… And Not in Hand

Previously, I wrote about the close encounter Susan and I had with Northern Saw-whet Owls in Ross County. Petting an owl on the back of the head is an experience the defies description. You really do have to be there.
There are, however, other aspects to birding that even when you are there you hardly believe your eyes. The occasional view of birds from the car can have its challenges, and its rewards. For example, after our night at the banding station near Chillicothe, plenty of adrenaline and less-than-perfect rest in the No-Tell Motel, we headed north for home in an early drizzle of rain and snow. We opted to stay off the interstate highways and see a bit of Ohio’s rural charm. It’s a great experience and the only known cure for white-line fever. Passing through places that are slightly more than wide spots in the road, yet are birth places to Civil War generals or presidents, gives you a sense of connection not found out there battling with 18-wheelers.
Heading north on State Route 83 in Holmes County, Susan suddenly shouted, “sandhills!” There, high on a hill in the middle of a mowed field stood four Sandhill Cranes. After some maneuvers with our Saturn that might have been more easily accomplished with a VW bug, we zipped up a curving, one-way drive, around some out buildings and reached the top of the hill. Rats! The birds were blocked by a rise in the field we had not noticed. Before the residents of the nursing home (as we discovered it to be) could figure out what we were up to, we were flashing down the drive, back out onto the highway and looking for another angle to see the cranes.
We spotted a semi-paved road that should lead to the top of the hill and a possible view from the other side. As we pulled into a parking area at the top I noticed the building was a kind of semi-official looking. Susan was out of the car, binocular in hand, before I had come to a full stop. I was digging out a camera (Why is the wide-angle lens always on when you need the telephoto?) trying not to drop any expensive glass, nor strangle myself with a binocular strap caught in the door.
I dashed through the trees where Susan had gone. There they were, about 50 yards away. Two adult and two juvenile Sandhill Cranes. They looked at us through the drizzle, looked at each other, and in that way birds have of communicating without saying anything, lifted off in unison.
The beauty and grace of the birds is, in part, because of their size. It takes some effort to get that huge body elevated. The huge wings unfolded, and because of our nearness, we could see the wings ripple rather than flap. When they do take flight, we humans can only stand and watch and wonder what it must be like.
We walked back to the car, chattering like a couple of sparrows about our close encounter. I glanced up at the building where we had parked—not exactly between the white lines. It was the Holmes County Jail. I wondered if the prisoners had seen us or the birds that so freely flew from perceived danger.