Sandhills & whoopers

Another Gainesville memory... Paynes Prairie.  At first, to someone like me who craves forest and mountain, it looks a little dull.  But it is a haven for wildlife, especially for water and wetland birds.  I'd been there once before, but this time my visit coincided with that of the cranes, mostly sandhill cranes, I don't know how many hundreds.  Their smooth gray-mounded backs and softly contented musical chuckles were gathered a stone's throw from the path -- closer than ever, I was told.  Every so often a few of them would take to the air, then circle back to what was apparently a stupendous feast invisible to me.  Two whooping cranes, oddballs, hung out with them.  I remember seeing sandhills once long ago in Oklahoma, but I'd never seen whoopers before.

We simply lazed around gazing at them, wallowing in the wealth of them and soaking in their contented music.  Eventually, I tired of standing and looked around for someplace to plop down.  Mostly I saw coarse stalks of mowed vegetation, not inviting.  Then I spied a fluffy mound of soft earth and quickly claimed it.  After a couple of minutes, I was simultaneously stung in too many places and began the fire-ant dance.  Stupid, stupid!

Me, formerly biologist and forever an okie, how could I sit on an anthill?  Humbling.

Back home... Slowly, Grumpy and I accustom ourselves to no one to walk, no one to feed, no one to lick the yummy leftovers from our plates, no one to interact with but each other.