyes at her.  No patience with those 2.  Not getting sucked in this time.

Vance chases after Richard in a high speed game of tag. I put the kibosh on that right away. No thank you. We’re not running.    

It’s so loud.  Why does Ian scream?  Ellie’s ear is right next to his mouth.  

Can’t find the poem for this afternoon.  Xeroxed copies yesterday.  Put them down in a good place so I wouldn’t lose them.  Story of my life.  I run next door to grab a copy.  Surprise surprise Mandy’s classroom is quiet.  Kids speaking at normal volumes. Mandy is at her organized desk grading papers.  Getting stuff done.  Maybe if I kept my area cleaner I wouldn’t have these problems.

With a copy of the poem in hand I race to the copier. That one teacher is copying massive packets, hogging the machine as usual.  

I'll have to write the poem on a chart paper.  It won’t be as good.  I like them to have their own copies, but too bad for me.  Next time, be organized.  My head hurts a bit because of jaw clenching.  I sidle over to the teacher closet to grab a few ibuprofen.  On the shelf I see the noise cancelling headphones I use for emergencies. 

Not crazy about wearing these because I look like a freak, but I clamp them on my head.  5 minutes left.

I can barely hear the screams now.  These things are miracles. 

I start writing the poem with colorful markers.  I love this poem. 

If I give us all 5 extra minutes I can get this done. Ten more likely.  Maybe I can add stars and moons to jazz it up a bit.  This is actually looking quite nice. 

What is purple?

Time is purple

Just before night….

The Writing Conference 2025

 First off.  I'm sorry, BLOG.  I know I've ignored and discounted you yet again.  Please forgive me. You were never far from my thoughts.  I promise to do better. 

Now on to my topic of the day.  Lynda Barry came to Bloomington this week to teach a class and give a lecture for the IU Writing Conference.  I signed up at once.  Love her even more now if that's even possible. She made us draw pictures with our eyes closed and gave us some ideas for generating stories.  She said we were all a bunch of badasses.  High praise indeed. 

I've been going to afternoon classes about fiction, nonfiction and poetry  (Clink these links to find out more about my terrific teachers). 

 My cool classmates have also been a ton o' fun. Why do I avoid meeting new people? My isolationist personality proves to be a  mystery to us all time and time again. 

Speaking of mysteries, I'm writing a poem for my poetry homework this morning.  I don't write poems, but maybe I do now.  We may never know.  Poet Janan Alexandra read a Ross Gay poem. Ode to the Flute.  We wrote it down and then picked a line that stood out to us.  I chose the line "nothing was explained."  This is the poem I'm working on right now that starts with Ross Gay's line.

nothing is explained

in this cabinet of curiosities

you’re on your own, kid

who left this here?

this plastic frog atop the hot sauce bottle

can it be mine now?

baby stares at his dancing hand

does the hand also notice his baby?

is this poem good or bad?

rocks are hurled

answered with flash bang grenades

riddle me this Batman

It is what it is?

Is it what it is?

nothing is explained

The Book called Lucy by the Sea

 I finished a terrific book by Elizabeth Strout yesterday.  Lucy by the Sea.  It takes place during Covid Times. The novel brought back memories and evoked vague sensations of disbelief in this midwestern reader.

As I read I kept thinking, "Oh yeah, and then that happened." We lived through a sad and weird time, my friends.

 Lucy Barton is the main character and she's a woman with two grown kids who don't live with her any more.  She has woes and worries, but she maintains a pleasant demeanor. She leaves New York with her ex-husband William and social distances in Maine for a good long while.  I wish I could take a walk with Lucy Barton along the coast. She goes out twice a day.  I think we would have things in common and maybe she would give me some advice about writing.  

Lucy by the Sea is a great book. This is the 3rd book about Lucy Barton I've read.  There are 2 others.  You should read about Lucy Barton if you want to.  Elizabeth Strout knows what she's doing.  

