Our day came with a thick fog, so dense the glow of the sun was absent. Although we are deep into the bird migrations, with many species already off to the south, a foggy morning is typically a draw for me and I am often off into nature with my camera and a couple of lenses. This morning was no different.
My goal was to head north past a series of prairie potholes to a hunter’s cabin up the road a few miles before making a turn to the west for another couple of miles, also passing by a few wetlands. There a paved road that would take me past the Clinton Prairie. There the county highway headed west to eventually take me to Bonanza Education Center, a jewel of a Nature Conservancy prairie nestled within a beautiful oak savanna. Picturesque oaks stand tall on either side of a series of ravines that cut into the prairie.
As anticipated, there were only a few silhouetted ducks about on the wetlands. Sadly, there were no cranes or egrets. Shorebirds that frequent these shallow waters were apparently long gone. Bonanza yielded a couple of fine images of softened foggy savannas within those ravines, craggy limbs framing the stark, flaming reds of autumn sumac seemingly blasting through the grayness. No deer appeared, which was somewhat surprising.
As I was driving up the hill out of the valley I noticed Big Stone Lake was shrouded in the fog as was the distant shore of South Dakota. Was there a chance of finding a hillside of color on this side that would contrast the foggy distance? With just enough detail to actually offer contrast? So goes willful thinking.
Back onto the highway a decision was made to pull into a quaint overlook designated as a roadside picnic spot blessed with several cedar trees. We’ve been here for nature outings and classes in the past, and even a picnic or two. I can recall an afternoon of photographing an incredible thunderstorm a few years ago, and even at this height white caps of the windblown waters could be seen. A convenient picnic table centers the earthen and rutted roundabout. Within seconds of pulling into the area my eyes were instantly drawn to a cascade of fluttering birds, shimmering like autumn leaves painted with a brownish hue with hints of yellow.
Once I jumped out of the car with the camera I realized these were Cedar Waxwings, one of my favorite of all the avian species. When I was a child my mother gave me a special coloring book for Christmas with large outlines of various birds with an accurate coloring guide along with instructions to “color within the lines!” This served as my actual introduction to this beautiful bird.
Waxwings were not a common species around our Northeast Missouri farm and I can’t recall seeing them at that time in my life, yet their coloring and the sheen of their feathers were instant attractions. Those colors, that telltale black mask, yellow-tipped tails and those bright red, wax-like droplets on its wing feathers were fascinating to a young farm boy back in the early 1950s.
Actually, it wasn’t until I was in my early 50s that I actually saw my first live Cedar Waxwings. A dear friend, Patrick Moore, and I were looking through a second story window of the boardroom of his iconic and politically-based coffee haven and saw a flock devouring berries from a courtyard tree. There were about a dozen waxwings, moving quickly from branch to branch and I was captivated. In the real they were extremely more beautiful than any of the pictures I’ve seen of them.
Since then I’ve seen them on various occasions. Another buddy and I were at the International Crane Foundation outside of Baraboo, WI, in the Whooping Crane pod where waxwings flew across the wooden-benched arena, hardly patient enough for a quick photo. Several of the birds seemed on constant movement, and afterwards we saw more of them in the trees as we took a short hike into the adjacent prairie.
But here in this overlook of Big Stone Lake at the picnic pullout, seeing them was so unexpected and incredibly special on a mono-colored morning. I was alone with this large flock that was perhaps holing up for their migration. They were anxious as they were outside of Baraboo, flitting from tree to tree … from trees barren of leaves to the cedars, so much so that the waxwings actually appeared as autumn leaves themselves. As I walked along the ridge overlooking the valley, the birds flew between the cedar trees to devour the seedpods. Not only was I able to make some very nice closeups of individual birds, but the flock was providing me with ample opportunities to create some interesting images. It was a special moment!
Often I found myself lowering the lens just to take in the special moment. Sometimes you just have to commune within “the moment” when you’re in nature, and this was such a moment. Such moments have happened in the past, especially while photographing the dancing towers of light during an Aurora Borealis, or during an awe inspiring sunrise, or in seeing the ambient colors during the afterglow of a sunset. Times that seem to shout: “Stop! Celebrate the colors! This vividness!”
As I walked between the various trees, nearby waxwings would arise from one tree to move to the next, sometimes parting to fly in different directions. Mentally it was like watching an overhead jewel show as their glistening wings glowed through the softness of the foggy morning. At one point I did stop to capture a couple of the images of the autumn vista that had encouraged me to stop at the picnic pullout, yet the birds seemed to pull my attention back to their colorful flights.
Often it seems that I have an idea in mind when I leave Listening Stones only to discover something entirely different and unexpected. Jewels of a moment in time, and this was one of those instances, and I couldn’t have felt more blessed. In moments like these I yield to one of my favorite poets, Mary Oliver, who suggested, “If you unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it … whatever it is. Don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb.”
Nor to be diminished. This was certainly a “whole loaf” moment and way past that of a simple and singular crumb. In that, I was thoroughly blessed.
