Rita's Reflections: Making feathered friends comes easily

If there is such a thing as a bird whisperer, I might be one.

Last spring, Larry estimated there were over 200 sandhill cranes in the field across from our house. They are large birds with wingspans of 6-7 feet. I was certain they weren’t going to peck our eyes out like they did in Alfred Hitchcock’s 1963 horror/thriller the “Birds,” but it was spooky to see that many. And according to the "Peterson Field Guide to Birds" it is uncommon to see sandhill cranes in the Midwest.

Standing in the driveway, I raised my arms and beckoned the rust-colored birds to come closer. Larry and I stood in awe as about 80 to 90 cranes circled the house. The cacophony was deafening.

Not long after, Larry and I were visiting a bird sanctuary in South Carolina when we heard a bird calling. It was the same incessant garoo-a-a-a sound we heard at home. When we came upon the bird enclosure, I made eye contact with a lone sandhill crane and said “Hello." The bird stared at me as if to say, “Oh, there you are,” then remained quiet the rest of our visit.

Larry tells this story well since he watched it happen. I was standing under our portable awning on our back patio when it started shaking as if it was going to tip over even though it takes four people to move and there was no wind at the time. A hungry eagle had swooped down and grabbed dinner mere feet from my head.

Whenever I see a bird in flight, I wave and say hello. It is surprising how many of them tip their wings as if responding in kind. Two seagulls did more than that.

While standing in the parking lot across from the Mackinac Bridge in early May, I waved at a passing seagull. The bird made a U-turn and landed on the curb next to our Jeep. I looked up in time to see another seagull do the same. Their cries were urgent, first one then the other. Then I noticed one of the birds had an injured foot.

I knew I would not be able to get close, but I shushed the gulls like a mother trying to comfort her crying baby while staring intensely at the injured bird. Minutes later both birds calmed down. When we drove away they were quiet and grooming themselves.

On the last Sunday of January 2022, a dozen robins inched closer toward the window I had my hand on. On a beach last year, a seagull hung around Larry and me. When we took a walk, the bird would leave. When we came back, the bird would come back. Three geese did the same thing at the campground we stayed at. They only hung out at our campsite.

Not all my bird stories have happy endings.

When I was a kid, my dad made purple martin houses. One year when babies arrived, they were not happy mom was invading their territory when she hung clothes out to dry. Like a knight in shining armor, dad came to mom’s rescue.

Dad told mom to go out and hang clothes while he readied his shotgun. Mom had just hung a couple pairs of shirts on the line when the birds started diving at her head. Bye bye birdie took on another meaning other than the title of a Dick Van Dyke musical.

Talking with an acquaintance, Sharon said that she was dealing with a defective appliance. She had the paperwork spread out on a table when a bird flew by and pooped on the invoice. If that isn't validation Sharon got a foul deal, I don't know what is.

Rita Wyatt Zorn is a wife, mother, grandmother and lifetime Monroe County resident. She can be reached at 7.noniez@gmail.com.

This article originally appeared on The Monroe News: Rita Wyatt Zorn: Making feathered friends comes easily