Field Notes:

I woke up early. A fresh breeze drifted into the bedroom through an open window. Mist lay over the meadow that serves as our front yard. Across the road, the little lake was shrouded in fog.

On the front porch with a mug of coffee, I noticed how quiet the morning was. Even the local birds hadn’t arrived yet to perch on empty shepherd hooks and complain that the feeders weren’t out.

Suddenly, from the direction of the little lake came a fog-piercing, prehistoric croak that shattered the morning silence.

Sandhill Cranes.

I knew where they would be. Stalking along the edge between between open water and the grasses that form the broad marsh surrounding the lake.

I abandoned the mug of coffee. Still in a T-shirt and sweatpants, I pulled on muck boots, grabbed the camera and long lens, and headed out the front door.

Using the telephoto lens like a pair of binoculars, I scanned the veiled shoreline. Eventually, it was the flapping of enormous wings that gave their position away.

Hidden on the opposite shore, I waited motionless. Nearly half an hour passed before the crane lifted its wings once again.

Then the strangest thing happened. The crane turned to look directly at me. It reached out its great wings and posed motionless- as if to say, “Here you go. Is this what you came for?”

The little lake across the road wasn’t finished rewarding this early riser. Without moving, I watched a Great Blue Heron ease out of the shoreline grasses.

Farther back in the marsh, where grasses give way to the forested hillside, a female Ruby-throated Hummingbird zigzagged among dew-laden flowers as the fog slowly lifted.

As the gauzy sun began to warm the marsh, I quietly climbed out of the glacial pothole that holds Little Lake.

Back on the front porch with a fresh mug of coffee, I was buzzing with gratitude over the foggy morning photo-session on the little lake across the road.

Suddenly, the Sandhill Cranes sang out in their coarse duet. But this time it was to announce their departing flight from the marsh. I caught only glimpses of them through the trees as they disappeared into the rising sun. Somewhere in the back of my mind, another photograph was already beginning to take shape.

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Here are two more recent tales from the little lake across the road.

The Little Lake Across the Road and the Trumpeter Swan

The Little Lake Across the Road