Last week, I was hiking at the Crane Trust Nature Center near Wood River, just off I-80 at mile marker 305. I know it's too late to see any Sandhill Cranes, but the Crane Trust, with its broad paths and arching footbridges, is still a remarkable place to hike along the Platte River. That cool, blustery day, I was surprised to find myself surrounded by flocks of red-winged blackbirds, flitting around too fast for me to zoom in for a good picture. They seemed to be rather leery of me--or, maybe they were darting after a swarm of insects that I couldn't see. (Flying insects are their preferred source of food.)
The day was overcast and dreary, so my camera failed to pick up the red stripes on each bird's wings, but you can trust me when I tell you they were red-winged blackbirds. After all, red-winged blackbirds were the first wild birds I can remember watching.
I was probably three or four years old when Mom would load my baby brother and me into our sky blue Ford so we could drive out to visit Grandma and Grandpa, who lived on the home place about ten miles from our northeastern Nebraska farm. We drove on the paved highway for several miles until it was time to turn onto the tree-lined gravel road that would take us the last two or three miles to our destination. In the late spring, Mom would often stop the car as soon as we turned the corner so she could point out the flocks of red-winged blackbirds on the ground and in the air at that intersection. I was mesmerized by those birds, whose red-striped wings glistened so brightly in the morning sunlight.
Mom loved the birds and trees and flowers, and she loved to walk in the country, just as I do. I am so glad that she took the time to teach me to appreciate all of the wonders of God's creation.
I was always fascinated by that particular gravel road, with its majestic trees lined up on each side, providing a shady tunnel for us to drive through. I like to think that those trees were my favorite Cottonwoods, but they may have been Elms instead. The trees are long gone, so I may never know for sure.
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| This tree-lined cemetery road near Gering reminds of the one I loved as a young child. |
Recently, I learned that a flock of blackbirds, red-winged or not, is called a murmuration. Huge, noisy, winter time flocks can number in the millions of individual birds, but in the summer, smaller numbers of birds gather together in the wetlands that provide their breeding habitats. I also discovered that those birds do an excellent job of communicating with one another in some kind of avian version of crowdsourcing. In other words, when a small group of birds finds a good source of food, they are able to somehow let other nearby birds know, too, so they can all share the newly-found food. Perhaps that's why red-winged blackbirds form such massive flocks as they dart and dip through the air together.
Red-winged blackbirds sing beautifully, long before daylight, almost as if they are daring the darkness to silence them. Perhaps, like this bold bird, we should also rejoice when our world seems dark and hopeless. Some Native Americans believe that the red-winged blackbirds symbolize change, determination, and spiritual growth. Whether we believe that or not, we, like those red-winged blackbirds, can also enjoy our journey here on Earth and soar high, wherever God leads us.
Look at the birds. They don’t plant or harvest or store food in barns, for your heavenly Father feeds them. And aren’t you far more valuable to him than they are?
Matthew 6:26
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This red-winged blackbird posed nicely for me a few years ago, when I was visiting Erin's family in Wisconsin. Red-winged blackbirds can be found throughout the 48 contiguous United States.
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