The Grandson

 

As you both know, I'm going to be a grandmother in September when grandson Franklin is born.  

The distance separating us doesn't have to be an issue.  I'm reading tips on line for maintaining favorite grandparent status staying close when you live far away.  First, we'll need a consistent communication schedule. Obviously essential. 

Eating meals or snacks together is another suggestion that I quite like.  It's common knowledge that food brings people together. 

Sending gifts through snail mail is another obvious part of the plan.  Clearly, I've got that one in the bag. 

If you had or have an awesome relationship with your grandmother, please let me know about it and offer me your own tips for success. 

The Senator Search

 Headed up to the State House to join teachers protesting a harsh bill that aimed to reduce funding for public education. Full disclosure: It passed anyway a few days later. 

Nancer, gb and I  were hoping to join other Monroe County teachers for an official chat with our State Senator Shelly Yoder around 10am.  She's one of the good ones and we wanted to get her insider perspective on the mess we're all in.

We could not find our peeps. We zipped around hither thither and yon, asking people and texting others.  To no avail.  Our frazzled disappointment was palpable, but then Nancer spotted Shelly Yoder! She was talking to 2 young people who looked to be her staff.  I could not say for sure who these people were, but they didn't look like they would mind being interrupted.

We approached Shelly Yoder and told her we had been looking all over for her. She was super pleasant and had her staffer take our photo.  We later found this photo on SY's FB page! One door closes but another one opens.  

We weren't successful with our efforts to defeat SB1, but we'll live to fight another day.  

The Bernedoodle Visitor

We are hosting a friendly bernedoodle.  I frequently worry that she will choke and die on some of the expensive chew toys I've purchased for her, but so far she's AOK.

Yesterday she ate a teabag which was waiting in a mug for hot water.

Caffeine is poisonous for canines, so we were on high alert for hours.

I've learned from extensive research that many dogs across the land have worried their humans by eating teabags.  No one knows why they do this. 

There's a lot we don't know about our mysterious canine friends.

 

The Exposition

If you like Wes Anderson movies, you should probably get over here to Paris to see this exhibit at Cinematheque Francaise.  Top Notch.

Each room was dedicated to a different movie.  The amount of detail that goes in to a Wes Anderson film is mind boggling.  But maybe that's true for all films.  I thought Wes might drop in to the exhibit to connect with his fans, but I didn't see him anywhere.  I love Wes Anderson with all my heart, but I have to admit that I wasn't super crazy about his last two films. I would have loved a brief chat with Wes to give him some feedback and get him back on track. He has an apartment in Paris, so I could still run in to him at any moment.  

We've been walking hither thither and yon all over this great city. Husbandman complained that our walking was extreme yesterday.  He said he was thinking about consulting a divorce lawyer, but cheered up when we had a rest break with eclairs.  

 

The Profiteroles

We're walking about Paris for spring break.  Enjoying museums and parks and churches and restaurants.

  Last night we went to a fave restaurant for dinner.  Our evening was slightly marred when we were led to a table painfully close to 4 men out for a business dinner.  Come to find out, these men are in publishing. A New Yorker and a Brit yakked LOUDLY while their 2 Asian colleagues reasonably stared at their phones.  

  New Yorker and Brit worked on one-upping each other throughout the meal with their extravagant travel experiences.  We ignored them as long as we could, but toward the end they broke through our privacy wall,  peppering us with questions about our identities.  

Our Indiana residency confused them.  What's Indiana known for?  What do you do there? Where is it? 

 After some chitchatkittykat repartee, Husbandman and I went back to ignoring them and decided to share a dessert. When profiteroles arrived, these 2 flipped their lids.  "Wow! Profiteroles! Look at you 2 ordering profiteroles!" and "Well, I just can not believe that people from Indiana could make such a sophisticated order!"  

Don't you think that's a bit on the rude side?  Geez Louise.

Aside from this annoyance, the trip is going splendidly.  As usual, we're doing our best and forgetting the rest.